by Anna Randol
Clayton leveled the rifle at Golov. “I wouldn’t recommend moving. Is Kate working with Golov?”
Olivia shook her head. “No.”
Clayton nodded and Blin grabbed Kate, tossed her over his shoulder, and walked through the hole in the wall. Clayton handed off the rifle to Ian, then pulled Olivia into the tunnel.
“Run,” he ordered.
She stumbled behind him, the ground of the tunnel rocky and uneven.
An explosion boomed behind them.
Clayton turned and threw himself on top of her as a blast of air and rubble roared past them.
His breath was hot on her neck. But he’d rested most of his weight on his forearms to keep from crushing her. Part of her wished he hadn’t. Part of her wished to be pressed into the rocky ground by him so she could memorize the weight and heat of his body. She wished to be pressed down until there was no space between them at all. She wanted to be cut off from the future and exist only in this filthy piece of tunnel.
After the dirt and dust clogging the air had settled somewhat, Clayton helped her to her feet and dusted her off. They started walking. Before they’d gone a dozen feet, Clayton caught her arm, slowing her. Ian passed, hurrying ahead in the tunnel.
Clayton spun her slightly and pressed her back against the rock. “You seem to have a talent for surviving danger.”
His mouth fell hot and hungry on hers. Desire clenched tight within her. The darkness in the tunnel was absolute. She couldn’t see Clayton. She could only feel him. Smell him. Taste him. The rasp of stubble on his chin abrading her neck. The scent of wax and incense from the church. The tiny flicks of his tongue in between kisses. The brush of his eyelashes against her cheek as he kissed her chin. The sweet, honeyed taste of his mouth.
She had no idea where his hands and lips were going to caress next and she didn’t want to. She wanted to be lost in this glorious frenzy. She wanted this, too.
More than she’d ever wanted anything.
Soon she discovered if she cupped his face in her hands, she could coax him to linger where she needed his mouth the most. Then the slightest pressure of her hand would bring his lips to her throat. Her breasts.
Some rational part of her warned that she had to stop.
But she needed one last touch before she lost him. She needed to know the corner of his jaw. The thickness of his hair. The planes of his shoulders.
Suddenly, there were too many things she might forget when he left. Not enough time to memorize each of his fingers. And why had she never paid attention to the shell of his ear? To the lobe she wished she’d have more chances to catch in her teeth?
Enough.
Never enough.
No. She wouldn’t be like Golov, snatching benefits for herself without caring for the repercussions.
What she’d done to save the mill had been wrong. She needed to set things right. “Clayton—”
She could feel his cheeks widen into a smile. “Shall I tell you of my plan for the mill now?”
“First, I need to tell—”
“I don’t know how you got lost. The tunnel goes in a straight line.” Ian’s voice echoed around them.
Clayton lifted away from her with a curse. But then he laced his fingers through hers and spoke, his voice a velvet whisper. “I won’t let you go again.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The five of them barely fit in the small basement room Ian had found for them. And yet Clayton hadn’t been able to get close to Olivia.
After that kiss in the tunnel, he’d thought she would have stayed by his side. He’d expected her to be eager to hear his new plan for the mill.
For them.
But although she was tending Blin’s wound, Clayton was no fool. He knew when he was being avoided. His mother had been an expert at that. Even when she lived with them, she was always too busy to see to Clayton. Most of his memories of her were of lingering around the edge of her dressing table, trying to stand straight and tall so she’d notice him.
Clayton fought the urge to throw everyone else from the room, yank Olivia to him, and kiss her until she could think of nothing but him.
“You’re mooning,” Ian whispered in a quiet, singsong voice as Clayton handed him a cup of melted snow to soak the thumb he’d burned while lighting the explosives.
Clayton glowered at him. “I am not.”
“I expect you to start spouting couplets about her golden locks any moment.”
Clayton’s attention drifted to the tendrils of Olivia’s hair that had come loose during their escape.
He couldn’t look away from the gentle pressure of her hand or the slight lift on her lips as she spoke to Blin, her words soft, comforting, admiring as she tended a cut on his head. The big man puffed with pride at her words. No wonder he followed her blindly around.
Clayton gritted his teeth against the urge to step closer so she’d glance at him. Damnation, he wasn’t a child. He’d ask why she was avoiding him as soon as they were alone.
“Olivia with hair of soft gold. Let’s escape Golov and cavort in the mold. Hmm . . . perhaps not one of my best,” Ian mused.
“Shut it, Ian.”
Ian shrugged. “If you want her to stop avoiding you, you might try to stop scowling. Just a thought. What did you do to gain her indifference? Maddie and I always suspected you’d be a terrible kisser, but—”
“Enough!” His voice was loud enough that Olivia finally glanced over, but then jerked her gaze back to Blin.
But Ian never shut his mouth. “You might also ask yourself if there’s a reason she might want distance from you.”
“Damned mill.”
“Is it worth losing her over?”
“I won’t lose her over it.”
Ian shut his mouth, but his astonishment lasted for only a moment. “You’re letting it go?”
“No. I’m simply altering my plan.”
“Does it still involve destroying her mill?”
“Only partially.”
“Sounds like it will work brilliantly.”
It had to. “She’s stubborn, but she knows why I have to do it.”
“Who’s the stubborn one?”
Could he let the mill go completely? In exchange for Olivia? He’d have given up anything to get her back safe from Golov, but this?
Olivia was only on the other side of the small room, and he despised the distance between them. He wanted her by his side.
If he married her, he’d have the right to keep her there.
The decision seemed as natural as breathing. And yet his breathing no longer seemed to function properly, coming high and fast in his chest.
“Clayton, catch Kate!”
At Olivia’s yell, Clayton lunged in time to grab Kate as she slumped toward ground.
Kate’s gaze was unfocused as he helped her settle against the wall.
They were still unclear on just how much Kate knew. He knew she was a revolutionary. Olivia had told them that much as they climbed into the sleigh. He had started to question Kate, but Olivia had stopped him with a look he didn’t understand but knew enough to obey.
But he couldn’t give Kate any more time.
Since he still wasn’t precisely clear what Golov had done, he tried to be as gentle as he could. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Kate?”
She either shook herself or shuddered, but then brushed off his grasp. “Who was he?”
“Who?”
Her hands fisted at her sides. “My husband. Who is he?”
He looked to Olivia for help.
“Golov told her the Sergey she knew wasn’t the real Sergey.”
That was what brought her to this? Kate had once helped a town in southern Siberia battle raiders while armed with only farming equipment, flaming cow dung, and a pistol. The village named itself after her.
But now he understood her devastation better than he ever could have before.
Empathy. Hell, he might start composing couplets after all.
> “I knew nothing of this,” Clayton said. Although it did explain why the Foreign Office was so insistent on faking Sergey’s death and getting him out of there when things grew difficult. He was one of their own.
“I did,” Ian said, lifting his thumb from the water and prodding the blister there.
“What?” Clayton found his question echoed by both Kate and Olivia.
“It may or may not have been my idea to use an impostor.”
“Then who is he?” Kate asked.
Ian shrugged. “No idea. I just told Glaves my brilliant suggestion on how to get one of our men close to a man who trusted no one. I didn’t handle the specifics.”
When had Ian begun advising the Foreign Office on strategy?
Kate rested her head on her knees.
Olivia went to her side, the compassion on her face making Clayton ache with pride.
“You said you knew where he is now?” she asked Clayton.
Kate hadn’t earned the information, but he’d tell her for Olivia’s sake. “Llanfyr along the south coast of Wales.”
Kate’s eyes flashed for a moment, focusing again, as if that kernel of truth gave her the strength to continue. She shifted, lowered her knees, and tucked them under her. “Ask your questions about Vasin.”
“Who are the other agents?” Olivia asked.
“One was a clerk for Metropolitan Stanislav, I believe.”
“Evidence agrees,” Ian seconded. “The timing of when the clerk was placed with him matches.”
“The metropolitan deserved to be disgraced. What he did to those girls—” She cut herself off with a slow exhale. “The plan was to have all the major powers in Russia disgraced. The church. The royal family. The army. By the time the final agent moves at the fete . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “. . . killing the entire royal family, there will be no clear favorite to fill the void. Vasin intended to be poised to move into place with his vision of equality and democracy, but now there will be nothing but chaos.”
Clayton wasn’t used to being beaten, especially by a dead man. The Trio had outwitted Vasin once; they’d do it again.
Of course, now he had Olivia instead of Madeline.
But Clayton found himself confident with the new arrangement.
Kate wiped her hands across her face. “I don’t know who Vasin put in place to kill the emperor, but it would be someone whose dedication he didn’t doubt. One of his inner circle. But then again, I imagine he’d choose someone no one would connect to him.”
Olivia frowned. “Who was supposed to give the signals?”
Kate frowned. “I don’t know.”
Pieces were coming together in Clayton’s mind. “We may not know who he is, but we know what he will do. Remember the final line of the code? Then you will know the time is ready to light the fire of freedom. The code must have belonged to the final agent.”
Ian was lying in the center of the old wooden dining table. He waved his hand with the injured finger above him as if he was conducting music. “He’s decided to have his own little revolution.”
“But then why involve Arshun?” Kate asked.
Olivia cast a questioning glance at Clayton. “And why not choose someone who would have made a better leader afterward?”
“Because he never intended Arshun to rule. He needed Arshun to take the blame.”
“Did anyone notice there haven’t been any scandals about the military yet?” Ian sat up, swinging his legs off the table. “Church, yes. Royal family, almost. Military, no. They’re the most powerful force in Russia. Vasin couldn’t have planned to rise to power with them still unscathed. And there were three signs given in the code. Three agents that were supposed to do something.”
“Could the agent have changed his mind like Kate?” Olivia asked.
“Or he could have missed the sign. We weren’t told when we’d be called upon to act. I didn’t know when Vasin’s plan would be set in motion. I was supposed to simply always be at the ready. But to be honest, I had stopped looking for the sign after Vasin died. I only began watching for it after you both showed up with talk of revolutionaries.”
It was possible the third agent had missed their sign, or was perhaps still waiting to act, but Clayton suspected the final agent would have been more careful than that.
“How did a weasel like Arshun get a war hero like Golov’s brother, Colonel Pavlo Golov, to follow him? Olivia, when the count arrived at his house, you said there were two young men and the colonel with him?” Clayton asked.
Olivia nodded.
“And when we found Arshun yesterday, all the revolutionaries in the house were young, too. About the same age as the count. University age. Most likely his friends.”
“Ah! Interesting fact— When did the colonel become a war hero?” Ian leaped to his feet. “Not after the battle like you’d expect. No, several months later, a few of his soldiers came to the czar to tell him about the unknown, unbelievable bravery of a certain colonel. Amazing humility for such a pompous arse, isn’t it?”
Olivia’s nose wrinkled as she considered. “If it is the colonel, what is he planning?”
Clayton tapped his fingers on the table. “He wouldn’t be able to shoot the entire royal family. Not before being stopped. And people would know he was responsible. He wouldn’t be able to take power after that. He must be using another method. A bomb. Small, portable. Timed fuse.”
“Like the one they tried to use on us?” Olivia asked.
Clayton stared at her. How had he not seen it before? “Exactly like that one.”
Ian pulled a coarse, dark roll from his pocket and broke off chunks for the others in the room, saving the largest piece for himself, of course. “What are the odds the revolutionaries happen to have two skilled bomb makers in St. Petersburg this time of year?”
“Very, very small.”
“So how do we find this elusive maker of infernal devices?” Ian asked.
“I return to Kate’s.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Olivia had no idea why Clayton thought she’d let him go on his own. “Prazhdinyeh still has orders to kill you. And Golov will know you’re there within minutes. I’m coming.”
Clayton glared. “You’re not.”
Ian sighed. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Madeline? Either you let her come or she’ll find a far more dangerous way to come on her own.”
Kate also protested. “If the final agent knows who I am, it will be best if I am where I’m supposed to be. Then he’ll be less likely to improvise.”
Blin stood, his shoulders as wide as the door frame behind him. “I’ll go to protect the women.”
Ian tugged on his hat. “I suppose this means I must follow you as well. But I’m not driving. I need a nap.”
By the time they arrived at Kate’s, the roads were already growing dark in the early dusk of winter.
Kate and Blin walked in her front door, but Clayton led Olivia and Ian through a side window. Clayton’s hands lingered on her waist before he lifted Olivia inside, and just for the barest instant, his lips found a small, bare patch of skin on her neck.
Kate ordered her servants to leave her alone for the night, and their small party slipped into her room without having been seen.
None of the spies from either side knew they were there.
Soon Olivia and Kate sat in the bedroom staring at the closed door that led to Kate’s dressing room. Olivia hadn’t even remembered that the maid Iryna had named the revolutionary who had passed along the bomb, much less known who he was. But Clayton had. Now all she could do was wait outside while Clayton and Ian interrogated Kate’s groom Barndyk.
Minutes passed.
Olivia removed her kerchief and her gloves, and as her body warmed, her coat followed.
The room was silent except for the murmurs in the dressing room.
Kate pulled a ruby ring off her finger and then on again, her motions jerky. Upset.
“I don’t think they’
ve hurt him.” At least there hadn’t been screams. And as much as Olivia strained to hear, she still had no idea what Ian’s methods were.
Kate blinked, staring at the door as if she hadn’t noticed it before. It was clear her worry hadn’t been for the events inside.
“What are you going to do about Sergey?” Olivia asked, suspecting the real source of Kate’s distraction.
Kate pulled the ring off again and set it on her knee. “I’m going after him.”
“What are you going to do when you find him?”
“Get my answers. What are you going to do about Clayton?”
This time, Olivia’s resolve matched Kate’s. “I’ll tell him the truth.”
And lose him.
No.
She was finished with this fatalism. She’d worked incessantly to save the mill, and that wasn’t even one tenth as important to her as Clayton.
She was done making a decision, then cringing and waiting for the repercussions.
Her life wasn’t made of one choice. It was made up of dozens. Hundreds. Millions.
And she would use them to convince Clayton to forgive her.
She’d probably lose Clayton when she confessed her lies. But she would win him back. She might not deserve him, but she was working on it. She loved him. She wouldn’t back down. Not even from Clayton himself.
The dressing room door opened.
Barndyk was tied to a chair, his skin ashen, much as Arshun’s had been, but again, with no apparent signs of injury.
Ian was glaring at him. “Couldn’t you have held out for a bit longer? Really, you need to speak to your superiors about your training. Quite unsatisfying.”
“We have a name,” Clayton said.
“Who?” Kate asked.
“A clockmaker on Nevsky Prospect. Only a few short blocks away.”
Olivia was already retying her kerchief. But Clayton stopped her. “We go in the morning.”
“But—”
“We know where he works, not where he lives. We won’t find him until the morning.”
