Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

by Anna Randol

  “So we just wait?”

  Ian yawned. “And sleep. Don’t forget the sleeping part. Prone, eyes closed. In case you’ve forgotten what it is.”

  “What about my groom?” Kate asked.

  Clayton glared at the other man. “We’ll leave him tied. You said you have a few servants you trust?”

  Kate nodded.

  “Send the rest away. Tell them Barndyk is ill with some horribly contagious fever.”

  It was completely dark outside now. “Now?”

  “It is not that late. Send them to an inn.”

  Soon, after a great commotion and dozens of vehicles, the house was empty. Her housekeeper, two footmen, and Blin were the only ones that remained.

  “That will make Golov suspicious,” Kate said.

  “Yes, but it will keep us from getting our throats slit tonight. Once Ian secures the house.”

  Ian groaned and disappeared.

  Kate echoed the groan as she stood. “I refuse to sleep in a room with a bound man a few feet away. I’ll go find another bed.”

  Olivia looked around the now-empty room. “So what now?”

  The intensity in Clayton’s gaze shifted, centering on her. Devouring her. “Shall we sneak to the pantry and glut ourselves before Ian has a chance to empty it into his pockets?”

  Olivia nodded.

  After all, she did have something she needed to discuss.

  It was time.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Blin was the only one in the kitchen when they entered. His back was to them as he worked on something, but then he swayed on his feet. Olivia darted to his side. She tucked herself under his arm. He was rather ashen about the lips. He’d lost a good deal of blood from the cut. “What are you doing down here? You should be resting.”

  Clayton moved to his other side.

  “Cook will need this started for dinner tomorrow.” Blin’s hands still worked at the dough.

  “You need to lie down.”

  “This is the only thing I am good at. Not protecting you. I should have been able to stop Golov from taking you. I should have stopped Nicolai, too.” He punched the dough with a massive fist, rattling the table. “Sorry I didn’t stop them. I am not much better than Nicolai, am I?”

  Olivia swallowed, her throat suddenly thick. “You are far, far better. You are a good man.”

  “I kidnapped you.”

  “I forgave you while we were still on the boat.”

  Blin’s motion slowed. “Do you think the princess will let me stay?”

  “Yes.” Olivia would make sure of it. “Now, where do you sleep?”

  “On a pallet in the attic.”

  The man swayed again. The attics would be too far and too cold. Instead, with Clayton’s help, she got him into one of the empty guest rooms. They removed the holland cover from the bed.

  Blin grunted as he lay down. “Never slept on a mattress before. I’ll have to tell my babushka about this. Don’t know if I will tell her about kidnapping you, though.”

  “Why don’t you tell her about rescuing me instead?”

  Blin was softly snoring by the time Clayton had finished lighting the stove, and they crept out. He lit the stoves in two nearby bedrooms so they would have a warm place to sleep as well.

  After he’d finished, Clayton caught her to him. “Enough of this waiting. Let’s get some food and I’ll tell you my plan.”

  This time the kitchen was empty when they passed through to the pantry.

  Clayton lifted the cheesecloth to reveal half a loaf of bread. Fresh, too. He ripped off a large piece and handed it to Olivia.

  She smiled at him, then took a large bite.

  Clayton pulled down a jar. “Once in Brussels, Ian came to us ecstatic because he’d found a warehouse full of food.”

  She swallowed and brushed the crumbs from her lips. “I notice a lot of your stories center around food.”

  “That’s because we never had much. Unfortunately, once we got inside, it became clear that all those glistening cherries, pears, and pineapples were wax. Decorations for ladies’ bonnets.”

  Olivia laughed, the sound echoing up to the gleaming copper pans hanging in the kitchen. She clapped her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet her mirth.

  He didn’t want her to. The servants were upstairs in the attic. There was no one to hear them on this level other than Ian. And Clayton would be more than pleased if Ian knew where they were so he’d stay away. “Madeline surprised Ian with a fine new hat covered with fruit the next week. I think he actually wore it twice.”

  “Surely, it was a man’s hat.”

  “Oh no. Ian makes quite a fine-looking woman. Although finding a dress to fit his shoulders . . .”

  That set Olivia laughing so hard she almost dropped the bread she held. Finally, she quieted. “Do you wish she was here with you in the larder instead? Madeline?”

  Clayton froze. Madeline had been his constant companion. One of the only people he’d allowed himself to care about. But would he rather have her here with him now, debating what food to take upstairs for an impromptu late night repast? “No.”

  “What about on this mission?”

  He didn’t like the uncertainty in her voice. He needed Olivia to understand that she and Madeline weren’t in competition. He cared for Madeline.

  But he loved Olivia.

  “Shall I tell you of my plan for the mill?” He selected a jar from the shelves in front of him and opened it, revealing a sticky dark substance. He smelled it. “Jam.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Take.”

  He’d known it would appeal to her sweet tooth.

  She dipped her finger inside, then licked the jam off. The movement of her tongue was slow and deliberate. “Blackberry. Perfect.”

  She hadn’t meant to be provocative, he was certain. Her enjoyment of the jam was too quick and simple. Still his body hardened.

  And there was no reason to resist her anymore. He had a solution to the mill. And he was going to marry her.

  He caught her hand before she wiped it on her skirts and brought it to his mouth, drawing her finger between his lips. It was still slightly sticky, slightly sweet. He sucked gently.

  Her eyes fluttered closed and her breath hissed between her teeth.

  But he slowly released her hand. When he made love to her, he wanted it to be in a room lit with glowing candles. The bed would be covered with the softest silk and he’d ensure there was no one around for miles, so they could give themselves entirely over to passion.

  Even more than that, he wanted the perfect sunset over the cliffs so he could ask her to marry him.

  But for now he’d settle for telling her of his plans for the mill.

  And his feelings for her.

  He set the jar down, then took the piece of bread out of her hands. “I haven’t treated you well on this mission. I believe the term coldhearted bastard was rightfully applied.” He exhaled. Hell, he was shaking like a drunk recruit. “But you reminded me that I haven’t always been thus. You provoked me until I was forced to see you differently. I understand—”

  Olivia’s hand clamped over his mouth. It trembled. “No more. Please.”

  He twisted his head away so he could speak. She loved him. She’d told him earlier. But perhaps she needed more time to be willing to say the words again. He needed to woo her with soft words and gifts rather than bombs and stolen jam. “Olivia, I love you.”

  She pressed her fist to her mouth instead. “When my father came back from the courthouse that day, he told me you’d been hanged. The news shattered me. I told him I didn’t want to live. I went to my room. When I wouldn’t get up the next day, he ordered me out of bed. When I refused, he lost control again. I’d never really disobeyed him before, you see. I was his little pet he paraded in front of his friends. He’d have none of it. You may be no better than a whore, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone know it.”

  He’d gut the old man. Clayton’s hand brushed
her cheek, caught the tears. But she pulled away, her back colliding with the shelves of earthenware pots behind her.

  “He grabbed me to pull me from the bed, and his face just went slack. He fell to the floor. The doctors said he’d suffered an apoplexy.”

  She said she had secrets. He’d readied himself for them. He loved her. He could look past them. “It’s not your fault—”

  “He didn’t recover.” Her voice had firmed and her eyes finally met his.

  “Wait. What are you saying?” A wary chill slithered up his spine. What precisely had she hidden?

  “Despite all the doctors who promised to cure him, he’s never recovered the ability to speak or interact. He can swallow and breathe, but that is all.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At my home by the mill.”

  “But I was there the night you were kidnapped. Your maid said he and the servants were out.”

  “I told my staff to lie about his condition. And there weren’t any more servants than what you saw. I told them to lie about that, too.”

  Clayton stepped back now. His body rigid. His lungs solid blocks of iron. He couldn’t draw air. Her revelations shattered inside him, fracturing and slicing deep as they rearranged into an ugly truth. He didn’t care about her father, at least not as he had. It appeared the universe had dealt him its own form of justice. He cared what the revelation meant about Olivia. “What about the mill?” His voice was soft. It was the only way he could keep his true emotions—desperation, anguish—from showing.

  “I told everyone my father had recovered enough to give orders. But it was only me. My father had nothing to do with the rebuilding of the mill.”

  “The Bank of England?” That was why he’d become involved. To keep England from being cheated again.

  He never thought she’d be the one behind it.

  “I hired a man to pretend to be my father when the representatives came.” She clenched her hands tightly in front of her.

  “Lies and manipulations, all of it?”

  “Yes. I told myself I had to do what I must to save the mill. That saving the mill—that helping those people—would outweigh any lies I had to tell. But it didn’t. I’m so sorry.” She took a deep breath. Her lips had gone white around the edges, as had her knuckles.

  His shock and his hurt crystallized, piercing his chest. He’d been a fool. He’d wanted her so much that he’d convinced himself that he could accept her secrets. But he couldn’t. Not when his mother uttered those words. And his father had listened. I’m sorry I abandoned you to tup the baker. The traveling actor meant nothing to me.

  He’d hated his father for taking her back even as he’d hated himself for believing her, too.

  Now he was no better. He’d almost been willing to look past anything to have another chance with Olivia.

  Olivia wasn’t his mother. He knew this. Olivia probably had intended to help the people in her town. But this pain was too familiar. A pain he refused to suffer again.

  “Why not sell the mill? Why the deception?”

  “Our solicitor knows my father. I wouldn’t be able to fool him with the actor. The mill and the house are both in my father’s name. I can’t sell them while my father still lives. I will just have to give the mill up.”

  The words were ones he’d hoped to hear. But now they meant little.

  Yes, she might give up the mill, but how long until the next betrayal came?

  Clayton had been willing to overlook her original betrayal of him to her father. He’d been ready to marry her. All the time she’d had this lying in wait for him. She’d warned him, yes, but he’d been wrong to think he could forgive.

  Not when it would do nothing but weaken him.

  “What other lies are you keeping from me? What other manipulations do you have in store?” His own breathing was loud in his ears, mingling with the pounding of his heart, until he could hear almost nothing at all.

  “I—”

  Hell, there were more. His stomach churned. And even though it made him look like a weak fool, he had to brace his hand on the shelves as any remaining hope shriveled.

  “The money I used to buy the machinery for the mill.” She pressed both her hands to her cheeks. “I found them in my father’s things. They were all fifty-pound notes. Fresh. Never used.”

  “The banknotes he’d printed illegally?”

  “I—I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “But they could have been.”

  Good. This was what he needed. More proof so he’d never be fool enough to open himself to her again.

  Her tears deepened to sobs, horrible little sounds she tried to hide behind clenched lips.

  Why is she telling you these things?

  Because perhaps if he was a different man—a better man—he would have been able to move past these revelations. But with the past that already lay between them, it was simply too much.

  For him, that would never be possible.

  He clenched the hand that had already started to lift toward her and drew it away.

  Clayton strode from the room.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “You really are a coldhearted bastard, aren’t you?”

  Clayton didn’t turn away from the window in the empty bedroom. “Shut up, Ian.” His breath obscured the glass with white. A person watching below would know someone was in this room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He clenched the windowsill, digging his fingers against the wood. No new snow had fallen during the day, leaving the remaining snow scarred and muddy.

  “Oh, wait, no. You’re tender when a woman trusts you with her darkest secrets.”

  “I said, shut the hell up.”

  “She’s crying in her room in case you can’t hear her. She’s crying into her pillow to try to muffle the sound. So considerate.”

  Clayton whirled around. Ian stood less than a foot away.

  “Leave now.”

  Ian’s eyes glittered with a genuine anger Clayton could only ever recall seeing twice. “She loves you.”

  “So I’m supposed to let her lie? Deceive everyone around her? Make a fool of me?”

  “We lied all the time. Why do you hold it against her?”

  Clayton clenched and unclenched his damaged hand, finding solace in the pain it caused. “I don’t. But I cannot look past it. How could she expect that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because you forgive those you love?”

  “I was prepared to forget that she ran to her father all those years ago. I could look past her betrayal.”

  “Look past? How magnanimous. Look past until when? When she makes her next mistake? You’re still protecting yourself.”

  “And I was bloody right to!”

  “Why did she tell you about her lies in the first place?”

  “Because she saw me as a mark. Sensed it the way sharps always spotted my father. Someone weak enough to take advantage of.” But even as he said it, the words made no sense. What purpose had it served her?

  “Or because she loves you. And couldn’t stand to have it between you?”

  I love you too much to make love while I’m hiding things from you.

  Clayton swung at Ian rather than answering. But they’d trained too long together. He knew precisely what Ian would do. So when Ian blocked, Clayton locked his arm and drove him to the ground. But Ian kicked out, knocking Clayton on his back.

  His breath whooshed out of him and with it, his anger. “If I forgive her once, how will I know I won’t have to do it again?”

  “You don’t. You forgive over and over again. Cruel, cruel love. Makes you fall in love with an imperfect person when you’re so perfect yourself.”

  Clayton flinched, but then stood and offered Ian a hand up.

  Ian accepted. “I think I’ll go see what I can discover about our clockmaker before we meet him tomorrow. Maybe I’ll take Olivia with me before she dries up like a prune.”

  Clayton knew Ian hoped for a reaction
, but he wasn’t getting one.

  Ian paused by the door. “Have you ever really stopped to think what you’d lose if you forgave her for all of it?”

  Clayton sat heavily on the bed. What would he lose?

  Nothing.

  Everything.

  He’d been so in love with Olivia when they were young. When he found the proof that her father was printing extra banknotes, he hadn’t thought twice about going to her. He’d needed to warn her, wanting her to know he would spare her the pain if he could. He hadn’t suspected her of anything but complete loyalty until constables had knocked on his door.

  When he saw her father in the courtroom, he’d begged to be allowed to speak to Olivia. Mr. Swift had laughed. Don’t be a fool, lad. She’s the one who turned you in. Clayton hadn’t spoken again, ashamed that he’d still have done anything to go crawling back to Olivia despite what she’d done.

  He’d vowed he’d never reveal vulnerability like that again. That he’d never be vulnerable like that.

  Clayton buried his face in his hands. He’d always known this misery would come from allowing second chances.

  My father was happy.

  Clayton slowly lifted his head. Despite the money his father was never repaid. Despite the wife who left him and didn’t even bother to move to a different town with her lover, his father had been happy.

  Clayton had been embarrassed for his father, but his father had never been for himself.

  What had his father lost by forgiving his wife in the end? Only years of pain and anger.

  Had his father been more passive than was good for him? Yes. But perhaps it wasn’t forgiveness that made him that way.

  When Olivia had comforted Blin earlier, Clayton had ached with pride at her strength and determination as she forgave the man who had wronged her terribly.

  There had been no weakness there.

  Clayton returned to the window. His mouth felt dry, his throat tight.

  Forgiveness hadn’t given the others power over Olivia. Forgiveness had allowed her to take the power back.

  Clayton swore. Oh, Da. Had he really been so bloody blind? No wonder his father had merely shaken his head when Clayton raged on his behalf. He should have slapped him along the side of the head instead.