by Anna Randol
Always so precise. She barely stifled a gasp as she tumbled from his arms and landed with an oof in the middle of the bed. “Did I mention in my fantasy you aren’t wearing any trousers?”
He kicked off his boots, then stripped off his trousers, pausing at the edge of the bed.
Sweet heavens.
As lusty as she thought she was, this might never work. Yet she scrambled up on her elbows, desperate to touch him. She ran a fingertip down the thick length of his arousal. And he shuddered.
“How do you expect me to have tame, ladylike fantasies after seeing this?”
He groaned when she swirled her finger over the tip, then caught her hand, pinning it over her head.
“Despite the fact that my fantasy had you in bed, it wasn’t tame.” He climbed onto the bed beside her and his finger traced a slow line down her belly, only to stop at the curls at the tops of her thighs. “I planned to make you beg.”
“Beg?” She rolled her hips, trying to urge that finger lower. But when that finger traced down the fronts of her thighs, she suddenly understood his devilishness.
Slowly, his finger inched back up, circling that most sensitive spot but not touching. Instead, he lowered his lips to her breasts, teasing the aching nipples.
Confound him. She clenched her legs together, alarmed at the wetness between them.
With each flick of his tongue, the throbbing need increased. “Please.”
“We’re back to politeness?”
She would say anything at this point. She’d been wanting this for too long. “I need—”
“You need this?” His hand finally cupped her aching core. But when one finger slowly parted the folds and brushed that most sensitive nub, once and then again, her body flew apart. She grabbed his shoulders in shock as waves of bliss radiated through her, her core clenching and throbbing, begging for more. She cried his name until he covered her mouth with his own, drinking of her passion. Driving her pleasure higher.
When she could manage opening her eyes, Clayton was watching her with a smile crooked on his lips. “I’d intended to make you beg a little more first.”
“I’ll let you try again sometime.” She reached up to stroke him again and he flung his head back. This naughty side of her personality was proving quite insatiable. She caressed him again. The throbbing resumed between her legs, reminding her of what was yet to come.
This whole final portion of the lovemaking might not work, but her body was eager to try. She slowly positioned him at her slick entrance. “In fact, you can try again now.”
Clayton had never known a man could die of pleasure. But he was certain of it now. He pressed slowly forward, giving her time to adjust to him. But her body was tight and inexperienced. He slowly stroked her until she relaxed around him.
Only then did he slowly begin to move.
He’d thought to call on every ounce of control he possessed to make her beg again, but he didn’t need it. She was already growing wild beneath him.
When she began to writhe to meet his thrusts, all thought of control disappeared. He gave himself to her completely, hiding nothing, concealing not a single weakness. Not the way his body shuddered. Not his desperation to give her everything.
And she pressed kisses to his chest and reveled in it all. When her body clenched around him and she moaned his name again, he rode her pleasure to his own. Emotions long contained swirled, peaking, flooding every inch of his body with ecstasy. Blinding him to everything but the woman under him.
So beautiful. His diamond.
Mine.
His heart threatened to break through his rib cage long after his breathing slowed. He rolled to the side and clutched her to him.
Happiness. He was bloody elated for the first time in a decade.
After a moment, Olivia lifted her head; her brow was creased.
He stroked her side. “What’s wrong?” Had he been too rough? He’d taken her virginity without much finesse.
But her look of concern was ruined by a single quirk in her lip. “How long would it take you to retrieve the jar of blackberry jam?”
Chapter Thirty-two
“I hate to interrupt your preconnubial bliss. But we have a very irate minister of the police downstairs who wishes to talk to you. And Olivia.” Ian spoke from outside the door.
Light streamed in the windows. How long had she slept? It had been months since she’d slept more than a few hours. Always fearing her plans for the mill would come crashing down around her.
Clayton pulled her tighter against him, the hair on the back of his arm tickling the underside of her breast. But she was fully alert now, and a similar tension hummed through Clayton.
Apparently, Golov had decided not to take her advice.
“Is he armed?” she asked.
“A knife and two pistols, but he came alone.”
Perhaps he had listened.
Clayton shifted behind her. “I will speak to him, but there’s no need for Olivia to endure him again.”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Tell the baron I’ll see him now. And tell Miss Swift she’d better come so I don’t put a bullet between his eyes.’ I think he must love her with all his entire heart, which is admittedly only the size of as a fig, but—”
“Tell him we will join him in twenty minutes,” Olivia said. She placed a regretful kiss on the crook of Clayton’s elbow, her tongue flicking out along the crease of soft skin.
He wiped a finger over her cheek, lifting his finger to reveal a smudge of purple jam. He grinned. “How fast can you get dressed?”
“Eight minutes.”
He lowered his mouth to her right shoulder, nipping his way down it. “Then we don’t have to get out of bed for twelve.”
Twenty minutes later, Ian met them as they walked to the library. He scowled. “Sometimes I regret being all-knowing.”
Olivia’s cheeks heated, but Clayton returned Ian’s glare. “That knowledge had better be theoretical.”
Ian lifted a brow. “No skulking this time, I swear.” His face grew serious. “Kate, Blin, and I have already been busy this morning. Try not to act surprised at anything Golov says.”
When they entered, Golov looked even more emaciated than the last time they’d talked. She really needed to tell him to eat more.
“Here to give me thanks for delivering Arshun to you?” Ian asked as he pulled a piece of toast from his pocket. “I tied an especially nice bow on him just for you.”
Golov glared. “He’s worthless. He doesn’t know a thing.” He turned to Olivia. “I know you’ve broken the code. What does it say? Since I haven’t killed the baron for what he did to my prison, I will expect recompense.”
“It gave signs and where to leave them. Unfortunately, they’ve already been given. As I told you,” Olivia said. “It said the killer would act. Did you call off the fete like I suggested?”
He stiffened. “No.” Then he shifted in his chair. “But I did order an extra regiment of soldiers to guard the event. Nothing will happen to the czar.”
“Why are you here, Golov?” Clayton asked.
“First, explain why I have dead men in my city. Two. Their throats slit. That was your specialty, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Clayton said. “But I haven’t used it lately.”
“Unfortunately, I think you might be telling the truth. The metropolitan’s clerk was killed while you were destroying my jail.”
Which reminded her of their discussion yesterday. “Who else was killed?”
Golov tugged on the cuffs of his jacket. “Some assistant to General Smirken. Not a man of importance. Again, it makes no sense why you would kill him. But someone wants me to think you’re responsible, Baron. The question is why?”
“Or who,” Ian muttered, smiling far too broadly.
Olivia knew Golov wasn’t a good man, but she also suspected he wasn’t purely evil, either. “We should tell him.” She locked gazes with Clayton, begging him to trust her.
He frowned, but slow
ly nodded.
Ian tucked the rest of his toast in his pocket. “There have been stranger bedfellows. No. I take that back. But do what you will.”
Olivia explained what they knew about the bomb and the final agent, leaving out only Kate’s identity.
“You think my brother Pavlo is the assassin?”
Golov seemed oddly bored.
“We know he is a revolutionary.” She was taking a large risk, but they had few options at this point. And while she doubted she could trust her safety to him, she suspected she could trust Russia’s. “The rest fits.”
“I fear you must have been fooled. My brother is not in St. Petersburg. His regiment was ordered to the Crimea. They left yesterday with my brother leading them.”
What?
But the pieces had fit so perfectly.
“We can verify that,” Ian said.
“Do.” Golov shook his head, rising to his feet. “Apparently, you know even less than I do.”
Ian snapped his fingers as if something had just occurred to him. “And in case you’re considering having us murdered to allow the plot to proceed, Kate paid a visit to her friend the empress this morning. She is quite adamant that we all attend the fete tomorrow. Of course, we reminded her that she had your promise we’d be safe.”
Golov tapped the back of his chair with his yellowed nail. “Indeed.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll make it up to you by doing your job,” Ian said.
Golov paused by Olivia. “You see, koteek, I am a man of my word. Your baron is still alive.” He patted her on the cheek. “For now.”
Chapter Thirty-three
If the ball a few nights ago had inspired awe, this was one that demanded it. Hundreds of servants had been employed all morning, brushing snow from not only the exterior of the building, but from the individual leaves of plants outside.
Each crystal in the massive chandeliers had been polished by hand with satin and vodka.
Servants dressed in livery with buttons of pure gold.
The ball was a masquerade, which had worried her at first, until Kate had explained that no one wore masks, it simply meant that all the guests dressed in traditional Russian costume.
Kate had somehow arranged for Olivia to have another perfect dress, the heavy golden embroidery on the full sapphire blue skirt of the gown glittering like a thousand stars when she moved. A matching cloth-covered tiara rested on her head, from which flowed a white satin veil threaded with more gold.
And the best part was that Clayton hadn’t left her side once this evening.
Not that she had much time to enjoy his attentiveness. Every glance from either of them scanned the crowd, searching for someone suspicious. Someone out of place.
They’d spent the day searching for the colonel, but they couldn’t find him. His servants also claimed he’d left town two days ago with his regiment.
And they’d yet to see him tonight. None of the palace staff they’d questioned had, either.
But there were so many men in green uniforms that she wasn’t sure they would see him even if he was there.
They strolled around the perimeter of the ballroom again, slowing by the veiled painting on the stage. It was enormous, easily twenty feet across, but it sat on a simple gilded easel that could conceal nothing. And nothing had changed since the last time they’d passed. Nothing looked unusual.
Kate joined them. “If I hear the description of one more glorious battle, I will scream.” She lowered her voice. “But I have seen nothing unusual yet among the soldiers I spoke with. And no one in the ballroom is holding anything the correct size to be the bomb. Nor has anyone seen the colonel.”
“The footman only let me have one joint of mutton. One. The gall of that man.” Ian spoke from where he waited by a column as they passed.
They paused by him. They had less than twenty minutes until the unveiling.
“Nothing yet,” he confirmed. “But there are so many bloody people. It’s impossible to tell.”
The final strains of a waltz ended. But rather than a new one filling the silence, the guests began to mill toward the stage in preparation of the unveiling.
“Split up again,” Clayton ordered. “Meet by the rear doors to the ballroom after you’ve searched your area of the room again. If we don’t find something by then, we will clear out.” His arm tensed under Olivia’s. “I will not see you hurt.”
Kate and Ian nodded and headed in opposite directions.
A feminine hand latched on to Clayton’s other arm, stopping them. “Baron. I’m so pleased to see you this evening.”
General Smirken’s wife fluttered her eyelashes up at Clayton, and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. “I’ve missed your company this week.”
“Where is your husband?” Olivia asked. They didn’t have time for her.
Annoyance flashed across the other woman’s face. “He suffered a great tragedy. One of his lieutenants was viciously murdered.” She leaned against Clayton, her face stretching in false sadness. “He and some of his friends have met to drink to the man’s memory.”
“They chose to meet at the same time as the imperial fete?” Disbelief was clear in Clayton’s voice, and the other woman huffed.
“No, they’re here. The czar was kind enough to grant them use of one of his parlors. Colonel Golov requested it as a personal favor for him.”
Both Olivia and Clayton straightened.
“I thought the colonel was sent to the Crimea?” Clayton asked.
“His regiment was, but he isn’t joining them until after the fete.”
Olivia knew her fingers were digging into Clayton’s arm, but she couldn’t seem to loosen them.
The colonel had never left St. Petersburg.
“Where are the officers meeting?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips thinned. “Colonel Golov brought cigars from his own personal stock. I cannot abide the smoke. It gives one wrinkles. But the crates of French brandy did look rather fine.”
“Colonel Golov brought crates?” Olivia and Clayton asked at the same time.
“Tonight?” Olivia clarified.
The other woman blinked. “Yes. Of the finest brandy.”
Clayton asked, “How much brandy did he bring?”
“I don’t know,” she huffed. “Three, perhaps four crates.”
“Where was the brandy placed?”
“I don’t know. The parlor, I suppose. I’m not a footman.”
Clayton disentangled her from his arm. “Thank you. You may go.”
The woman’s face flushed blotchy red before she flounced away.
Clayton didn’t even notice. His eyes were already scanning the crowd. “We need to find Ian and Kate. We need to move our search.”
If this was going to happen, it would happen soon. The entire imperial family was gathered like sheep in a pen.
Olivia spotted familiar red hair. “There’s Kate.”
Olivia caught her eye and Kate hurried back over. “What have you found?”
But then Golov approached. A group of six soldiers appeared behind him. “You’ll come with me,” he hissed.
“Your brother is here.” Clayton tried to move around him, but the soldier surrounded them. “He brought in crates.”
Golov’s sunken eyes burned. “You are the one who brought in a crate.”
The stern-faced soldiers all carried rifles. Their confrontation was over to the side. However, it would soon be noticed. Once that happened, Golov would lead them away. The time for discussion was over.
“We didn’t,” Olivia said. “And your brother is here. He didn’t leave with his regiment. Who told you we brought in a crate?”
Golov’s sparse brows lowered. He held up his hand, stopping his men from apprehending them. “I was given the information by a footman.” Golov pointed at the middle soldier of the group behind him. “Bring that footman here. Someone will pay for lies tonight.”
“Doesn’t it see
m odd to you that the two groups that should be stopping the colonel are fighting with each other instead?” Olivia asked.
Olivia had no idea the amount of power she held. Golov had actually paused to listen to her. Golov didn’t even overly care for the opinions of the emperor.
Yet he’d held back his attack dogs while he listened to Olivia.
The soldier returned, escorting a young, pudgy footman with a hawkish nose and thick mustache. The servant clicked his heels together and bowed to Golov.
“Did these people enter with a package?”
Biyul had the exaggerated posture of a man who wore a corset. “Yes. A large wooden crate.” He rubbed his thumb across the fingers of his right hand like he was holding a deck of cards. The nervous tell of a gambler.
Clayton searched him until he found the telltale rectangular bulge under his uniform. “How much money do you owe at cards, Biyul?”
The man’s face lost its color. “How does that relate?”
But Golov’s career had been built on piecing together rumor and hearsay. He spotted the connection immediately. “How much would someone have to pay you to lie?”
“I would never lie.”
“How much money do you owe?” Clayton asked.
“Nothing more than I can repay, of course.” Biyul tried to back up but he was blocked by Golov’s men.
“How much?” Golov asked.
“Five thousand rubles.”
Clayton tried not to dwell on the fact that he was working alongside Golov on this. But they didn’t have time to stand in the ballroom talking. The colonel was in the palace. He needed to be found. “And how long have you been a revolutionary?”
Biyul lunged, trying to get around the guards, but they grabbed him.
“Who told you to lie?”
“Freedom. Justice. Equality!” Biyul shouted, finally drawing attention. Some of the couples headed toward the stage turned. Conversation hushed.
“Who?” Clayton tried once more.
“Freedom. Justice. Equality!”
“I hate when they get like this,” Golov said.
Had he just shared a look of commiseration with Golov? Clayton shuddered.
