Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

by Anna Randol

  “Take this man away,” Golov ordered.

  The largest soldier clamped his hand over Biyul’s mouth as they dragged him from the ballroom.

  Golov pointed to the conductor of the orchestra with one long, yellowed finger. And they launched into an energetic reel despite the fact that there were no dancers on the floor.

  “Your brother’s going to kill the czar. He had at least three crates brought in,” Olivia said.

  If anyone else had said that, Golov would have ordered him flogged until he vomited his own blood. Instead, Golov’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. It was the most emotion Clayton had ever seen from him.

  “You’re telling the truth.” His sentence sounded suspiciously like a question.

  Olivia actually placed her hand on the man’s arm. “You didn’t know he was a revolutionary?”

  Golov stared at her hand as if bewildered by her action. “If I had, he’d be dead.”

  Olivia told him about the gathering of officers, having to raise her voice to be heard over the servant announcing the unveiling.

  “Pavlo will pay.” Golov spun to his men. “Find the butler. Find where Smirken and his friends are gathered. Then place a man at each entrance to the ballroom. Pavlo will not enter.” He turned away and stormed off into the crowd.

  Olivia’s heart beat loudly in her ears. “We should order everyone to leave.”

  But Clayton shook his head. “Colonel Golov is as vain and power hungry as his brother. He’ll never abandon this without at least some benefit to himself. If he sees that people are starting to evacuate, he’ll detonate the bomb.”

  The imperial family was invited to the stage to re-create the grouping shown in the portrait.

  The crowd shifted as people began to mount the platform. The lesser members of the imperial family arranged themselves, jostling for the space nearest where the czar would stand.

  If Olivia were the bomber, this was when she’d act. When else would the entire extended imperial family be grouped so close together? “Clayton—”

  “I know. Lambs to the slaughter.” His brows lowered. “He’d want to ensure the death of the imperial family, so he’d set the bomb as close to them as possible.

  “You’re looking frantic, Clayton. They did supply chamber pots. If you need—”

  “The colonel is here. He’s been spotted.”

  Ian disappeared into the crowd.

  If she were the colonel, she’d try to get as close to the stage as she could. But she wouldn’t be able to get too close. Golov’s men had ringed the stage, creating a gap of about a dozen feet between the crowd and the platform.

  The closest point the colonel could reach would probably be along the far side of the stage. The crowd had edged the policeman Golov just assigned there backward slightly. He was pressed so tightly against the door that he’d fall if it was opened.

  The door.

  “When we followed the colonel earlier this week, he slipped into a parlor. It was there, wasn’t it? Right behind that wall.” She pointed to where the royal family gathered. “Could a bomb that size blow through that wall?”

  “He doesn’t plan to be in the ballroom at all.” Clayton’s eyes narrowed as he made the calculations. “And he doesn’t have to be. Get as far away from this ballroom as you can.”

  “No.”

  “The bomb could already be in place.”

  “Ian’s advice still holds true. If you don’t let me come, I’ll find my own way.” The emperor and the empress had begun to approach the stage, accompanied by the tiny, silver-haired dowager grand duchess. The final members of the portrait.

  “You could die.” His horror at the thought was clear; it was almost enough to make her change her mind. But not quite.

  “So could you.” She lifted her hand to his tense jaw. “Remember how I told you I wasn’t perfect? This is one of those things. I’m not biddable.”

  “No, you’re damned stubborn.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “But hell if you aren’t incredibly brave, too.”

  The crowd was thick around the platform, but Clayton moved past the people like they didn’t exist. He seemed to know when a space would open up that they could move into. When a gentleman would lean to his left to speak to the lady at his side. Or when a woman was going to try to edge around for a slightly better view.

  Finally, they were at the door.

  The policeman straightened as they tried to get past.

  “We don’t want to get to the platform. The lady just needs some air.”

  The sweaty, red-faced policeman looked a little longing at the thought, but he inched as far over as he could so they could get into the corridor.

  The corridor was wide and blessedly free of people. Olivia sucked in a calming breath, but it lodged in her throat as Clayton drew a pistol. “How did you get a gun past the servants?”

  Clayton shrugged. “Ian did. I didn’t want to ask.”

  He motioned for her to stay behind him as they approached the door.

  Clayton eased it open.

  The room was filled with men in uniform. Laughing faces flushed with drink. If the bomb was in this room, it would kill not only the imperial family but most of the leading military officers as well.

  It took her a minute to find the colonel. He was bent over a crate at the far end of the room. He opened the lid.

  “Clayton—”

  “I see him.”

  But the colonel saw them in the same moment. “Smirken!” the colonel said, his jovial tone the complete opposite of the loathing Olivia could see on his face. “The baron was a friend of the lieutenant, wasn’t he?”

  “Baron! Yes, we all served together!” Smirken reached for Clayton and pounded him on the back. “Come to join us in a drink to our poor lieutenant. To Mikhail!”

  Everyone lifted his glass.

  Colonel Golov edged toward the door. Clayton was trapped in the middle of the huddle of soldiers.

  But Olivia wasn’t.

  She ran past the knot of officers, reaching the door at the same time as the colonel. She slammed herself in front of it. He’d have to go through her to get out. Surely, he wouldn’t want to die. He’d have to stop the bomb—

  The colonel pulled a pistol from his jacket and pushed it against her stomach.

  Clayton freed himself from the condoling slaps and proffered glasses. Didn’t any of them notice he had a damned pistol in his hand? How much alcohol had the colonel given them? They’d be of no help stopping—

  Clayton froze.

  On the far side of the room, the colonel had a gun pressed against Olivia’s stomach.

  The colonel put his finger to his lips, then gestured for Clayton to clear the others from the room.

  “The emperor wishes you all in the ballroom. He said he will take note of the ones who are absent,” Clayton announced.

  Bleary eyes focused on him, then everyone started speaking at once.

  “Now,” Clayton said.

  Even drunk, they recognized the command in his voice and filed from the room.

  “Leave her alone, Colonel.” Clayton lifted his gun.

  But the colonel didn’t move away from Olivia.

  “La Petit and Cipher.” He still thought Olivia was La Petit. Perhaps he and his brother really didn’t talk after all.

  The colonel’s lips thinned. “I thought my brother would detain you longer.”

  “Your brother knows what you are. He is looking for you, too,” Olivia said, her voice steady.

  The colonel shifted slightly, moving one foot closer to the door. “You’ll do nothing to stop me from leaving.”

  Clayton inched forward. “Why is that?”

  “Because I can tell you who’s betraying your identities to your worst enemies. General Einhern. Count Arshun. Me.” Einhern was the man who’d tried to have Madeline murdered last year.

  Every muscle along Clayton’s spine tensed. “Who?”

  “I thought you might be interested. It’s some
one far more regal than you would have expected.”

  But Clayton wasn’t going to play his game. He would do everything in his power to protect the Trio’s identities, but his most important task was to protect Olivia. That meant removing the pistol held against her.

  He stepped to the side so he’d have a clear shot at the general. “Put down the gun and stop the bomb, Colonel.”

  “I think I’m the one who holds the upper hand here, spy.” He jabbed the muzzle of the pistol harder into Olivia.

  She gasped, her face tensing. But then she glared. “Don’t put down the gun, Clayton. He only has one shot.”

  “Aimed at you,” the colonel said.

  “Then once you shoot me, Clayton will kill you and disarm the bomb.”

  “Do you want to die?” The colonel’s finger tightened on the trigger.

  “A bullet seems cleaner than a bomb blast.”

  Olivia claimed she didn’t know when to back down. He hadn’t appreciated just how much until this moment, when backing down should have been the glaringly obvious choice.

  Yet she’d given up the mill for him. He’d examine his greater understanding of that gesture at some later moment.

  The general glanced at the watch dangling from his waistcoat.

  “Nervous? How much time did you give yourself?” Olivia asked.

  “I’m ready to die for the cause.”

  “For Arshun?” The disgust coated with disdain in her voice was perfect.

  A flicker of loathing crossed the general’s face.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Arshun isn’t the one who will rise to power.”

  “Ah, do you think it will be you?” Clayton asked. “That will be rather difficult if you’re dead.”

  The colonel’s cheek twitched. “I’m not going to die. The imperial family will. Then when I lead the troops to quell Arshun’s little moband with the church in disgrace, I’ll move into my rightful place.”

  “Arshun has been arrested. There is no uprising for you to fight.”

  The colonel hesitated, but only for a moment. “No matter. The plan will still work.”

  “Are you sure?” Olivia asked. “How much time until the bomb—”

  A gun fired and a hole appeared in the center of the colonel’s forehead.

  His body fell back in an awkward slump.

  Clayton spun, expecting Ian. Instead, Golov stepped into the room, a smoking pistol still in his hand. Was he human enough that killing his brother would affect him? But Clayton didn’t have time to see.

  He raced to the bomb, reaching it at the same time as Olivia.

  Clayton removed the lid to the box. Shiny clockwork gears hummed and clicked. The gunpowder lay underneath them, impossible to get to.

  “I think this would be a great time for you to evacuate the ballroom, Golov.”

  “My loyalty’s to the emperor. Never question that again,” he said behind them, his voice strained.

  Olivia tensed as she glanced back at the body of the colonel. His head lay in a growing pool of red.

  She pulled away and walked to the window. She yanked down the curtain with a big tug. Then returned to lay it over the general’s body.

  Golov’s cheek twitched once, much as his brother’s had done. “Thank you.”

  He turned and hurried from the room.

  “You should leave, too,” Clayton said.

  “And you should stop the bomb and save us. You saw the bombs at the clockmaker’s workshop, the ones partially built. What did he add last? Wouldn’t that be the item that set the tension?”

  In that instant, he could see the other bombs perfectly in his mind. But he still didn’t know what to remove. There were far too many gears and moving parts. A flintlock from a pistol sat primed, ready to ignite the powder when sprung. He couldn’t take out the wrong thing.

  “If flint hits steel, the whole thing will explode, right?” Olivia asked. “Then—”

  Then he’d just have to see it didn’t.

  He ripped off his glove and jammed it under the flint.

  The flint swung.

  Thud.

  No spark.

  The gears stopped spinning.

  With the breath resuming motion in his lungs, he yanked the entire clockwork from the box and tossed it aside.

  “Nice choice. I was about to do this.”

  He barely dodged the curtain of water that hit the box, flooding the powder.

  “Brilliant girl.” He scooped her in his arms and trailed his lips down her throat until he found the rapid flicker of her heartbeat. He placed a kiss there. Then another.

  Ian stuck his head in the room. “The grand duchess wanted to know who ruined her birthday. I made sure to tell her it was Golov.”

  Kate was at his side. “And the empress is none too glad that the grand duchess is upset.”

  Golov would have some interesting things to contend with in the next few weeks then. The least of which would be his grief over his brother. Strange, strange world. “The colonel claimed to know who was betraying us. He said it was someone regal,” Clayton said.

  Ian stilled. “Interesting. Very.” Then he relaxed. He’d filed away the information wherever it fit in his endless stores of data.

  “Can you two get home on your own?” Clayton asked.

  “Why? What is wrong with my sledge?” Kate asked suspiciously.

  Ian took her arm. “Trust me. You won’t want to know the answer to that question.”

  Clayton caught Olivia’s hand and pulled her out of the parlor and into the now-empty corridor.

  For a moment, they just stood there. Hand in hand. Alive. Breathing.

  The corridor was plain. Simple parquet floors. White walls.

  Not romantic in the slightest. But he refused to risk never having this moment.

  He dropped to one knee.

  She stared at him, her lips parted. At least he could claim to have surprised her.

  “Olivia, will you do me the honor of becoming my entirely too beautiful, brave, and good wife?”

  She grinned at him, but she was also blinking furiously. “I already agreed. But I’ll do it again. Yes.” She tugged him to his feet and kissed the corner of his mouth. “And in case you decide you must ask me still another time—yes, again.”

  He whirled her around until they were both dizzy and laughing. He kissed the wing of her eyebrow. The thin ridge of her nose. Then finally, her glorious lips. Then he had to kiss those again.

  After a long moment, he lifted his lips again. “But promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you’ll run if you’re ever confronted with another bomb.”

  She grinned at him and cupped his cheek. “Sorry, but nothing will ever make me leave your side.”

  Epilogue

  Olivia sorted through the mail the butler had delivered as she walked into the library. The first was a short, elegant card announcing the arrival of Princess Katya Petrovna to London. Penned at the bottom was a handwritten note from Kate with her plans to visit on her way to Wales.

  Olivia’s hand froze on the next envelope. The letter from her solicitor. This was it then. The official end of the mill. At least of it being her mill. When they’d returned to England, Clayton had helped her secure permission from the courts to act on her father’s behalf. Then she’d ordered the mill sold. Someone else would take over the responsibility for the workers. With a portion of the money from the sale, she’d fund the Society for the Humane Treatment of Child Criminals. The rest would go to the vicar to help the local families.

  Clayton looked up from the ledgers in front of him. “Remind me again why you convinced me to tell the emperor I wanted Arshun’s lands as my reward for saving his life. Again.”

  She walked behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I thought you needed something more than camels in Siberia.” But she knew Clayton didn’t truly mind. Blin had been able to return to his family. And without Arshun’s o
ppression, the land was proving remarkably productive.

  “Are you going to open your letter?”

  She nodded, turning the paper in her hands. She’d thought that this moment would be harder, but she’d gained so much more than she’d given up.

  She broke the seal and scanned the contents. She froze, rereading.

  She looked up to find Clayton grinning at her.

  “You bought the mill?”

  “For you. I thought you needed more to occupy that brilliant mind than a husband who adores you.”

  She set down the letter on the desk. They would need to figure out the best strategy for diverting business from the Steltham Mill. And Parliament was thinking of raising the tax on rags again. They’d need to make plans to—

  Clayton’s hand slid down her hip.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  She settled herself in his lap.

  “I never want you to doubt that I’m in awe of the woman you’ve become.”

  She lifted her lips to his. “I don’t need a mill to know that.”

  His kiss was all the proof she needed.

  About the Author

  ANNA RANDOL lives and writes in sunny Southern California. When she’s not plotting sexy storylines, she’s usually eating chocolate, having wild dance parties with her kids in the living room, or remodeling her house, one ill-planned project at a time.

  Anna loves to hear from her readers through her website at www.annarandol.com or on twitter @AnnaRandol.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Romances by Anna Randol

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  SINS OF A VIRGIN

  A MOST NAKED SOLUTION: A NOVELLA

  A SECRET IN HER KISS

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SINS OF A RUTHLESS ROGUE. Copyright © 2013 by Anna Clevenger. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.