Sins of a Ruthless Rogue Page 10

  He resumed his pacing to hide his body’s reaction to that thought. “Prazhdinyeh may try to glean information from Kate as well. If I’m here, I can protect her.”

  “Don’t make yourself sound noble,” the princess said.

  No, he wasn’t noble, that was one delusion he didn’t have.

  “It appears I must go to my attics.” Kate paused by Olivia. “Do you want me to ask a footman to toss him from your room?”

  Olivia shook her head. As she lifted a hand to push back a strand of hair, her sleeve shifted, revealing the scabs on her wrist.

  Kate gasped. “What happened? If Clayton—”

  Olivia spoke before he could decide whether to defend himself. “Prazhdinyeh abducted me. That’s who Clayton rescued me from. That’s why I’m here.”

  Kate’s bluster and animosity vanished. “Did they— Would you prefer a woman tend you?”

  Clayton halted, his hand gripping the door frame. If she wasn’t a revolutionary, then her captors might have . . .

  He hadn’t even asked.

  What if—

  He stared at the straight lines of a candlestick until his gaze could focus. He’d cut Arshun’s bollocks from his body. That wasn’t an empty threat.

  Olivia shook her head, but her eyes were distant. “No, thankfully. One of the revolutionaries protected me from the others.”

  Clayton’s hand fell to his side. Had she been telling the truth about the man at the market? The same man she’d risked everything to inquire about as they escaped the count’s?

  Kate caught her arm to look at the sores and Olivia’s sleeve slipped further, exposing a bruised, egg-sized lump on the back of her forearm.

  That had been his fault alone. Why the devil had she taken the blow? Most people would have flinched away from an attack. He might not believe in apologies, but he did make restitution for his mistakes. “Have the maid fetch ice,” he ordered.

  “I don’t need—”

  “Fetch it.”

  Kate was apparently less than intimidated. “Olivia?”

  Olivia sighed. “A cold compress would be lovely.”

  Kate left, with a frown.

  “Let me see your arm.”

  “It’s fine,” she insisted.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  He gently grasped her arm, trying not to notice the sweet honey smell of her clean skin. He felt along the bones in her arm and after checking thoroughly, released her.

  “Believe it or not, I do know my own body.”

  He would like to as well. Every pale, silken inch. Holding her this afternoon had been heaven and hell. He’d been so angry at her betrayal, and yet as soon as she was against him, that no longer mattered. His only thought had been the woman in his arms. Back where she belonged.

  But she didn’t. He couldn’t let himself believe that. No matter what his lust told him.

  “I wouldn’t be so proud as to hide a broken arm. Not even from you.” Olivia smoothed the sleeve of her robe.

  He forced himself to step away, returning to the window. Ordering his thoughts to settle like the heavy, wet flakes of snow that obscured the sill. But they wouldn’t. They never did when she was around. “Why did you do it?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you take that blow meant for me?” Or defend him to Kate. She hadn’t known he was listening. He was certain of that.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t really have time to think.”

  “I don’t need you to protect or defend me.” Did she think him weak? “It will not alter my opinion of you.”

  “And what is your opinion of me? That I am a traitor? That I am trying to get you captured?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. Did she have any idea how that stance made her breasts jut against her robe? “That is it! I’m finished letting you hold my actions ten years ago over me. Did I betray you? Yes. But I was fifteen years old. I was little more than a child. I went to my father because I didn’t believe your accusations could be true. I never had any idea he would falsely accuse you and have you arrested. I was a fool, yes, but I never meant for any of that to happen.”

  “Neither did you make it right.”

  “Make it right? How could I? I was a child. And do you have any idea how my father reacted to the news that I’d been involved with one of his clerks? When I asked to go to your trial, he thrashed me with his cane.”

  His stomach roiled at the image. But then why did she still give her father her loyalty?

  “When I saw him next, he told me you’d already been hanged.”

  “That must have been a relief.”

  “I grieved for you. I thought you’d died, and part of me—” She swung away from him. “Kate is right about you. You are a coldhearted bastard. You don’t care, do you?”

  “You speak to me of caring? Do you have any idea what happened to my father after I was convicted of treason?”

  She sucked in a breath, and guilt brought tight lines to the corners of her mouth.

  “The bank my father had worked at for thirty years turned him out. No one would hire him. Not with a criminal for a son. My father didn’t protest. He was never the type that would. He finally found a job six months later sweeping filth from the gutters.” The horror in her gaze yielded no satisfaction to him. Only a sharp, stabbing grief that was as new and brilliant as the day he’d learned the news. “He was struck by a carriage two weeks later. It took three days for his mangled body to die. At least, that is what his neighbors told me. I don’t know if that’s the truth. I don’t know how much he suffered. I never got to see him. To explain—” He cut off, his breathing heavy. Unable to put into words the depth of his regret.

  She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Clayton—” Her voice contained the promise of comfort that he’d never allowed himself.

  He knocked it away. “Damn it. Don’t just stand there and take this guilt. Call me a hypocrite. After all, I was too bloody ashamed to go back and see him.” His hands gripped her shoulders, his chest felt like it had been pried open and rearranged by an angry child.

  Olivia’s hands were laced so tightly her fingertips had turned white.

  Yes, he was a coldhearted bastard. He strode to the window, suddenly needing something to keep him upright. As if that tight bundle of anguish had been the fuel for some internal fire. Now it was gone. Extinguished.

  Olivia was silent for several moments. “Will you let me apologize for my part in this?”

  He spun away from the window. How dare she assume a simple apology would—

  But she held up her hand. “I didn’t expect you to.” The color hadn’t returned to her face, but the determination had again tilted her jaw. “I understand about your mother, why you refuse to allow apologies. But that means you’ve left me no choice but to stand here as you flay me with guilt.” Her hands trembled, but she clasped them harder until the trembling stopped. “That I will not bear. If I cannot apologize for my errors, then you aren’t allowed to keep bringing them up.”

  Damnation, but she was glorious.

  And she was right. He might not trust her, but she did have a point.

  The thought was like a kick to the side of the head. A much needed one.

  He released a slow breath. He’d relied on his own judgment for too long, both as leader of the Trio and in his investments. He wasn’t infallible, he knew that, but often only after the fact.

  He might not like to be questioned on his decisions and opinions, but he needed to be.

  Strangely, it was a bit of a relief to be challenged. To be forced to change his way of thinking. His view of the world was so entrenched, it was refreshing to be lifted up enough to see that there were other views.

  And it took a rare person to dare it. “Agreed. I won’t mention it again.”

  Olivia’s mouth parted in surprise. “You won’t?”

  “No.”

  It would be more humane if he snuffed
out the hope in her gaze before it was allowed to flourish. She would no doubt attribute his agreement to some softer emotions he refused to possess.

  Clayton would not go back to the boy she’d known. Poor, gullible, and foolish. He wouldn’t be like his father, hoping for a wife to stay who never would. Waiting for friends to pay back loans they never intended to. “My plans for the mill haven’t changed.”

  The corners of her mouth slowly lowered.

  He felt as if he’d taken a flower and stomped on it with his muddy boots. But if he was a bastard now, at least no one took advantage of him.

  “Yet,” she said.

  “Nothing will change my decision.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I—” He glared at the determined gleam in her eye, the slight tilt of her lips. Minx. “You won’t pull me into a pointless argument over this.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  He grabbed her shoulders, only to freeze. He had no damned idea what he intended to do now. Shake sense into her? But now that his hands were on her, far different images presented themselves. Her body writhing under his as he pressed her against the wall. The moment when her surprise and anger had sparked to arousal.

  A strand of her damp hair clung to his gloves. He cursed them. He hated that they kept him from feeling her sleek tresses. And from feeling the silken fabric that separated him from her skin.

  The silence stretched. Clayton normally liked silence. He knew the power of it, knew how to use it. He’d never been bothered by the weight of it before.

  But now it pressed down on him, threatening to bury him.

  “Baron Komarov.”

  Clayton glanced at the servant at the door.

  “Soldiers are here to escort you and Miss Swift to see the emperor. The princess says to tell you that they’re armed.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The maid tried to tighten Olivia’s borrowed stays, but despite all their fidgeting, Olivia would never be able to match Kate’s more buxom figure.

  The young maid frowned, tugging at the bottom. Iryna was an upstairs maid, but she’d proven apt as a lady’s maid. “I hadn’t thought we’d have to use so many pins on the bosom. I’ll need to fetch more for the dress.”

  “No, this will have to do.” Olivia didn’t want to keep armed soldiers waiting.

  But the maid was already hurrying from the room. “No. No. I’ll fetch some. The dress won’t fit right.”

  Olivia paced to the window and cleared a small section in the foggy glass with her hand. Below, two closed sleighs waited by the entryway. The poor groom tending the horses slogged in snow up to his knees.

  “The emperor cannot know about La Petit.”

  Olivia whirled, grabbing the curtain and pulling it in front to hide her barely covered bosoms. Clayton stood by the adjoining door.

  “I thought that was locked.”

  “It was.”

  “You could have used the main door.” Olivia dropped the curtain. He’d technically seen more of her when she was in the robe a few minutes ago, and it was rather difficult to avoid feeling ridiculous when cowering behind a curtain.

  “I would rather avoid having the servants see us conversing. The less they know, the better.”

  She hadn’t considered that. “You could have knocked.”

  For a brief moment, his gaze slid from her face and across the display of bosom visible above the cups of her stays.

  Her skin heated as if he’d caressed it.

  She jerked her hands up to cover herself, but the pressure of her hands against her too warm flesh was even more disturbing than his gaze.

  He cleared his throat. “And I brought fresh bandages for your arms.”

  The last thing she needed was for him to touch her again. She could still feel the weight of his hands on her shoulders from a few moments ago.

  She held out her arms and he bandaged them. His attention was quick and impersonal; he was even wearing gloves, for pity’s sake, but that didn’t stop her heart from skipping every time he touched her.

  “How did the czar find out we were here so quickly?” she asked.

  “That was why I made a scene with you in the market. I wanted the minister of police and the czar to know I am here.” She could have sworn Clayton’s cheeks had reddened slightly, but his lips remained in a firm line, unapologetic.

  Ah. That piece of the afternoon finally made sense.

  “I need your word that you won’t mention La Petit.”

  Another loop of the fabric. Another brush of his leather-encased finger.

  Her breath quickened. “Then how will I explain—”

  “I’ll speak for us. All I need is your word that you won’t contradict me.”

  Another layer. Another touch. She would be mad by the end of this.

  Focus. “What will you say?”

  “I’ll stay as close to the truth as possible.”

  “Then how will you explain why the revolutionaries kidnapped me?”

  He finally looked up from her wrists. “I’ll claim it was an attempt to lure me here.”

  “That is what you think.”

  He regarded her steadily, the lines of tension around his mouth deepening. And she thought for the first time that perhaps he did have some doubts about her guilt after all.

  “Then why lie at all?” she asked. “Why not tell them everything?”

  “I won’t let anyone else connect La Petit with the code.” His eyes were intense, determined. Whoever this woman was, Clayton cared for her deeply.

  “But you’ll tell him of the threat?”

  “The emperor will know the full extent of the danger to him and his family.”

  She supposed that would have to be enough. “How well do you know the emperor?”

  “I saved his life.”

  Some of the tension uncoiled in her neck. Perhaps they wouldn’t need to break the code at all. Perhaps once they explained the danger to the emperor, he’d cancel the fete, and her good deed would be done. “Then the soldiers are a formality?”

  “Not precisely.”

  Footsteps halted outside. Clayton disappeared into his room before her door opened.

  Iryna rushed her through the rest of her toilette, finally slipping a gown of pale yellow silk over her head.

  By the time Olivia reached the bottom of the stairs, Clayton was pounding a rifle-carrying soldier on the back and accepting a drink from a silver flask offered by another soldier in a green uniform. “No, I swear by then General Mozvan had slipped a dozen of the sausages into his pocket.”

  She almost tripped down the remaining three stairs when he directed a warm, appreciative grin at her. She actually looked down. Surely, neither the yellow dress nor the plain woolen pelisse was stunning enough to— He isn’t actually smiling at you, you ninny. It was another act.

  The soldiers straightened when they saw her. One of them, an officer, she guessed, based on the golden epaulettes on his shoulders, bowed. An amazing feat considering his enormous gut. He spoke in heavily accented English. “Miss Swift, you’re as beautiful as your betrothed claims. How are you enjoying St. Petersburg?”

  Betrothed? She did trip down the last stair, but Clayton caught her before she landed on her face. She dug her elbow into him as she regained her balance. “It’s positively surprising.”

  “Indeed.” The officer kissed her hand. “You should have no fear of the czar’s approval.”

  “I hope not.” She wouldn’t let him see how bewildered she was.

  “The emperor is usually gracious about approving nuptials. And for a favored one such as the baron, I have no doubt at all. I cannot think why they ordered so many of us to come. Perhaps he wanted to show you favor?”

  “Most likely,” Clayton said.

  The officer might have missed Clayton’s slight hesitance, but she didn’t. He’d saved the czar, hadn’t he?

  After she secured a muff from the footman, they hurried outside to the sleigh. The groom arranged furs
and heated bricks around them, and then the horses jerked into motion, the runners scratching across the snow.

  She could think of no reason the czar would be unhappy to see the man who’d saved his life, but the officer’s presence across from them in the sleigh made it difficult for her to ask.

  Difficult but not impossible.

  She just needed to ask the right questions. “Darling, you must tell me the full story of how you saved the emperor. I’m afraid you’ve been too modest.”

  Clayton flashed her a quick glare, but as she’d hoped, the officer seconded her request.

  Since Clayton had decided to play the affable nobleman, he had no choice but to comply. “My regiment was assigned to escort the czar’s carriage through St. Petersburg. As we crossed the Palace Square, a revolutionary threw a bomb through the window of the coach. I was simply the closest soldier to the door.”

  The officer spoke. “He’s definitely too humble! What he has declined to say is that he grabbed the bomb with his bare hands, not knowing when it would explode, and threw it into the river.”

  Olivia sucked in a breath.

  The officer grinned at her. “So you can see he is well-favored indeed.”

  Clayton pulled the fur blanket tighter around the two of them. When she would have asked another question, his hand rested on her leg, silencing her.

  For the rest of the ride, Clayton chatted nonstop about the weather and fashion and his recent trip to England, where they’d apparently met. But his hand remained on her knee. Four fingers on the inside of her thigh and his thumb on the outside. His hand never tightened. Never loosened. But she could think of nothing else. Had he forgotten it was there? Or was he prepared to stop her from speaking again?

  The sleigh came to a halt in front of a vast palace. Unlike the palace she’d seen in London, this one wasn’t separated from the city by gardens and gates. It dominated the center of it.

  White classical columns topped with gold soared up the heavily ornate exterior, but as if one column simply wasn’t grand enough, a second column was stacked on the first. Bronze statues stood watch along the edge of the roof, their identities shrouded by a thick layer of snow.

  The soldiers led them through the huge arched doors into a hall with a checkered floor of white and black marble. High above, painted cherubs and Greek heroes cavorted on a ceiling illuminated by rows of elegantly arched windows. Two staircases rose up in opposite directions only to meet again at a landing at the top.