Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

come up with was run at her first opportunity.

After the girl finished, Olivia patted the intricate loops twisted into her hair and shivered as the air slid over a generous amount of

exposed bosom. She was glad for the moment that there was no mirror in the room. At least she could imagine herself transformed

into a temptress.

She burrowed her face in the scratchy woolen blanket one last time, then squared her shoulders. She refused to huddle away. She’d

faced down an angry duke outside the House of Lords, she could survive a count.

Surely, what La Petit did as a spy couldn’t be that much different from when she tried to convince politicians not to hang children.

She knew how to flatter, how to find common ground. She could spin a tragic tale to make men weep.

She’d even mastered fluttering her eyelashes.

She exhaled. She could do this. If the count wanted to find La Petit, she would be La Petit.

Or at least give the count reason to believe she might be. He surely wouldn’t expect her to confess. So if she claimed to be Olivia

Swift, she wouldn’t need to fear contradicting herself.

She’d hoped Blin would escort her, but Nicolai was there as the door opened again. His eyes widened as he surveyed her, then he

pulled two metal bands from his coat.

If he thought she’d allow him to restrain her again—

But they were silver cuff bracelets. He clasped the cool metal around the scabs and bruises encircling her wrists.

Nicolai’s hands were sweaty as he released her.

“Afraid?” she asked him. “I seem to recall the count didn’t want me hurt.”

His lips twisted, but he had to fight to keep the expression from trembling. “Nothing will come of it. He will understand my methods.

After all, he chose me for this mission.”

His fingers dug into her arms as he forced her down a set of stairs. She kept her shoulders slumped but her head up. She’d have

only one chance to escape. She couldn’t afford to miss it. After that, she’d either be dead or more tightly restrained.

From what little she’d seen out her window, the servants were still occupied with the count’s arrival. She hadn’t seen a single person

in the corridor.

It was only Nicolai.

Her chances were never going to be better than this.

She drove her elbow back into Nicolai’s stomach. She jerked away and darted into an empty parlor, slamming the door behind her.

She threw a chair against it, then ran to the window. The latch was stuck. She rammed her fingers against it three times. Four.

The chair scraped along the floor as the door opened.

She reached behind her, searching for something. A candlestick. A book. Something to smash the glass. Something to protect

herself with.

Pain slammed against the side of her head, and she fell against a small table, sending it clattering against the wall.

A red-faced Nicolai blurred in front of her. “Fool!” He grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. He shook her, making her head snap

back. “Do you have any idea—”

He wrenched himself away.

“What is the meaning of this?” A man’s voice spoke in French. Olivia twisted toward it.

A well-dressed youth stood in the doorway. He was young, perhaps twenty. Slight, fair-haired, and perfectly dressed. Two hulking

servants flanked him.

“She tried to escape.” Nicolai’s French was halting, not nearly as smooth as his English.

She’d forgotten most Russian aristocrats chose to speak French.

The young man placed a hand on his hip. “She is La Petit.” He minced toward them. “You should have brought guards when you

moved her.”

If this was the count, perhaps she had a chance after all.

Nicolai backed away.

“You more than live up to my expectations.” Arshun’s eyes devoured her bosom.

What if he thought she’d be willing to bargain with her body? Was she willing?

She exhaled, not ready to make that decision. He was young. Perhaps he could be swayed. “I am not La Petit. I’m the daughter of a

papermaker.”

Arshun laughed like it was a hilarious jest. “Exactly as I’d hoped!” He cleared his throat as if preparing to play a role. “Do not

provoke me. I know you can decipher the code.” Then he grinned.

Was this a game to him, then?

“I’m looking forward to our time together,” he continued, his voice more normal. “I must hear how you seduced our glorious founder.

From what I hear, he was a dried-up husk of a man. If you could sway him, I’m intrigued to see what you’ll do for me.” He grabbed

her hand to lift to his lips, but paused with her fingers inches from his mouth. A mottled flush crept up his neck.

He pushed back the bracelet, revealing the wounds left by the ropes. “You marked her. I told you I didn’t want her marked.” His voice

grew louder, like that of a petulant child. “This is how you repay me for my trust?”

Nicolai pressed himself against the wallpaper. “You said yourself, she is La Petit. I had to ensure—”

Arshun snapped his fingers. The man to his right drew a pistol and shot Nicolai through the heart. He fell to the ground, a stunned

expression locked on his face.

Arshun just dusted a speck of gunpowder from his sky blue sleeve and offered Olivia his arm.

Olivia’s breath came high and fast in her chest, and she wasn’t sure until she took her first step that she’d be able to move. La Petit

had no doubt seen many deaths. She couldn’t afford to give herself away by fainting now.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

She’d hated Nicolai, but now his blood squished in the rug under her satin slippers. She didn’t fool herself that she’d be able to

keep from retching if she looked down.

Instead, she focused on the glinting silver button on Arshun’s waistcoat and accepted his arm with the grace countless governesses

had drilled into her. “You are quite the decisive leader.”

Arshun’s chest puffed. “One has to be.” He placed his hand over hers. “Shall we go in to dinner? I’ll explain my plans for the imperial

family.”

Clayton crept away from the open crate. Arshun was gathering weapons. That didn’t bode well.

There weren’t many here yet. Perhaps one hundred. They’d need to be destroyed.

But first he needed to find Olivia.

Clayton stepped over the servant he’d tied and left next to the crates. The bald man was still unmoving, but the heavy coat he wore

should keep him alive until he either awoke or was found by the next patrol of guards.

Hugging the shadows of the house, Clayton inched closer to the brightly lit window. He needed to get a sense of where most of the

people were in the house, so when he entered to begin his search, he’d have few surprises. Once he determined the number of

servants and Arshun’s whereabouts, he could find where they were keeping her—

Right there.