Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

heart.


Finally, she managed to draw a normal breath, and although her heart slowed, it didn’t return to normal. How could it? It didn’t belong

to her.

Kate tapped her spoon on the rim of her cup and placed it on her saucer. “I’m a firm believer in being honest with yourself.”

Which was one of Olivia’s greatest weaknesses. She loathed herself for it. Yet she could convince herself of the correctness of

anything if it suited her goals. In retrospect, she could always see the flaws, how she’d rationalized or ignored an important fact, but

she’d learned the art of justification so well she didn’t know she was doing it.

“How do you do it?” Olivia finally asked, staring at the intricate embroidery on the table linen.

Kate set down her cup. “You have to be willing to accept yourself and all the flaws inside you. And you have to be willing to accept

the consequences of every action you take. We all have ugly bits, but you can learn not to fear letting others see them.”

Olivia nodded, still not meeting her gaze. The red pattern on the linen blurred before her suddenly stinging eyes. “But what if they are

really, truly ugly?”

“The people who matter won’t care.”

Kate was a princess. Of course, no one cared.

“I’ve found that most people aren’t honest with themselves because they fear what they’d have to give up if they were.” Kate leveled

her gaze on Olivia. “So you betrayed him when you were a child. Does it mean you plan to give him up now that you found him

again?”

“What more can I do? He was sentenced to hang because of me. He spent ten years as a spy.”

“He got you kidnapped and dragged to Russia. I’d say you are near even.”

Olivia’s hand shook, sloshing tea on her skirts. Could Kate possibly be—

But she trapped the pleasant spark of hope before it could wander further than her heart. She hadn’t told Kate everything. She hadn’

t told her about the banknotes that Clayton wouldn’t forgive her for using.

And if she was finally honest with herself, she knew she couldn’t forgive herself for using them, either.

She busied herself dabbing at the stains. But it was too late for the delicate silk. “There’s too much between us for love to work. But

does it seem arrogant that I think I can help him not be so cold? Am I too presumptuous? Especially when I know there can never be

anything between us?”

“Why do you want to help him?”

“Because it’s my fault he’s closed himself off.”

“And?” Kate pressed.

Olivia placed the napkin on the table, picked it back up again and set it on her lap, and then tossed it on the table in a crumpled pile.

She rearranged her skirts to hide the spots instead. “And because I love him and this is the closest I can come to showing that.”

Sweet mercy. She’d said it out loud. She pressed her sweaty palms against her skirt. There was no taking it back now, no more

denying the truth.

Kate nodded. “Then no, I don’t think it seems arrogant at all.”

Olivia looked up as the clock chimed in the corridor. She was grateful for the reassurance, and the topic was still too fresh, too

tender, for her to want to discuss further. “I should work on the code.”

“Can I see it?” Kate asked.

Olivia hesitated, but Clayton seemed to trust the princess, at least to a point. He’d chosen to come to her house and told her about

the revolutionaries. At this point, Olivia needed any help she could obtain. She unfolded the paper between them. But after a few

minutes, neither of them could come up with anything.

Kate stood, folding her arms, and then tapping her chin with one finger. “You can continue to work. I will turn my attention to where I

can be useful. Provisioning.” She eyed Olivia. “If you’re to attend the emperor’s ball, you’ll need a dress. One slightly better than that.

I know we had to find you one at the last minute, but I cannot think of a single positive thing to say about that dress.”

Olivia smoothed one of the gaping sections of the gown. “It smells better than sheepskin?”

Kate snorted and circled the chair where Olivia sat. “We can do better than that. I didn’t have much time to work with your wardrobe

before, but now I have a whole four hours.”

“I don’t want to trouble—”

“I built a shelter in a blizzard with less time. I can certainly outfit you. My maid’s sister is a fabulous modiste.”

Kate called her maid and took Olivia’s measurements. “I was thinking I should hold a dinner in your honor tomorrow. If you and

Clayton are to be favored by the emperor tonight, it will look odd if I don’t host a few select engagements. How did Clayton explain

you to the emperor, by the way? I don’t want to contradict your story.”

Olivia looked up from the code, her cheeks hot. “As his betrothed. He claimed Prazhdinyeh used me to lure him here.”

“Why would they want him?”

She’d asked him that same question, but now she could supply a dozen reasons. The soldier’s recital of Clayton’s heroics only

reinforced what Olivia had always known—Clayton was invaluable. “The code.”

Kate sighed. “He’d be good at that, wouldn’t he?” Her voice was resigned. “I always told him he was wasted as a common soldier.

But it turns out he never was one. So how do you plan to free the heart of a man who doesn’t think he has one?”

Olivia lifted her shoulder, her smile as fragile as old parchment. “I’ll simply convince him he’s still the man I always knew him to be.”

There were no revolutionaries.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a matter to cause disappointment, but considering Clayton stood across the street from Arshun’s St.

Petersburg house, it was disheartening.

Clayton hadn’t expected to find Arshun there, but he’d held out some small hope that after he raised a ruckus on the doorstep, one

of the servants would be suspicious enough—and knowledgeable enough— to send Arshun word.

But after an hour standing in the snow, Clayton had to concede that they’d been telling the truth. They didn’t know his whereabouts.

He curled his toes in his boots, his hands in his gloves. Three times. Then four. Despite all the tricks he knew to avoid frostbite, this

time had been a near thing.

And had gained him no information at all.

With a sharp slash of his hand, he filled the circle of compacted snow that marked the spot he’d been occupying with fresh powder,

smoothing it until it was indistinguishable from the snow around it.

Once assured his feet were capable of movement, he quickened his pace until he was running, until his toes burned from the

sudden intrusion of blood flow as his circulation returned to normal. Clayton kept his steps confined to snow that had already been

packed down. It would make him difficult to follow, but it also made for several teetering moments.