Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

She couldn’t let herself be disappointed. She’d made progress with Clayton. The fact that he’d arranged for her to have the dress

she admired could only be good. He was softening. She refused to give up.

Hands clamped on her waist.

“What the devil were you thinking, going off by yourself?” Clayton whirled her about and pulled her tight against his chest. His face

was pale, yet arranged into angry slashes. He exhaled with measured control as if trying to master his rage.

She shoved against his hands, but he wouldn’t be budged. He’d ignored her all evening, then thought he could castigate her for

going to the window? “I didn’t leave the ballroom.” It wasn’t as if she’d even walked more than a few dozen feet away.

“Why didn’t you take Kate with you?”

“Because I wanted a moment alone.” She glared at him. “Which you are spoiling. So good evening.”

Clayton knew he was overreacting. But damnation, he hadn’t been able to find her. He caught Olivia’s wrist and tugged her through

the door to the right and out into the corridor before they attracted even more attention.

Her breasts strained against her bodice with each breath and her hand dug rather painfully into his damaged hand, but he still

couldn’t let go. It was as if his body hadn’t yet registered what his eyes knew.

She was safe.

It was with vague surprise that he realized he’d pressed her against the wall in a deserted parlor. He released her arm, moving his

hands to the wall on either side of her head. His calming breaths did nothing but bring the scent of her deeper into his lungs. Until he

knew he’d never be able to walk past jasmine without searching for the underlying scent of this woman.

She was innocent. She wasn’t a revolutionary.

He finally had to accept it. Apparently, his heart had already believed it. When he’d lost sight of her, he hadn’t thought once about

her making contact with the revolutionaries; his only thought had been that he’d failed her. That someone had hurt her. That he

should have warned her about his fears. That he shouldn’t have placed her in the ballroom like a rabbit before the hounds.

He ran his hand down her cheek, only to earn a glare.

“Dobre vecher, if that makes what I said clearer,” she said.

“I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I was . . .” Was he truly about to admit this? Yes, apparently. “ . . . concerned.”

Her gaze softened, and after a hint of deliberation, she caught his hand, trapping it against her cheek. The tension eased from her

spine. And her lips softened, nudging upward to a satisfied angle.

It should have pleased him, but it didn’t. She shouldn’t forgive him. Not that easily. The warmth of her skin through his gloves was like

a brand of guilt.

“Ask me.” The words rasped from him. “Ask me why I was so concerned.”

She blinked, her brows drawing together. “What?”

“Ask me about my plans for the evening. Ask me how I’d hoped the revolutionaries would come after you so I could catch them.”

She paled and pressed herself hard against the wall. Away from him. But then something in her face shifted. A new determination

set her jaw, and she cupped his face. “What if I asked why you’re telling me your plan now? Why not continue to sit back and

observe?”

Because the thought of anything happening to her had eaten at him like acid. And there was no way in hell he’d ever intentionally

risk her again. “Because I want you too damned much.”

But he had to make her see that he wasn’t noble. She wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. That the light in her eye was

misplaced.

So he kissed her. His kiss was hard and cruel, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of her scalp. It was a kiss meant to punish.

To convince. But when her hands settled on the smooth wool of his jacket, they didn’t push him away.

They pulled him closer.

A sudden release of tension weakened his knees. He opened his lips with silent desperation. He didn’t want her to push him away.

He needed this too much. Comfort. Solace. Her. Things he’d sworn he had no need of when they parted. “A good man would walk

away,” he said.

He cupped the back of her head, his thumb soothing the delicate skin below it. His other hand followed her buttons down her back to

her bottom. “I’m not a good man any longer.”

Olivia gasped at his boldness, then rocked her hips to meet his. This embrace was nothing like the sweet fumbles they’d exchanged

as children. This was as dark and disillusioned as he’d become. “No, you are far better.”

His growl sounded like both disagreement and longing. He wrenched himself away, and for the first time, she saw him. Not Clayton

the coldhearted spy, and not the innocent boy she’d once known, but some mixture of both. Wild. Aroused. Hurting. It was there in

the defiant set of his shoulders. In the agony in his eyes. In the slight tremor of his hands.

Before she could inhale, he buried those emotions deep, leaving himself hardened and emotionless once again.

But his shield fell too late.

She surmised that his gaze was supposed to discomfit her now, but she met the steel in his eyes calmly. Or at least as calmly as her

still pounding heart and tingling skin would allow.

She’d been wrong to think she could help him go back to the boy she’d known. That innocent, tender boy had been sacrificed by her

foolishness all those years ago. But the man he’d been forced to become wasn’t dreadful, as Clayton seemed to think. In fact, the

things she’d admired most about the boy had survived, just reforged. Tempered. Strengthened.

And she’d do everything in her power to ensure he saw it, too.





chapter Sixteen

Olivia nodded at the professor next to her at the imperial dining table. He taught chemistry at one of the universities, and surprisingly

enough, they’d managed to find a topic of discussion: bleaches for paper manufacture. It was actually a topic she should have been

able to pay more attention to; after all, it directly affected the mill. But as much as she focused, she couldn’t keep her gaze from

straying to where Clayton sat near the emperor and empress at the head of the impossibly long table, several hundred guests away.

He was watching her, his gaze dark and intense.

She knew she should be angry that he’d chosen to use her as bait, and part of her was. But most of her was stunned that he’d

admitted to it.

And how had she never known her body could ignite like that? She’d assumed her expectations of lovemaking were nothing but

fantasy. That her memories of what she’d shared with Clayton had become exaggerated with time.

There had been no exaggeration.

A footman reached past her, and Olivia let him take the plate even though she’d wanted to eat that last bit of meat. As soon as this

course was removed, she could speak with the man on her left.

Golov.