Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

“It’s quite tragic.”


Both the general and his wife leaned even further forward. Olivia could definitely see a nipple. The headache Olivia was supposed

to feign felt far too real now. But she was not going to cede Clayton to this trollop.

She opened her mouth to tell the other woman of her wardrobe inadequacy, but Clayton’s hand clamped over hers.

“It simply goes to show that a horse should never develop feelings for a pig,” he said.

Olivia didn’t say anything, but neither could she make her jaw close.

“A pig?” Kate asked, her voice strangled.

“Indeed, a fine warhorse. He insisted on following around one of the swine the regiment kept for food.”

The general chuckled. “That was quite the sight.”

He really did think he’d been there.

“Unfortunately, one of the male pigs took offense and attacked.”

“The pig attacked your horse?” Olivia asked.

Clayton turned to her, the concern on his face so almost genuine she had to bite her knuckle in pretended horror to keep the

laughter from escaping.

Kate gulped her tea.

“It was a cruel attack.”

The general’s wife stiffened, offended. “Surely, your warhorse was able to trounce him.”

Clayton let out a long sigh. “The pig rallied several of his friends to his aid. Clooter fought valiantly, but by the time I was able to

reach him, it was too late.”

Olivia knew then that this story was entirely false and entirely for her benefit. Clooter had been one of the workers at her father’s mill,

a crotchety old man with the face of a horse. She sucked in slow breaths. Kate really should have asked Clayton before filling his

time with visitors.

“They killed him?” the general’s wife asked.

“No, but he was terrified of grunts after that, and on the battlefield—”

Olivia jumped to her feet. She couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore; she knew her face must be flushed from trying not to giggle like

an idiot.

“I’m sorry. This story is too much for me. Please, excuse me.”

Mrs. Smirken shot her a smug look. “Do continue, Baron. I find your stories fascinating.”

Clayton’s gaze moved between them. He lifted an eyebrow. “And added to his previous fear of chickens, that made him quite

unusable on the battlefield—as you quite wisely counseled me, General.”

Olivia fled. She managed to make it to the stairs before collapsing in poorly muffled mirth. She wondered what Golov’s spies would

report about that.

After a few moments, she was able to calm to a less embarrassing chortle and resumed climbing the stairs. Clayton would deserve

two points for that story if they were still playing their little game. She’d forgotten just how good he was at the absurd. For a man so

smart, one would have thought he’d have a dry intellectual wit. And while Clayton had possessed that, he’d also found hilarity in the

ridiculous. The street puppet shows she found inane had him laughing until his sides hurt. Until she couldn’t help laughing because

he was laughing so hard he snorted.

Olivia settled by the stack of books and papers in her room and wrote down the remaining titles. There really weren’t very many

more.

She should help Clayton with his portion. He might be rather exhausted after any more time in the general’s company. She picked

up her list and opened the adjoining door.

A rough hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her inside.





chapter Nineteen

Clayton took the stairs two at a time. He still wasn’t quite sure where that story had come from during the general’s visit. He hadn’t

liked seeing Olivia embarrassed by Marya’s blatant overtures. But he could have stopped her with a cutting remark.

Instead, he’d chosen the option that made Olivia’s eyes sparkle and her lips twitch.

Marya apparently wanted to try for a repeat of their night together. But that wasn’t going to happen. There’d never been anything

more than a single mediocre night at her instigation. And she’d spent half the time flinching away from his hand. The other half, after

he put his glove back on, she’d just lain there limp. Apparently, gracing him with her beauty was enough. Not precisely what he was

looking for in a bedmate.

Unlike Olivia, who had met his kiss with—

He wasn’t going to follow that line of thought.

Like hell he wasn’t. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of the perfection of her kisses. He’d crafted and discarded a dozen

compliments that couldn’t quite capture the bliss. He hadn’t told Olivia, but each barely repressed quiver, each swivel of her hips,

each gasp of pleasure had severed some band deep within him. Liberating him. Freeing him of years of constant tension and

suspicion. Reminding him what it felt like to be a man who cared for passion and pleasure and the feelings of the woman in his

arms.

He hadn’t thought he missed that. It had been a frivolous part of him that he hadn’t needed to survive. But he felt as if his soul had

opened to the sunshine for the first time in years.

He slowed as he neared their rooms. The prospect of working on the code the rest of the afternoon no longer loomed so—

Voices.

He stilled. Training clamped back down into place. He quieted his breathing so he could hear more clearly. It was possible that

Olivia was speaking to her maid.

No. It was clearly a man’s voice.

Perhaps a maid and one of the footmen—but no, that was definitely Olivia. He couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her voice was too

muffled.

Frightened.

He drew the knife he had hidden in his boot, trying to relax his hand around the hilt before he reached the door. He needed Olivia’s

attacker alive for questioning.

Olivia squeaked.

No, he’d have Olivia’s attacker’s entrails dripping on his knife.

Clayton slammed open the door.

A man’s broad back was to Clayton. He held Olivia. Or was trying to. She struggled wildly. He muttered something to her. She

screamed an outraged reply into the hand covering her mouth.

Clayton threw the knife.

Just before the knife struck, the attacker released Olivia and spun around, knocking the knife aside with his arm.

Ian.

Clayton had nearly killed his friend.

But before that could fully register, Olivia was screaming loud and long, a scream determined to bring the entire house running.

Ian swore. “Remember how I told you not to scream when I released you?”

“I never agreed.” Olivia blinked slowly, taking note that Clayton hadn’t moved to attack again and Ian looked more annoyed than

concerned.

“I cannot believe you never mentioned me, Clayton. The Trio. That means three of us. Not just you and La Petit.” Ian rubbed at his

palm, where Olivia must have bitten him. “And I admire your determination not to believe me.”