Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

Clayton held up his paper. “My list is complete. Since yours is shorter, read it to me and I’ll mark off any we have in common.”


He wasn’t even going to respond to her confession?

“Clayton—”

“My plans for the mill will proceed with or without me. Nothing has changed.”

“What? How?”

But he straightened his paper. “The list?”

She read the list slowly, waiting for him to call out a match, but also waiting for him to react to her confession. He couldn’t truly be as

uncaring about it as he seemed. But by the time she’d finished, he hadn’t stopped her once. And not once had he looked at her with

shock. Betrayal. Anything but focused concentration. “Nothing,” she said.

“There was little chance of this working. After all, either one of them might have burned the book they used for the code. Or it might

have been misplaced. Stolen by a servant. Given away.” He stood and with a harsh exhale sent a pile of books crashing to the floor.

They both stared at the mess, shocked by his reaction. He strode to the window and braced his hands on either side of the frame. “

What am I supposed to think about you?” His words almost desperate. “Tell me. Can I trust you?”

“I’m not a revolution—”

“I know you’re not. But what am I supposed to do with this information you gave me? How did you think I would respond? How the

devil should I?”

Olivia straightened the paper on the table, making it even with the edge, needing something to look at besides his face. Her throat

felt dry, but Clayton hadn’t allowed the servants to leave anything to drink.

She didn’t know what to tell him. She couldn’t tell him to trust her. Not when the truth about her father and the money she’d used for

the mill was still unspoken. “I want to know if I can trust you.”

He spun to face her. “What?”

Her answer surprised her as much as him. But it was too painful to be anything but the truth. “I need to know if I can trust you with my

mistakes. I’ve made them, you know, big ones. And I know you don’t like second chances. Or apologies.”

“I saw my mother a year ago.”

It might have seemed like a change in topic, but Olivia knew exactly why his thoughts returned to her. “Where?”

“She was at the theater. She’s married to a butcher now.”

Olivia picked the blanket up off the floor. “She must be doing well if they could afford to—”

“I saw her backstage with one of the actors.”

Olivia stood and went to wrap the blanket around Clayton. He refused her with a sharp shake of his head. “Despite all the chances

she had, she never changed.”

The mill.

She clung to the thought to keep from exposing the rest of her deceptions. Those people deserved their second chance just as

much as she did.

She couldn’t take it from them.

And if she revealed her secrets, that’s what would happen.

There was a knock. Clayton opened the door again and checked each footman before allowing them to enter with a large copper

tub and steaming buckets of water.

Neither Clayton nor Olivia looked at each other. Neither of them wanted to finish the conversation they’d begun.

But even with the tension between them, he stood sentinel between her and the servants the entire time. When one of the footmen

tried to bring in a tray of food, Clayton ordered him to return it to the kitchen.

Unfortunately for her stomach, the heavenly scents of pork dumplings with melted butter lingered.

“We’ll require fresh clothing and a screen,” Clayton said.

A screen? Did he intend— But of course, he did. He hadn’t precisely let her state of undress stop him before.

Neither had she.

“And soap and oil for the bath. Jasmine, if you have it,” Clayton added after a pause.

The soap made sense. “Why the oil?”

He paced the room checking the locks, watching out the window. “I thought that was the scent you preferred.”

“It is.” He’d done it for her. “That was . . . sweet.” And unexpected. And blast it all, why were her eyes stinging?

He wouldn’t look at her. He was pulling away and she didn’t know what to do to stop it. Her deceptions were a barrier for her. Her

truths were a barrier for him.

When the footman bearing a large Oriental screen and the other requested items left, Olivia stood. If this didn’t affect him, she

wouldn’t let it affect her. She’d slip around the screen and strip as if he hadn’t just been stealing moans from her lips. As if she hadn’

t bared herself far more completely with words.

Clayton opened the bottle of oil and sniffed. “Rose. Will that work?”

“Do you expect me to protest?”

“You might have at one time, but not anymore.” He poured some of the oil into the bath. “I’ll leave you in privacy behind the screen.”

She nodded as if this were a perfectly normal arrangement, as if—she was ashamed to admit—her breasts weren’t still throbbing

from his touch.

She lifted her chin and strode toward the black lacquered divider and the steaming water behind it.

“Will you need help with your buttons?”

Botheration. So much for her dramatic exit. “Yes.”

He stepped behind her and made quick work of the buttons down her back. She wanted to look to see how he managed so easily

with his injured hand, but she found she didn’t want to know anything more about him. She didn’t dare find more to admire.

Clayton cleared his throat twice. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Will you need help with anything else?”

“No.”

His boots were nearly silent on the carpet. “I’ll recheck our lists and see if there’s something I missed.”

Even though she knew he hadn’t missed anything, it was far preferable to think of him poring over lists rather than staring at the

screen.

Had he ever seen the incomparable Madeline naked?

Olivia was suddenly quite grateful for the screen to cover her too long legs and less than abundant bosom.

And bruises. They covered her now. Her wrists. Her arms. Her stomach. It gave her an eerie resemblance to the cheetah she’d once

seen at a menagerie.

As she slipped into the water, she couldn’t suppress a moan. She hadn’t spared a moment to think about her exhaustion and aching

muscles until that instant.

But Clayton undoubtedly would appreciate use of the water for himself. So after scrubbing herself as thoroughly as she could, she

stepped out and dried off, her skin pebbling instantly in the cold.

When she had a clean dress on, she moved from behind the screen and allowed Clayton to fasten her, trying to keep her teeth from

chattering. As soon as he was done, Clayton took the blanket from his shoulders and tucked it around her.

Several minutes later, she wondered how Clayton had sat here without going mad. She stared at the same list he had, but each

splash of water drew her eyes to the screen and her mind to what lay behind it. She picked up the prince’s ring that Clayton had