Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

Bitter. Cloying.

He spat out the tea and lunged toward Olivia, knocking her cup from her hand as she raised it to her mouth, sending the liquid

splattering across the carpet.

She stared at the rocking cup, lips still pursed to take a sip.

“Poison.” He set down his own cup, then jumped to his feet. “The professor.”

She scrambled up from her chair. “Did he try to kill us?”

Clayton picked up the teapot and sniffed. “No. The entire thing is poisoned. And he drank some.”

They ran to the study. The professor lay in a crumpled heap, his face purple, eyes bulging. Clayton knelt and checked the body for a

heartbeat, then closed the eyes. “He’s dead.”

Pale crescents deepened on either side of Olivia’s mouth, but she surveyed the piles of books, papers, and writings scattered

around the room. “Do you know anyone else who might have Vasin’s pamphlet?”

He understood her concern. There had to be thousands of books and papers. He could see no system of organization. They might

search for days and never find the pamphlet.

“Wait.” He stepped around the body. “This pile was twice as tall when we passed by originally.” He pointed to a stack in front of the

bookcase a few feet from where the professor had fallen.

“You noticed?”

He’d always remembered small details, but the Foreign Office trained him to recognize the significance in them.

He sorted through the papers. There it was. Three pages down.

From the Ashes Reborn.

Clayton tucked the paper in his waistcoat, then pulled Olivia after him until they were safe in the dim twilight of the snowy evening.

Perhaps not so safe.

The sleigh that was supposed to wait for them was gone. Not a promising sign. He couldn’t risk taking her back into the house, so

he started walking.

They’d gone only a few hundred feet when a footman left Mir’s house and started in their direction. He could be heading out on

some perfectly valid errand, but Clayton wasn’t taking that chance. He quickened their pace.

Olivia fell slightly behind him so she could walk in his footsteps in the knee-deep snow.

A stoop-shouldered laborer stepped from behind white-capped bushes ahead of them, deliberately blocking that path.

Clayton grabbed his knife from his boot, then spun Olivia around to head in the other direction. Two heavy men had joined the

footman with a purposefully casual stroll.

Damnation. He should have anticipated an ambush.

Where could he send Olivia so she’d be safe? The neighborhood had cleared of people as the temperature dropped with the sun.

Across from the street lay the granite-lined bank of the Neva, but it offered no cover. The thick snow made it difficult to walk, let

alone run.

He’d take out the laborer with a dagger to the throat, then send Olivia to safety while he delayed the footman and the other two.

“When I give the word, I want you to run ahead. There’s a bridge a half mile up. There will be a policeman nearby to monitor it. Don’t

stop until you reach him.” He handed his first dagger to Olivia, before unsheathing another. “Don’t hesitate to use that if cornered.”

Another two men joined the laborer.

Hellfire. He had only three knives. He’d planned on throwing the dagger, retrieving it, and throwing it at the party behind him to even

the numbers somewhat. But with two more so close, the thrown dagger would be lost. It was still his best option, but he’d be left with

five to fight hand to hand.

Clayton waited until he and Olivia were a dozen feet from the laborer. The man pulled a gun.

He’d just volunteered for death.

The dagger flew from Clayton’s fingers, and the man dropped to his knees with a wet gurgle.

“Now!” Clayton shoved Olivia to the right while he lunged to intercept the other two. He stabbed the short one in the gut, but the bulky

fellow in a gray scarf attacked in the same moment. Clayton blocked a cudgel inches before it slammed into his skull. When Clayton

tried to reattack, the man deflected easily. Gray Scarf wasn’t a simple thug; most likely a former soldier, which made him far more

dangerous.

The wounded man on the ground shrieked, making it difficult to hear the other attackers approaching from behind. Clayton backed

toward the river and risked a glance over his shoulder. Ten feet.

The cudgel slammed into his side. Clayton would have dropped to his knees if the snow wasn’t bracing his legs upright. His next

block protected his head, but succeeded in driving his knees into the snow.

He couldn’t let them go after Olivia. This thought brought him back to his feet and gave him the speed to slice Gray Scarf’s hand as

the man prepared to swing.

Gray Scarf merely grunted and switched hands.

Clayton flinched out of the reach of a new knife flashing toward him. The other attackers had reached him.

He stabbed one in the throat while kicking out to keep the other men back, but pain exploded as someone landed a punch to the

side of his face.

Three remained. Including Gray Scarf, who was biding his time until he could land a clear blow.

Hell. If he wanted to survive this— Clayton leaped up over the embankment and onto the icy river six feet below. The ice creaked

beneath him.

They all stilled until the noise ceased. When it held Clayton’s weight, one of the men followed, leaping onto the ice nearby.

But Clayton could handle one man, even if he was armed. And with a single feint and thrust, his opponent fell.

With a shout, the footman jumped onto the ice. Clayton dispatched him as well, retreating from the crimson snow now encircling him.

Gray Scarf was wise enough to keep his vulnerable throat hidden beyond the edge of the embankment. Only his eyes were visible.

“Do you wish to join your friends?” Clayton asked, adjusting his weight so he’d be able to move quickly on the ice.

Then Gray Scarf’s head disappeared completely from the edge of the embankment. But he wasn’t the type to simply give up. Not a

seasoned campaigner like him.

A huge chunk of paving stone landed on the ice next to Clayton.

The sharp, brittle sound of ice cracking echoed along the granite walls.

Another rock smashed clean through the ice, leaving a few remnants bobbing in the black space. Sharp white slashes splintered

toward him.

Clayton scrambled back to the embankment, but he could gain little purchase on the smooth, frozen stone of the embankment.

Water seeped up through the cracks, spreading around his feet.

Now Gray Scarf’s entire head appeared. His scarf still covered his mouth, but Clayton didn’t need to see it to know he must be

grinning evilly as he held another huge rock over Clayton’s head. Even if Clayton managed to dodge it, the rock would put him

through the ice.

“Step away from him!”

Olivia.