Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

Clayton took Ian’s remaining blanket and tucked it around her. “Is that a threat?”


She glared at him, hoping it masked some of her fear. “Yes.”

Ian rolled his shoulders, then twisted from side to side. “Seven minutes . . . I’ve always liked a challenge. We’ll do it in five.”

The two men approached the house, then disappeared.

Silence.

No matter how she strained, she couldn’t hear any sounds of a struggle.

The horse whickered in complaint and Olivia loosened her hold on the reins. She began counting in her head. It was better that than

think about what was going on inside. She’d counted to sixty five times when the front door swung open. Ian stepped out and waved.

She urged the horse toward the house. Once she’d secured the reins to a tree, she ran up the steps to the house.

“Is Clayton all right?”

Ian led her past where three unconscious young men were tied. “Of course. Sorry I took so long, I was trying to keep Clayton from

killing the count with his bare hands. Well, not his bare hands, they’re gloved as always, of course.”

Olivia didn’t wait to hear the rest of Ian’s commentary. The corridor into the back of the house was impossibly dark. Twice she

tripped over crates and bound revolutionaries.

She heard Clayton’s voice ahead followed by the thud of flesh hitting flesh. She picked up her skirts and ran toward the noise.

In the middle of a back room amid a jumbled pile of spilled crates, Clayton stood over a bruised and bloody Arshun. The count’s

nose looked to be broken and his eye had already swollen shut. The sleeve of his lemon-colored jacket had been nearly torn off and

he’d somehow lost a shoe.

Next to Clayton, Arshun was tiny and cowering. Not just physically.

Clayton’s voice was little more than a growl. “And perhaps then you’ll think again before hurting—”

“Can I take over before you kill him?” Ian asked from behind her.

“No.”

Arshun tried to stand, and Clayton leveled him again with a single punch.

“You’re going to get blood on Olivia’s skirts.”

Only then did Clayton’s gaze lock with hers. He stepped away.

“Now if you want answers,” Ian said. “Wait outside.”

She wouldn’t mind seeing Arshun get hit again. “Why?”

Ian slowly advanced on Arshun, his steps slow and measured. He removed one glove, then the other. “My methods are my own.”

For the first time, no humor lit Ian’s gaze. She didn’t argue when Clayton took her arm and escorted her out and shut the door behind

him.

“What are Ian’s methods?” she asked.

Clayton shook his head. “He’d have to tell you.”

“Would he?”

“When I discovered by accident, he stabbed me twice and left me for dead.”

Olivia stared at the closed door. “So that’s a no.”

Clayton grimaced. “I don’t recommend asking.”

She followed Clayton as he checked the house. He stooped and gagged each revolutionary they passed. By the time they returned,

Ian poked his head out of the door. “You can come in now.”

Arshun was curled on the floor, his knees tucked to his chest, shaking and pale, but there were no additional marks on him.

Ian stood over him. A hint of something ugly and dark lingered in his eyes. His coat had been removed and his sleeves rolled to his

elbows. “Who told you about Cipher and La Petit?”

Arshun’s terrified eyes darted to Olivia, then quickly away. “I don’t know. The information came in the note. I assumed it was from

one of Vasin’s former associates, but I don’t know.”

“How did you find out about Vasin’s plan? You weren’t one of his confidants.”

Arshun rocked side to side. “It was in the same note. It told me where to find the code and what it contained.”

Ian crouched down next to Arshun. “What are you planning for the night of the gala?”

“My revolutionaries will collect the weapons, then march in the streets at midnight, inspiring the populace to revolt.” He coughed.

“That was my plan. Vasin’s signals were put in place this morning. The plan is in motion.”

His small spurt of arrogance disappeared when Ian spoke again. “How did you break the code?”

“I received instructions on that as well. Two days ago. But I don’t know from whom.”

Arshun hadn’t broken the code. Someone else had broken it for him. Someone else had been pulling the strings from the beginning.

Ian unrolled his shirtsleeves. “You know I warned you about lying.” Blackness still clouded his eyes.

She thought, perhaps, he might enjoy carrying out his threats.

Arshun shook his head frantically from side to side. “Lying about what?”

Ian’s smile was far colder than any Clayton had ever given. “Who’s been sending you information? You’re not quite fool enough to

take orders from nowhere.”

“The man with his match to the fuse.”

“Who?”

A smug look settled on Arshun’s battered face. “I truly don’t know. And since I don’t know, neither can you.”





chapter Twenty-three

The stillness of the sleigh woke Olivia. Clayton’s shoulder was a bit too hard and flat to be truly comfortable, but the warmth of his

body as they’d traveled had been too lulling to resist. He’d tucked his arm around her, too, keeping her steady in the uncertain

motion of the sleigh.

“We’re here?” she asked.

“St. Igor’s.” Clayton lifted his arm from around her and swore softly as he surveyed the church.

Olivia lifted her head and blinked to focus her eyes. St. Igor’s was a small, sky blue church, nestled under five golden cupolas. The

first rays of dawn glinted off the domes and illuminated a small red flag.

She’d held out some small hope that Arshun had been lying.

He hadn’t been.

St. Igor’s was the third location they’d checked. All three signs had been given. She shivered.

Ian strolled up to the woman selling small white candles by the front of the church. After only a few seconds, the elderly woman’s

wrinkles had rearranged in cheery bursts around her eyes and mouth. His Russian was a little fast for Olivia to follow all of it, but he

was asking about any regular patrons who frequented the church.

But what were the odds the woman would know the revolutionary?

But Olivia refused to give in to despair. “We need to warn the czar again.”

“If Golov is part of the plan, it will do us no good.”

“Then going to the czar will give us a way to know if he is part of the plan. If he confirms our claims to the czar and helps us, then we

know he isn’t.”

Clayton’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s a solid plan.”

She thought at first he might be teasing her, but his gaze was sincere. Almost proud.

A wide grin slowly swept his face. “And when we’re finally alone I’ll tell you my new plan. For the mill.”

Her heart skipped in her chest. “What is it?”

Ian returned and tossed her a squat white candle. “Wait inside where it’s warm. Or at least less cold. We’ll examine the area briefly.