Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

“I was prepared to forget that she ran to her father all those years ago. I could look past her betrayal.”


“Look past? How magnanimous. Look past until when? When she makes her next mistake? You’re still protecting yourself.”

“And I was bloody right to!”

“Why did she tell you about her lies in the first place?”

“Because she saw me as a mark. Sensed it the way sharps always spotted my father. Someone weak enough to take advantage

of.” But even as he said it, the words made no sense. What purpose had it served her?

“Or because she loves you. And couldn’t stand to have it between you?”

I love you too much to make love while I’m hiding things from you.

Clayton swung at Ian rather than answering. But they’d trained too long together. He knew precisely what Ian would do. So when Ian

blocked, Clayton locked his arm and drove him to the ground. But Ian kicked out, knocking Clayton on his back.

His breath whooshed out of him and with it, his anger. “If I forgive her once, how will I know I won’t have to do it again?”

“You don’t. You forgive over and over again. Cruel, cruel love. Makes you fall in love with an imperfect person when you’re so perfect

yourself.”

Clayton flinched, but then stood and offered Ian a hand up.

Ian accepted. “I think I’ll go see what I can discover about our clockmaker before we meet him tomorrow. Maybe I’ll take Olivia with

me before she dries up like a prune.”

Clayton knew Ian hoped for a reaction, but he wasn’t getting one.

Ian paused by the door. “Have you ever really stopped to think what you’d lose if you forgave her for all of it?”

Clayton sat heavily on the bed. What would he lose?

Nothing.

Everything.

He’d been so in love with Olivia when they were young. When he found the proof that her father was printing extra banknotes, he

hadn’t thought twice about going to her. He’d needed to warn her, wanting her to know he would spare her the pain if he could. He

hadn’t suspected her of anything but complete loyalty until constables had knocked on his door.

When he saw her father in the courtroom, he’d begged to be allowed to speak to Olivia. Mr. Swift had laughed. Don’t be a fool, lad.

She’s the one who turned you in. Clayton hadn’t spoken again, ashamed that he’d still have done anything to go crawling back to

Olivia despite what she’d done.

He’d vowed he’d never reveal vulnerability like that again. That he’d never be vulnerable like that.

Clayton buried his face in his hands. He’d always known this misery would come from allowing second chances.

My father was happy.

Clayton slowly lifted his head. Despite the money his father was never repaid. Despite the wife who left him and didn’t even bother

to move to a different town with her lover, his father had been happy.

Clayton had been embarrassed for his father, but his father had never been for himself.

What had his father lost by forgiving his wife in the end? Only years of pain and anger.

Had his father been more passive than was good for him? Yes. But perhaps it wasn’t forgiveness that made him that way.

When Olivia had comforted Blin earlier, Clayton had ached with pride at her strength and determination as she forgave the man who

had wronged her terribly.

There had been no weakness there.

Clayton returned to the window. His mouth felt dry, his throat tight.

Forgiveness hadn’t given the others power over Olivia. Forgiveness had allowed her to take the power back.

Clayton swore. Oh, Da. Had he really been so bloody blind? No wonder his father had merely shaken his head when Clayton raged

on his behalf. He should have slapped him along the side of the head instead.

What did he have to lose by forgiving Olivia?

Anger. Bitterness. Both of which had always rattled foreign and jagged in his thoughts about her.

He’d only lose if he didn’t forgive her.

He’d lose her if he couldn’t forgive her.

The thought gutted him far more efficiently than a French bayonet.

But was it even possible for him to forgive? It wasn’t a skill he had much practice in.

He examined each shard of betrayal he’d kept so perfectly polished and was shocked to find them thin and brittle. Easily broken

and tossed aside. Each betrayal, each action, he understood. She’d never meant to hurt him.

Olivia wasn’t perfect. But neither was he. Perfection was static and sterile, with no room for growth. Or learning. Or laughter. He didn

’t want Olivia to be perfect. He loved her stubbornness. He loved her teasing. He loved that she refused to take him entirely

seriously.

Now that he was over the shock, the spy part of him could even admire the work and skill that had gone into her deception. Not that

lying had been the best option, but he was glad she was no longer the soft, naive creature she had been. Instead, she was brave.

Clever.

Which was fortunate, otherwise, how could he ask her to accept a coldhearted bastard for a husband?

She was sobbing in her pillow. The woman who’d faced down killers to save him. Who’d dedicated her life to saving the people in

her town. Who’d wanted him to know the truth before he confessed his feelings.

He forgave her.

A gasp befitting a drowning man expanded his lungs. But the world didn’t come to an end. In fact, he felt lighter. Stronger.

Why had he refused to do this for so long?

He loved Olivia. Forgiving her didn’t change that. It proved it.

As had her courage in confessing her deceptions to him.

Clayton stumbled over his own feet in his haste to get to his door. She would not shed a single tear more because of him.

He hoped to hell he’d be able to convince her to forgive him. His memory recalled every cruel word, every sneer. Every single

bloody one.

He paused by her door, hesitating to enter. Surely, she’d forgive him. She forgave Blin. But then again, Blin hadn’t ripped out her

heart. No sounds came from within. Had she fallen asleep?

Clayton cracked the door open and stared at an empty bed.

He’d kill Ian for this.

Assuming a bomb didn’t kill them first.





chapter Thirty

Ian fiddled with the slim piece of metal in the window. “Many people think being omniscient is a gift. But it’s actually hard work.” Ian

had the ability to speak in a soft voice that went no further than he wanted it to.

Despite the need for stealth, Ian had rambled on about this and that since he’d collected her. She recognized his words for the

diversion they were, but they were still welcome. Especially after he’d taught her to curse Clayton in seventeen languages.

She’d lost him. She’d known it would happen. But she hadn’t known every single breath would hurt after that.

She’d played the situation dozens of times already in her mind. His reaction would have been the same no matter what words she’d

chosen.