Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

Golov glared. “He’s worthless. He doesn’t know a thing.” He turned to Olivia. “I know you’ve broken the code. What does it say?

Since I haven’t killed the baron for what he did to my prison, I will expect recompense.”

“It gave signs and where to leave them. Unfortunately, they’ve already been given. As I told you,” Olivia said. “It said the killer would

act. Did you call off the fete like I suggested?”

He stiffened. “No.” Then he shifted in his chair. “But I did order an extra regiment of soldiers to guard the event. Nothing will happen

to the czar.”

“Why are you here, Golov?” Clayton asked.

“First, explain why I have dead men in my city. Two. Their throats slit. That was your specialty, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Clayton said. “But I haven’t used it lately.”

“Unfortunately, I think you might be telling the truth. The metropolitan’s clerk was killed while you were destroying my jail.”

Which reminded her of their discussion yesterday. “Who else was killed?”

Golov tugged on the cuffs of his jacket. “Some assistant to General Smirken. Not a man of importance. Again, it makes no sense

why you would kill him. But someone wants me to think you’re responsible, Baron. The question is why?”

“Or who,” Ian muttered, smiling far too broadly.

Olivia knew Golov wasn’t a good man, but she also suspected he wasn’t purely evil, either. “We should tell him.” She locked gazes

with Clayton, begging him to trust her.

He frowned, but slowly nodded.

Ian tucked the rest of his toast in his pocket. “There have been stranger bedfellows. No. I take that back. But do what you will.”

Olivia explained what they knew about the bomb and the final agent, leaving out only Kate’s identity.

“You think my brother Pavlo is the assassin?”

Golov seemed oddly bored.

“We know he is a revolutionary.” She was taking a large risk, but they had few options at this point. And while she doubted she could

trust her safety to him, she suspected she could trust Russia’s. “The rest fits.”

“I fear you must have been fooled. My brother is not in St. Petersburg. His regiment was ordered to the Crimea. They left yesterday

with my brother leading them.”

What?

But the pieces had fit so perfectly.

“We can verify that,” Ian said.

“Do.” Golov shook his head, rising to his feet. “Apparently, you know even less than I do.”

Ian snapped his fingers as if something had just occurred to him. “And in case you’re considering having us murdered to allow the

plot to proceed, Kate paid a visit to her friend the empress this morning. She is quite adamant that we all attend the fete tomorrow.

Of course, we reminded her that she had your promise we’d be safe.”

Golov tapped the back of his chair with his yellowed nail. “Indeed.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make it up to you by doing your job,” Ian said.

Golov paused by Olivia. “You see, koteek, I am a man of my word. Your baron is still alive.” He patted her on the cheek. “For now.”





chapter Thirty-three

If the ball a few nights ago had inspired awe, this was one that demanded it. Hundreds of servants had been employed all morning,

brushing snow from not only the exterior of the building, but from the individual leaves of plants outside.

Each crystal in the massive chandeliers had been polished by hand with satin and vodka.

Servants dressed in livery with buttons of pure gold.

The ball was a masquerade, which had worried her at first, until Kate had explained that no one wore masks, it simply meant that all

the guests dressed in traditional Russian costume.

Kate had somehow arranged for Olivia to have another perfect dress, the heavy golden embroidery on the full sapphire blue skirt of

the gown glittering like a thousand stars when she moved. A matching cloth-covered tiara rested on her head, from which flowed a

white satin veil threaded with more gold.

And the best part was that Clayton hadn’t left her side once this evening.

Not that she had much time to enjoy his attentiveness. Every glance from either of them scanned the crowd, searching for someone

suspicious. Someone out of place.

They’d spent the day searching for the colonel, but they couldn’t find him. His servants also claimed he’d left town two days ago with

his regiment.

And they’d yet to see him tonight. None of the palace staff they’d questioned had, either.

But there were so many men in green uniforms that she wasn’t sure they would see him even if he was there.

They strolled around the perimeter of the ballroom again, slowing by the veiled painting on the stage. It was enormous, easily twenty

feet across, but it sat on a simple gilded easel that could conceal nothing. And nothing had changed since the last time they’d

passed. Nothing looked unusual.

Kate joined them. “If I hear the description of one more glorious battle, I will scream.” She lowered her voice. “But I have seen

nothing unusual yet among the soldiers I spoke with. And no one in the ballroom is holding anything the correct size to be the bomb.

Nor has anyone seen the colonel.”

“The footman only let me have one joint of mutton. One. The gall of that man.” Ian spoke from where he waited by a column as they

passed.

They paused by him. They had less than twenty minutes until the unveiling.

“Nothing yet,” he confirmed. “But there are so many bloody people. It’s impossible to tell.”

The final strains of a waltz ended. But rather than a new one filling the silence, the guests began to mill toward the stage in

preparation of the unveiling.

“Split up again,” Clayton ordered. “Meet by the rear doors to the ballroom after you’ve searched your area of the room again. If we

don’t find something by then, we will clear out.” His arm tensed under Olivia’s. “I will not see you hurt.”

Kate and Ian nodded and headed in opposite directions.

A feminine hand latched on to Clayton’s other arm, stopping them. “Baron. I’m so pleased to see you this evening.”

General Smirken’s wife fluttered her eyelashes up at Clayton, and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Her husband was nowhere to be

seen. “I’ve missed your company this week.”

“Where is your husband?” Olivia asked. They didn’t have time for her.

Annoyance flashed across the other woman’s face. “He suffered a great tragedy. One of his lieutenants was viciously murdered.”

She leaned against Clayton, her face stretching in false sadness. “He and some of his friends have met to drink to the man’s

memory.”

“They chose to meet at the same time as the imperial fete?” Disbelief was clear in Clayton’s voice, and the other woman huffed.

“No, they’re here. The czar was kind enough to grant them use of one of his parlors. Colonel Golov requested it as a personal favor

for him.”

Both Olivia and Clayton straightened.

“I thought the colonel was sent to the Crimea?” Clayton asked.