Sins of a Ruthless Rogue

had ringed the stage, creating a gap of about a dozen feet between the crowd and the platform.

The closest point the colonel could reach would probably be along the far side of the stage. The crowd had edged the policeman

Golov just assigned there backward slightly. He was pressed so tightly against the door that he’d fall if it was opened.

The door.

“When we followed the colonel earlier this week, he slipped into a parlor. It was there, wasn’t it? Right behind that wall.” She pointed

to where the royal family gathered. “Could a bomb that size blow through that wall?”

“He doesn’t plan to be in the ballroom at all.” Clayton’s eyes narrowed as he made the calculations. “And he doesn’t have to be. Get

as far away from this ballroom as you can.”

“No.”

“The bomb could already be in place.”

“Ian’s advice still holds true. If you don’t let me come, I’ll find my own way.” The emperor and the empress had begun to approach the

stage, accompanied by the tiny, silver-haired dowager grand duchess. The final members of the portrait.

“You could die.” His horror at the thought was clear; it was almost enough to make her change her mind. But not quite.

“So could you.” She lifted her hand to his tense jaw. “Remember how I told you I wasn’t perfect? This is one of those things. I’m not

biddable.”

“No, you’re damned stubborn.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “But hell if you aren’t incredibly brave, too.”

The crowd was thick around the platform, but Clayton moved past the people like they didn’t exist. He seemed to know when a

space would open up that they could move into. When a gentleman would lean to his left to speak to the lady at his side. Or when a

woman was going to try to edge around for a slightly better view.

Finally, they were at the door.

The policeman straightened as they tried to get past.

“We don’t want to get to the platform. The lady just needs some air.”

The sweaty, red-faced policeman looked a little longing at the thought, but he inched as far over as he could so they could get into

the corridor.

The corridor was wide and blessedly free of people. Olivia sucked in a calming breath, but it lodged in her throat as Clayton drew a

pistol. “How did you get a gun past the servants?”

Clayton shrugged. “Ian did. I didn’t want to ask.”

He motioned for her to stay behind him as they approached the door.

Clayton eased it open.

The room was filled with men in uniform. Laughing faces flushed with drink. If the bomb was in this room, it would kill not only the

imperial family but most of the leading military officers as well.

It took her a minute to find the colonel. He was bent over a crate at the far end of the room. He opened the lid.

“Clayton—”

“I see him.”

But the colonel saw them in the same moment. “Smirken!” the colonel said, his jovial tone the complete opposite of the loathing

Olivia could see on his face. “The baron was a friend of the lieutenant, wasn’t he?”

“Baron! Yes, we all served together!” Smirken reached for Clayton and pounded him on the back. “Come to join us in a drink to our

poor lieutenant. To Mikhail!”

Everyone lifted his glass.

Colonel Golov edged toward the door. Clayton was trapped in the middle of the huddle of soldiers.

But Olivia wasn’t.

She ran past the knot of officers, reaching the door at the same time as the colonel. She slammed herself in front of it. He’d have to

go through her to get out. Surely, he wouldn’t want to die. He’d have to stop the bomb—

The colonel pulled a pistol from his jacket and pushed it against her stomach.

Clayton freed himself from the condoling slaps and proffered glasses. Didn’t any of them notice he had a damned pistol in his

hand? How much alcohol had the colonel given them? They’d be of no help stopping—

Clayton froze.

On the far side of the room, the colonel had a gun pressed against Olivia’s stomach.

The colonel put his finger to his lips, then gestured for Clayton to clear the others from the room.

“The emperor wishes you all in the ballroom. He said he will take note of the ones who are absent,” Clayton announced.

Bleary eyes focused on him, then everyone started speaking at once.

“Now,” Clayton said.

Even drunk, they recognized the command in his voice and filed from the room.

“Leave her alone, Colonel.” Clayton lifted his gun.

But the colonel didn’t move away from Olivia.

“La Petit and Cipher.” He still thought Olivia was La Petit. Perhaps he and his brother really didn’t talk after all.

The colonel’s lips thinned. “I thought my brother would detain you longer.”

“Your brother knows what you are. He is looking for you, too,” Olivia said, her voice steady.

The colonel shifted slightly, moving one foot closer to the door. “You’ll do nothing to stop me from leaving.”

Clayton inched forward. “Why is that?”

“Because I can tell you who’s betraying your identities to your worst enemies. General Einhern. Count Arshun. Me.” Einhern was the

man who’d tried to have Madeline murdered last year.

Every muscle along Clayton’s spine tensed. “Who?”

“I thought you might be interested. It’s someone far more regal than you would have expected.”

But Clayton wasn’t going to play his game. He would do everything in his power to protect the Trio’s identities, but his most

important task was to protect Olivia. That meant removing the pistol held against her.

He stepped to the side so he’d have a clear shot at the general. “Put down the gun and stop the bomb, Colonel.”

“I think I’m the one who holds the upper hand here, spy.” He jabbed the muzzle of the pistol harder into Olivia.

She gasped, her face tensing. But then she glared. “Don’t put down the gun, Clayton. He only has one shot.”

“Aimed at you,” the colonel said.

“Then once you shoot me, Clayton will kill you and disarm the bomb.”

“Do you want to die?” The colonel’s finger tightened on the trigger.

“A bullet seems cleaner than a bomb blast.”

Olivia claimed she didn’t know when to back down. He hadn’t appreciated just how much until this moment, when backing down

should have been the glaringly obvious choice.

Yet she’d given up the mill for him. He’d examine his greater understanding of that gesture at some later moment.

The general glanced at the watch dangling from his waistcoat.

“Nervous? How much time did you give yourself?” Olivia asked.

“I’m ready to die for the cause.”

“For Arshun?” The disgust coated with disdain in her voice was perfect.

A flicker of loathing crossed the general’s face.

“I didn’t think so.”

“Arshun isn’t the one who will rise to power.”

“Ah, do you think it will be you?” Clayton asked. “That will be rather difficult if you’re dead.”