Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel

by Zoë Archer

“Then why do it?”

  “Someone’s got to. Why shouldn’t it be me?” She set her mug down on the table and spread her hands upon its rough wooden surface. “Seems to me that everyone’s deserving of self-respect, no matter if they’re a lord or a lackey.”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said, hesitant. “If people keep to their places, we can just be content.”

  “Think of all the good that’s happened in the world because people weren’t content,” Alyce countered. “The abolitionists, for one. And Dr. Blackwell.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Henry.

  “A woman doctor who campaigned for education and health care for women,” Simon answered.

  For a moment, he and Alyce stared at each other. It seemed neither expected the other to know who Elizabeth Blackwell was—but they both did.

  “It all seems so risky,” Sarah fretted, but Simon barely heard her. His attention stayed on Alyce, just as hers remained fixed on him.

  “Things worth having come at a price,” Alyce said, though she never took her gaze from Simon.

  His heart took up a steady, thick beat in his chest.

  They wanted the same things, he and Alyce Carr. Only he went about his goals in a more indirect manner. She came barreling in, guns blazing, immovable in her demands. Barefaced and bold.

  He had to use subtlety and strategy in order to gain justice. He didn’t have the luxury of a frontal attack. It was all subterfuge. Disguises.

  Now here he sat, having finished a simple meal in a tiny kitchen, in a clean but ramshackle little house that consisted of only two rooms—one downstairs and one upstairs. Alyce’s bed lay behind a curtain, but it was the only thing hidden here. Everything, and everyone, was exactly who they presented themselves to be. Complete honesty. The only pretender was him.

  His clandestine investigation had taken him as far as it could. An idea for action was formulating, and he needed their help to accomplish it. And he didn’t want to pretend anymore—not with her.

  The mission would benefit, but the nascent trust between him and Alyce—that could be broken. But that was the cost of being in Nemesis. Jobs always came first. His own personal wants and needs would continually be pushed aside.

  It was a price he accepted—embraced, maybe.

  And now, it was time to drop the disguise.

  * * *

  Some subtle change came over Simon’s face, as if he were readying himself to jump across a chasm. Unease immediately crept up Alyce’s neck. She forced herself to remain still instead of jump up and run away.

  “There’s something you all need to know.” His voice was pitched low, as if he didn’t want anyone outside of the kitchen hearing him. “I didn’t come to Wheal Prosperity to get a job as a machinist. I came to stop the corruption—in the company, and in the local law. I’m here to help.”

  No one moved. Nobody spoke. It was as if all sound and movement had been frozen.

  Cold spread its fingers through Alyce. She spoke through numb lips. “You’re not Simon Sharpe from Sheffield.”

  He gave a tiny smile. “My name is Simon. Can’t give you my actual last name, but I’m mostly from London.”

  Cotton wool filled her head. She shook it, trying to rattle loose what she was sure had to be a mistake in her hearing. But no, she could hear it now. Simon’s rough Sheffield accent was gone. He spoke with the round, elegant accent of the elite. Even the mine managers would sound like coarse countrymen compared to Simon.

  Sickness curled in her stomach. Everything beneath her feet became quicksand. Dear God, who is he?

  Henry shoved to his feet. “Get the hell out of my house.”

  Simon looked grim but unsurprised. He didn’t get out of his chair. “I’ve come to the mine to help, Henry. That’s what we do. There are injustices in England, and we try to correct them.”

  “We?” Alyce demanded.

  “Nemesis, Unlimited.”

  Slowly, Henry sank back into his seat, eyes wide. Even Alyce stared in wonder.

  “Been lying to us,” Henry said after a moment. “About who you are. All that talk of rugby—”

  Simon didn’t look apologetic. “I did play in the army.”

  “And Nemesis,” her brother pressed. “That’s real?”

  “It is.”

  “There’d been rumors, tales,” Henry murmured. “We never dared believe…”

  Alyce had heard stories, gossip that had started surfacing a few years ago. Letters to folks with kin in London, and those letters became stories. Fables. A shadowy group of people in London who made it their business to get justice for people who couldn’t get it for themselves. The stories had been cloaked in exaggeration and half-truths, deeds Alyce had never really believed—kidnapped and enslaved children freed, corrupt judges disgraced. Not so long ago, she’d heard that Nemesis had uncovered evidence that a nobleman had committed treason, and the lord himself was killed in mysterious, ugly circumstances.

  It had all seemed too good to be true. The world favored the rich, the powerful. People like Nemesis didn’t exist in real life.

  Except here was Simon, claiming that they did exist. And that he’d come to help.

  The help she’d wanted for so long.

  “You’re a goddamn liar,” she growled.

  “Alyce!” Sarah exclaimed, shocked.

  But Simon didn’t look offended. And when he spoke, he sounded cool, almost distant. “You’ll have to trust me. I am who I say I am.”

  “Trust you!” She pushed back from the table. “Up until a few minutes ago, you claimed to be somebody else. You even talked differently.”

  “Nobody’d believe a machinist with an Harrovian accent.”

  “Where’s Harrovia?”

  “That’s what they call students who go to Harrow.”

  Oh, Lord. That fancy public school for the sons of the elite. God, he was one of them. “How do we know you aren’t some spy the owners sent to squirrel into our ranks, learn our secrets and turn us in?”

  “You don’t.” He also got to his feet, and even in that little action, she could see a change in the way he moved, polished, confident. The plain clothes he wore now seemed like a disguise. She could easily picture him in some natty, expensive suit, custom-made by one of those shops in London. “All you have is my word.”

  “I have no idea what your word is worth.”

  “Maybe not, but you have to believe me when I say that I’ll need your help if I’m going to make a difference here. You want off scrip and to get paid decent wages, then you side with me. And you’re key, Alyce. You’ve always been key to my mission.”

  A sudden, horrible thought burst inside her mind, and she backed slowly away until the wall stopped her. “All that flattery, the flirting—‘the pleasure of your company’—that was for your mission. It wasn’t me you were interested in. I was just a tool, no different from a pick or a bucking iron.”

  The fact that he didn’t immediately deny it caused a cold, hard lump to form in her belly. And when he glanced aside quickly, avoiding her gaze, the lump grew, heavy as ore.

  Henry advanced on Simon, face dark as thunder. “The hell? Flirting with my sister? Playing with her?” He grabbed a handful of Simon’s shirt—but Alyce had the feeling Simon let Henry grab him. “I’ll bloody kill you.”

  “Alyce is the linchpin of the mine and village. If anyone knows anything important, it’s her. I had to get close to her.” Simon turned his gaze to her. Regret flickered there. “But you’re a damned excellent woman, Alyce. It wasn’t a hardship.”

  “Ah, that makes everything better,” she said through a clenched jaw.

  “‘Justice by any means necessary.’” He pried Henry’s fingers from his shirt and stepped around her brother. “It’s how Nemesis operates. Why our operations succeed. Whatever has to be done to see injustice corrected, we do it.” He strode to Alyce, and she forced herself to stand her ground, when all she wanted to do was bolt. “If your feelings were bruised … I’m sorry.”


  She gave a low, hard laugh at this apology.

  “There’s more at stake here than your injured feelings,” he continued. “You and I, we can get rid of the corrupt managers and owners, but the only way we can do that is if we trust each other.”

  “You’ve done nothing but lie ever since you got here,” she fired back. “A gentleman posing as a laborer. Playing sweetheart when you just wanted information. I don’t have any reason to trust you.”

  For a long moment, he was silent. His lips pressed together, and lines bracketed his mouth. “No, you don’t,” he finally said. “But I’ll give you a reason.”

  He strode to the door and opened it. Before he left, however, he faced Sarah. “Thank you again for your hospitality, Mrs. Carr. It truly was one of the best meals I’ve eaten in a long time.” Looking at Alyce and Henry, he added, “Don’t tell anyone about me. Not yet.”

  “Why shouldn’t we,” she demanded, “when you’ve played us all false?”

  “It’s not the right time. And I’ve had my motives for everything I’ve done. Think whatever you like, but believe that.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked out into the darkness. His footsteps faded into the night.

  “Where are you going?” Henry demanded when Alyce grabbed her shawl from its peg.

  She paused on the threshold. “To see just how trustworthy this Simon Whoever-He-Is really is.” Then she, too, plunged into the shadows.

  * * *

  Alyce kept a goodly distance between her and Simon, ducking around corners in case he looked over his shoulder—which he didn’t.

  The hour was early enough that people still walked up and down the high street. Mostly men. Families were all at home, either finishing their suppers or settling in for the evening. A few wild children knocked along the lane until their mothers shouted at them to come inside. Simon walked with directness and purpose, nodding now and then at the men he passed.

  None of them knew. Nobody understood who he truly was. The smooth elegance of his stride was gone, and when she heard him wish Tommy Grewe a good evening, his genteel accent had disappeared. He was back to being Simon Sharpe, slipping into the role so easily even she would’ve denied that he was actually wellborn, despite the proof she’d just been given.

  Part of her wanted to stand in the middle of the street, pointing a finger and calling him out as a liar in front of the village. But she kept silent—were his lies true? Who was he?—as she trailed after him like a wraith.

  He didn’t go straight into the pub, as she expected, and he passed the bachelor lodgings. She waited to see if he’d go to the managers’ house, high on the hill, to give a full accounting of what he’d learned. He didn’t do that, either.

  Instead, he continued up the high street. The company store perched at the top like a vulture. Lights blazed in the windows and figures passed back and forth as evening shoppers made their final purchases of the day. The store stayed open until nine, making certain that the people of Trewyn could be swindled until well into the night. The church tolled that the hour was quarter to nine, leaving fifteen minutes left for business.

  Yet Simon didn’t go into the company store, either. He turned down a nearby lane, vanishing off the main road.

  Alyce slowed her steps. Should she follow? That lane wound along a low wall, past a few cottages, and then led to a yard behind the store, where deliveries were made. There wouldn’t be many places for her to hide, but she couldn’t let Simon slip away. So, carefully, she trailed him, creeping along the shadows.

  Rounding a corner, she saw his lean shape silhouetted against a wall, and she shrank back. Every few minutes, she’d peek out, but he was still there, barely distinguishable from the darkness. She could just make out that his arms were crossed over his chest, his posture that of a man who seemed to be waiting.

  The church bell tolled nine times. Noise from the high street quieted. Even the sounds from the pub dimmed. Village ordinance mandated that the pub be closed by nine-thirty Monday through Thursday. Though the mine was open on Saturdays, pay packets were distributed on Fridays—which made for a profitable night at the pub. On Fridays and Sundays, it stayed open until eleven. Many men came to work on Saturday and Monday with red eyes and gray skin.

  For all that Henry annoyed her, he never pissed away his pay at the pub, and if he did go get a drink after supper, he was gone only for an hour, and he’d return almost as sober as when he left.

  Too many people lay buried in the church yard because of drink—either the men themselves or their neglected families. Another part of life linked to the mine that had to change. If conditions weren’t as bad, if the pay were better so families could save, then maybe numbing ale wouldn’t be so needed.

  Which was why she couldn’t let some outsider like Simon trample his way into the village and make everything into an even bigger mess than it already was. Though—she had to admit—he hadn’t trampled anything, sneaking in as he did without disturbing even a fleck of soot.

  But she ached, anyway. He’d admitted to using her, and the knowledge of it felt like rusted picks in her chest. Here she’d fancied herself as strong and thick-skinned as an ox, yet a few clever, shrewd words from a handsome man, and she was nothing more than a bleating, defenseless lamb.

  It doesn’t matter. You don’t know him. You never did. And he never knew you.

  It did matter, and that confused and hurt her all over again.

  The clock struck the quarter hour. She peered around the corner to check on Simon.

  He was gone.

  Careful to muffle her steps, she hurried up the narrow lane, then came to a stop when she emerged in the yard behind the store. The lights were all out, and she couldn’t hear anyone moving around inside. Hartley Evans, the store manager, always closed up quickly at the end of the day. He might be in the company’s pockets, but what was the use of earning a little extra if he couldn’t go home and enjoy the fruits of his crooked labors?

  But where was Simon? There was no sign of him.

  Her need to know more kept her rooted in place, tense and silently waiting. And she almost would have missed it, the movement was so subtle, so utterly noiseless, but her ma had always said she had the senses of a cat. It had been impossible to claim that Father Christmas had visited when Alyce had seen and heard her parents trying to silently put Christmas oranges on the kitchen table.

  Now she caught the shift in the shadows, a tiny motion by the back loading doors to the store. Something resonated within her, like glimpsing a light in the distance and knowing it was her destination. She knew with that same intuition that the motion by the doors was Simon.

  He had to be mad. That was the only explanation. He’d be beaten, or killed. And she could be in danger, too, simply by being there. She hoped that what she saw wasn’t true—but it was.

  He was breaking into the company store.

  CHAPTER 6.

  Alyce watched, baffled, as he slipped inside the store, shutting the loading doors behind him noiselessly. For a moment she hung back before quickly crossing the yard, then hunkered down below one of the windows. Slowly, she peered over the sill.

  All the lamps inside had been extinguished. It was dark as a tapped-out chamber in a mine in there, but she’d been in the store enough times to know its layout. Lidded barrels holding flour, oats, and sugar stood in a row. Tall cabinets and glass-topped long counters lined two walls, holding all sorts of dry goods and household supplies—anything someone in Trewyn could ever want, to make sure all profits went right back into the owners’ hands. A locked till sat upon one of the counters, but anyone who tried to rob the store would find it empty. Hartley Evans brought the contents to the managers every night, along with his accounting ledger.

  Besides, should someone ever break into the till and find it full, it’d look terribly suspicious if they suddenly had a big influx of scrip. Another way that the owners and managers kept the workers well trapped.

  She sca
nned the darkened shop, looking for the tiniest hint of movement. No sign of Simon. Then the shadows shifted. There—by the heavy doors that led to the cold storage. A bent, humpbacked figure appeared. It had to be Simon. Strange how she knew exactly what he looked like, but she didn’t truly know him at all. He shut the cold storage doors behind him and moved carefully toward the back of the store.

  Alyce scurried away, back across the yard, to hide behind a wall. She poked her head out in time to see Simon closing and locking the loading doors. No one would know he’d been in and out of the store. But what had he been doing there?

  On his back, he carried a large pack. Strong as he was, he bowed beneath its weight. He moved quickly, though, as he eased away from the store. And though he was still a stranger to the village, he moved purposefully toward another destination, as if he had his route already mapped.

  The night was further along, the silence of the village and the valley deeper. She checked her every step, making sure not to knock any loose pebbles or snap a twig beneath her boots. Despite the heavy burden he carried, Simon glided down more lanes, until he left the main part of the village. He kept to the cover of a low stone wall and followed it as it climbed a hill.

  Alyce nearly stumbled when she finally realized his destination. At the top of this hill stood the managers’ house. It made an impressive sight—two stories, built in a modern style with pointed eaves, several chimneys, and large, plentiful windows. Trimmed hedges and flower beds surrounded the house. It even boasted a stable and carriage house. The managers’ home was the finest-looking building she’d ever seen. Whenever she caught a glimpse of it, envy and anger sunk cold talons into her heart. The pastor preached that it was wrong to have those feelings toward someone, but she couldn’t help it.

  No one in the village would ever live like that. Not even Tippet.

  Illness clogged her throat when she thought about how fine the owners’ houses must be, miles away in Plymouth. The luxuries they surely enjoyed. Nobody in their homes had to sleep behind a screen in the kitchen—except perhaps a servant, but she’d wager even the servants had actual rooms of their own.