by Zoë Archer
Now she knew—Nemesis was something else entirely. They stole, lied, ruthlessly used cunning and guile. All to get what they wanted: justice. Glancing at Simon, who moved with rangy muscularity, she didn’t doubt the operatives of Nemesis could go toe-to-toe, if the situation demanded it. Would tonight find them in one of those situations?
She scratched on the door. None of the homes were big, and they were all rickety as a bundle of reeds. A knock on the door at this hour and in such small dwellings would sound like a battering ram. People moved around inside, whispering, muttering, pulling on dressing gowns or shawls.
As they waited, Alyce studied Simon. He kept watch on the street, his gaze never at rest, his long body primed and ready. Though she couldn’t be sure, this seemed like the true Simon: a man of strength and energy, fiercely intelligent, ruthless. Then he winked at her—damn him for being so sodding handsome—and against her will, she felt her insides heat. His charm seemed the most dangerous thing about him. At least she could protect herself against his lies, his physical capability. But her defenses against his allure kept sifting away, bit by bit, as if breaking ore down to tiny granules.
At last, the door opened, and both Lester and Joan Willis appeared in the doorway. Joan clutched a shawl around her thin shoulders, and Lester’s hairy calves and feet appeared beneath the hem of his nightshirt. Farther back in the dimly lit cottage, several children of different ages strained to see who their late-night visitors were. While the wife wore a look of worry, Lester appeared suspicious, hostile, particularly when he stared at Simon.
Simon only gave the man a small nod, the look on his own face giving away nothing.
“Something wrong at the mine?” Joan demanded, her voice thin. “Flood? Collapse?”
“It’s all right, Joan,” Alyce whispered. “But you need to get to the company store tomorrow and buy butter.”
Both husband and wife looked baffled. “The butter’s all spoiled,” Joan said.
“Not anymore, it isn’t,” Simon noted. His accent had gone back to being the machinist from Sheffield—making Alyce’s head spin again. How many different selves did he have? How could he keep track of them all? She’d be certain to make a mistake.
Was it a quality to be admired, the way he could shift like clouds across the moon? She needed to be especially careful around him.
“The managers and that thieving bastard Hartley finally listened,” Lester said. “Got rid of the bad stuff.”
Alyce shook her head. “Not exactly. But let’s say they provided the fresh butter.”
Joan and Lester’s eyes widened. “How—?”
Simon cut them off. “Better if you don’t know too much about it.”
Lester winked, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. “Right you are, lad.”
They had a lot more homes to visit, and the hours were growing smaller, heading closer to dawn. “Have a good sleep,” Alyce said, “and make sure you get to the store tomorrow.”
With that, she and Simon left the Willis home, and continued their task. It took hours. Sometimes the people were hostile, but most beamed their appreciation. Drippings were a poor substitute for butter, and she’d heard from more than a few women at the mine about their children growing haggard, desperately missing that important bit of fat in their diets.
All the while as they worked, Simon’s gaze kept returning to her, lingering longer. Turning … hungrier. But he said nothing. Made no move to touch her.
“We’re skipping Dyer, Gundry, and Poole,” Simon murmured as they continued their progress.
“Because they’re snitches.” Alyce shouldn’t have been impressed that he’d been able to figure that out, when some of the miners themselves didn’t even know. But not much seemed to slip past Simon’s cutting awareness. “A shame, though, since Gundry and Poole have wives and children.”
“Can’t take the risk that they’ll go squeal.”
She nodded. It was unfortunate, but the men had made their choice to spy on their fellow miners in exchange for some extra chit. The consequence was theirs to shoulder.
As she and Simon skirted the edges of the village, heading back toward her home, the morning birds were already beginning to sing from the privets. She sighed. “Not everyone is going to get to the butter in time. It’ll be sold out.”
“Then it’ll ensure there’s no excuse not to reorder.”
She slanted him a look. “Thought this out, haven’t you?”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Jobs are like chess matches—no, they’re like wars. Every battle’s got to be planned. You can’t go running into the field, shooting your Martini-Henry at anything that moves. Either you’ll waste bullets or wind up hurting an ally. This way, we know we’re getting results.”
“We did get results, didn’t we?” The thought made her grin. In just one night, she and Simon had been able to accomplish something that nearly two weeks of complaints and accusations hadn’t. An odd feeling rose in her chest, a lightness that made the graying sky and familiar hills almost beautiful. It took her several moments to understand the feeling—happiness, maybe. Satisfaction. A problem had been solved, and she and Simon had been the ones to solve it. So often, she found herself running up against a granite wall, gaining only a headache and frustration in the process. But not tonight.
“And we worked well together,” he added, almost thoughtful.
“Sounds like you weren’t certain I could help you.” She tried not to be put out when he didn’t immediately deny it.
“I always knew you could help me, somehow. That’s why I kept close to you when I first got here. But we were both unknown quantities,” he said. “When I left your house earlier tonight, you didn’t think you could trust me.”
Never one for mitigating her words, she answered, “No, I didn’t.”
The unspoken question hung in the chilly air. Did she now?
They finally reached the lane that led to her home. Morning approached, with ashen light lining the hilltops to the east. In less than an hour, people would rise from their beds and ready themselves for another long day at the bottom of a pit or smashing stones with picks and hammers. She ought to feel tired, having gotten no sleep, and the evening full of danger that had made her heart pound. But instead, she felt that lightness again, that sensation she could accomplish anything, right any wrong.
A little burglary and all of a sudden I’m Robin Bleeding Hood.
Stopping at the entrance to the lane, she turned to Simon. To make certain that they couldn’t be overheard by an early riser or a passing patrolman, she stepped close to him. There was no denying the caution in his gaze. Or the heat coming from his body. She still hadn’t said whether she trusted him or not, and her answer was important. For more than just the mission.
“What next?” she asked. The implication being, Yes, in this, I trust you.
His expression eased slightly. “Got a plan in mind. It won’t come readily, though. I’ll need the backing and cooperation of the miners.”
“That’ll take some doing.”
“You’re a stubborn lot,” he said with a wry smile. “I’ll give you that.”
She did her best to keep her chuckle quiet. “Cornishmen and Cornishwomen can be downright mule-headed.”
“And that’s a compliment?” He shortened the distance between them, until only a few inches separated their bodies.
The heat of him soaked into her, or was it the intensity of his gaze? Though the sun hadn’t yet risen, she could’ve sworn his eyes gleamed bright as aquamarines. Her pulse, which had been kept at a rapid clip all night, suddenly beat even faster. Throughout the evening’s adventure, she’d been aware of him, the leashed strength of his lean body, how he moved with such precision and confidence. Like no other man she’d met. Up until now, she’d told herself she hadn’t noticed, not really. But she had.
“Oh, aye,” she said, abruptly breathless.
He inhaled sharply. “I’ve held myself back all night�
�for sake of the job.” His voice was a low rumble. “Tonight’s maneuvers are over. Leaves me free to finally do this.”
He brought his hands up, but slowly. Giving her a chance to move away or push him back. Yet she didn’t. She let his large hands cup the back of her head. Her own hands stayed at her sides, testing him.
Either he tipped her head up, or she tilted it back. She couldn’t quite tell. But then he lowered his head, and his mouth found hers.
His lips were soft, nimble. They brushed back and forth across her own lips, learning the feel of her and letting her learn him. Then he seemed to want more than this gentle exploration, the kiss deepening, both of their mouths opening to feel each other’s warmth and slickness. His flavor was rich, dizzying. It wasn’t an uncertain kiss. Yet she could feel how he held himself at bay. Was it for her sake, or his?
She wasn’t a delicate puff of milkweed. His kiss roused needs in her, needs that, for her own protection, had been kept buried beneath piles of granite. But as dawn edged closer, and the night’s events still swirled around her, and she was here, with this man, she couldn’t shut the gates around her desire. She wanted to break free.
She touched her tongue to his. His control seemed to snap.
Groaning, he moved one of his hands to the small of her back and pulled her closer. His mouth grew more demanding. She met his need, fed off it. Her fingers dug into the hard round shapes of his shoulders, the flesh barely yielding beneath her grip. Her breasts pressed into the rigid wall of his chest.
He was just a little rough as he kissed her, held her, and it felt so incredibly right. The other kisses she’d shared had been nothing more than boys’ tentative fumblings. Maybe a little bit of pleasure, but nothing like this. Simon was a man. He kissed like one. And her whole body stirred to life, a burst of electricity cascading through her. She wanted more.
Damn, he is dangerous.
He broke the kiss with a muttered oath. Took a step back. And then another. He raked his hand through his hair. His chest rose and fell on fast breaths. But he didn’t turn his back on her.
For a moment, they stared at each other. Her hands slowly drifted back down to her sides, and she blinked, as if waking. Sure enough, her head felt thick and cloudy, as if she’d been dreaming moments before. But no, she’d been wide awake. The sensation humming through her body told her so.
“We’re not…” His words were raspy, and he cleared his throat. “Getting involved with someone who’s integral to a mission isn’t wise.”
“Those the official rules of Nemesis?”
“No official rules. But we all know an assignment takes precedence.” Still, his voice was gravelly, and his breathing had barely slowed. “This next step can’t happen without your help. It’s got to be planned and executed carefully.”
“It isn’t planned or careful, kissing me witless.”
He exhaled roughly. “You make me lose my head, Alyce. Can’t let that happen.”
Maybe she shouldn’t feel flattered. Maybe he flung out compliments like that all the time. Yet his words had been plain, open in their admission of desire, and that filled her with a new heat and weightlessness.
He was right. There was work to be done, work that she’d wanted carried out all of her adult life. She wasn’t going to ruin that because of vivid blue eyes, sharp wit, or kisses hot enough to melt ore. Besides, she still didn’t know him. Not truly. It would be easy to be reckless around him, and she needed to protect herself. Protect her family and her village. She couldn’t do that if she was mooning after Simon, hoping for another kiss. Or something more.
“Deal,” she said. “No more of this.” She waved at the space between them, that still seemed to shimmer with the heat they’d created.
“No more.” It sounded like real regret in his voice.
It felt ridiculous to shake on it. Instead, she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’d best be getting back. The whole village will be rubbing sleep from their eyes soon.”
“No sleep for us, but a full day’s work ahead.”
She couldn’t stop her smile. “I don’t regret the sleeplessness. Not a jot. Can’t think when I’ve had a better night.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “Following me, breaking into the masters’ house to steal butter, then spreading the news through the village? That’s your best night?”
She shrugged. “Life is very, very quiet in Trewyn.” But then she grew serious. “I’m not daft, Simon. I made a difference tonight. We did. Nothing’s better than that.” She couldn’t help adding, “The kiss was a nice little side benefit, too.” A benefit she wouldn’t experience again, but for good reasons.
He gave another frustrated groan, then started toward the bachelors’ lodging. He’d only taken a few steps before he stopped. “Kissed you witless, did I?”
Her lips curled into a smile. “Like an asylum inmate. Now, go. Flattery’s for weak men and it’s nearly dawn.”
He tipped his head and continued walking. She had to fight the urge to watch him go, reminding herself of all the reasons why now, of all times, she needed distance from him. Instead, she hurried down the lane to her house, and slipped inside.
Not a moment too soon. She had just enough time to change back into her work clothes before Sarah came trundling down the stairs, one hand on the rail, the other pressed to the small of her back.
“Up already?” Sarah asked, moving toward the stove to ready breakfast. “Where’s the peevish girl I usually have to shake out of bed?”
“Restless night,” Alyce replied.
“Aye,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. “Mr. Sharpe’s revelations threw us all. But I suppose I shouldn’t call him Mr. Sharpe. What was his real name again?”
“He didn’t say.” He was still a stranger, even though moments earlier she’d had her lips pressed against his. “Just call him Simon, for now. To keep him safe.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “What happened to the Alyce who called him a liar and shot fire from her eyes?”
“He might’ve won my trust. A little,” she added hastily. Then she yawned hugely into the back of her hand. Weariness suddenly made her arms and legs feel like lead. “Extra strong tea for me this morning, dear. Oh, and get to the company store early this morning. As soon as the doors open. Make sure you buy butter.”
Upstairs, Henry’s heavy footfalls and coughing announced that he was awake. At some point, she’d have to tell her brother what she’d learned about Simon. He was a stranger, but an ally.
Now Sarah’s eyes went wide. “Alyce Carr, what did you do?”
Despite her tiredness, Alyce smiled. “Something real and useful. For a change.”
CHAPTER 7.
The news about the butter already hummed like riled bees by the time the workers made the long morning trudge to the mine. Simon wasn’t surprised. With a small village like Trewyn, nothing moved faster than gossip. Especially if it involved two of the most hated institutions—the company store and the managers themselves.
“I heard that Hartley Evans hired thieves from Truro,” Edgar said to the nearby men and women. “Paid them to break into the managers’ place and get the fresh butter so he could finally clear his wares.”
“Maybe he stole into the managers’ house, himself,” Nathaniel suggested.
“Nah,” said another man. “Hartley’s a damned muttonhead. He can rig the prices at the store like some mathematical genius, but when it comes to breaking and entering, he’d be a sodding buffoon.”
“He opened the store early, too,” a woman named Evelyn added. “Women were pounding on his door, wanting in. The butter was sold out in a quarter of an hour.”
Several people rubbed their hands and licked their lips. “Been too long since we’ve had good butter,” someone said gleefully. “My kids miss it something terrible. But we’ll have butter with our bread tonight!”
Simon and the rest of the workers walked beneath a leaden sky, and though the dark clouds did little
to dispel his exhaustion, he couldn’t help the bright gleam of satisfaction within. He didn’t risk a glance at Alyce, walking beside him. It’d be too easy to share a conspiratorial smile with her. It would be too easy just to smile at her for no reason at all. Or look at her because he simply wanted to.
It’d been a mistake to kiss her last night … or was it this morning? A mistake to get involved with someone so crucial during a mission. But the twist of it was—he didn’t feel sorry at all. He wanted to kiss her again. Soon. Feel the heat of her, taste that spicy-sweet flavor of her mouth, know the strength of her will and her body.
Last night, she’d been with him through every step, every twist. Worked almost as well as any seasoned Nemesis operative—but she wasn’t. She had no training, the way he and the others had. Alyce was a bal-maiden in a Cornish mining town, but her adaptability, her willingness to take risks, her clever and sharp mind—not to mention her sharp tongue—revealed someone extraordinary. But the mission always had to come first, and nothing—and no one—should affect that. He shouldn’t want more of her. Yet he did, especially after last night.
Keep focused, damn it. It’s for her that you’re doing this.
“I heard the managers sent Hartley packing,” a woman chimed in, bringing Simon’s thoughts back from dangerous places. “Had Tippet stand in his doorway and give him thirty minutes to get his gear together, then ran him out of the village.”
Edgar spat on the ground. “Good riddance. That bastard never lost a chance to cheat us.”
“They’ll just find another toady to mind the store,” Nathaniel said darkly.
“Change might be coming.” This, from Henry, who’d been silent up until that point. “Couldn’t that be so, Simon?”
Simon gave a noncommittal shrug. “Lots of things could happen. Things we can’t know or control.” It was a little too early to play his hand.
“Maybe we’ve got more power than we know,” Alyce said, also breaking her silence.
He did glance at her then, slightly cautioning. She might’ve done a bang-up job last night, but she wasn’t a Nemesis agent, who knew how to keep secrets and led two lives as easily as most people led only one. A lone misplaced word, and everything could fall apart like a house made of wet paperboard.
