by Zoë Archer
“I’ll see her home,” Simon said.
“Hold, now,” Henry objected. “I don’t think that’s proper.”
“We broke into the managers’ home and stole butter together. Not entirely proper, either, but she’s safe with me.”
Scowling, Alyce planted her hands on her hips. “And the she in question hasn’t got a say in it.”
He turned to her, making himself the model of courteous decorum. He could still rely on his old training as a gentleman’s son. “Alyce, after your brother leaves, may I walk you home?”
Despite the dim lanterns, he could’ve sworn that she blushed. And though her scowl faded, she seemed careful to keep her expression aloof. “Very well.”
“But—” Henry began.
Her sharp look cut him off. “I’m four and twenty, Henry. Go home.”
The mulish look that crossed her brother’s face was so familiar, so like her, that Simon almost laughed. Wisely, he didn’t. Instead, his heart starting to pound hard within his chest, he watched as Henry picked his way back toward the entrance of the cavern. Within minutes, Simon and Alyce were alone.
It was an eerie place, the cavern, made more so now that the others had gone and taken most of the light with them. But there was a strange comfort in its oddness, its space within space, tucked into the Cornish hills. A sense of time removed from the rest of the spinning, exposed world, with he and Alyce in its hidden heart.
They now stood at the edge of the underground lake, its surface a black mirror.
“You helped,” he said, “but you didn’t make it easy on me.”
“Why should I?” she answered. “If you can’t win them over, how can I be sure you’ll succeed with anything else?”
He smiled a little, and walked along the rim of the lake, as if daring any creature that lived beneath its surface to make a grab for his ankles. That had always been his way. As a boy, if he ever heard of a place reported to be haunted or inhabited by fairy folk, he ran right for it, not away.
“There’s a Nemesis operative I think you’d get along with very well,” he said. “Either that, or you’d butt heads so often, you’d both be lying unconscious on the floor.”
“He must be a cunning, brave lad.” She strolled beside him, and he saw that she’d picked up one of the smooth pebbles that lay along the edge of the lake.
“Oh, she is. Went toe-to-toe with an escaped convict and never blinked, never backed down.”
“She?” No mistaking the edge of ice in Alyce’s voice. “I mean … there are women in Nemesis?”
“Three, at last count. Eva, as I said, Harriet, and Riza.”
“Forward-thinking for a group of vigilantes.”
“We’re more than vigilantes, and you know it.”
She shrugged. “It makes sense. If anyone sees more than their share of injustice in this world, it’s women.”
“That’s the damned truth of it.” He kicked a rock into the water, and the wet noise it made echoed through the cave. He waited for something to slink up from the depths, but of course, nothing did.
“And this Eva,” Alyce continued. “How long have you and she worked together?” Again, a slight tightness in her voice, as if wanting but not wanting to know the answer.
“Three years or so. She’s up in Manchester now, running a school and doing more of Nemesis’s work up there with her husband.”
“Husband?” She sounded shocked. “He lets her keep on with her dangerous work?”
Simon chuckled. “Jack doesn’t just let her, he helps her. He was the escaped convict she faced off against.”
“So they’ve both got reasons to fight for justice,” she murmured. “And they do it together.” She shook her head. “I never would’ve thought such a thing possible.”
“Why not? It was you and I who handled that butter heist.”
Moving away from him, she ran her hand along the wall of the cavern. The sight of her slim fingers trailing along the multicolored rock roused a dark need in him. He knew the strength of her hands, yet they had a surprising sleekness, an elegance that seemed to defy the tough life Alyce led.
“I don’t know how Nemesis works,” she said. “Maybe you meet in some hidden lair beneath the streets of London, guarded by passwords and clockwork devices—like they have in those adventure books that sometimes make their way to the village.”
The idea that Nemesis would have enough money to fund such elaborate, fantastical mechanisms nearly made him laugh aloud. “We’re just a group of men and women who meet above a chemist’s shop in Clerkenwell. Nothing like you’d find in an adventure book.”
She turned back to him, her lips curled intriguingly. Heat flooded him as he remembered suddenly the feel of her lips against his, and the passion she’d unleashed. The whole of this evening, he’d worked to keep his focus on the mission, not her, but she’d made it a difficult task, with the sharpness of her mind, her strength of will, and that alluring curve of her waist. His palms suddenly itched to touch her there, feel her softness and living, fiery strength.
“There you go,” she said with a smile, “smashing my pretty illusions.”
“I never mistook you for someone with illusions.”
To his dismay, her smile faded a bit. “Aye, there’s not much air for fantasies and dreams at Wheal Prosperity. They suffocate quickly in the dust.”
“But we’re going to change all that,” he reminded her.
“We’ll try, at least.”
He shortened the distance between them, and she pressed back until she leaned against the cavern wall. He planted his hands on either side of her head. “When a mission succeeds,” he said fiercely, “it’s because we believe it will. No room for fatalism, or hoping. If we want something to happen, we make it happen.”
“And no complications? No obstacles?”
“There are always complications and obstacles. But we’re clever people.”
“Silver-tongued, too.”
He felt her gaze on his mouth, just as his own fell to her lips. Despite the coldness of the cave and its resonant damp, he caught her scent of soap and skin, clean and real. He’d seen her face in daylight and in darkness, and didn’t need a lamp to know the shapes of her cheekbones, or the sharp point of her chin, or the storm of her eyes. In every way, she was striking. Time in the village, these past weeks, hadn’t dulled that impression. In truth, the more he was around her, the more she intrigued him. He felt almost … enthralled.
“I’m going to Plymouth,” he said.
She blinked at the sudden change of subject. “That’s where the owners of the mine live.”
“Exactly why I’m going there. With this.” He patted the paper inside his jacket. “I’ll be posing as a solicitor. As I said, Nemesis already has parts of this plan in motion. Now it’s my turn—our turn—to make the rest of it happen.” He tilted his head as he considered her. “How good are you at feigning illness?”
She frowned. “No idea. I’m never ill, and if there’s work to be done, I do it. But I don’t understand what pretending to be sick has to do with the owners in Plymouth.”
“You’re going to have to learn the art of malingering, and soon.” He smiled. “Because when I go to Plymouth, you’re coming with me.”
* * *
Between his nearness and the events of the night, it took Alyce several moments to understand Simon’s words. And when she did, they still didn’t make sense.
“Me? Going with you to Plymouth?” She frowned. “You’ve been inhaling too much engine grease.”
“I can’t get that smell out of my head,” he conceded. “But my thoughts are running as smoothly as one of the pump engines. In order for the next part of the plan to work, I’ll need you with me in Plymouth.”
She ducked beneath his arms and paced away. “To do what?”
“Remember how I said I was going to be posing as a solicitor? In order for the solicitor to get the current owners of Wheal Prosperity to trust me, I’m going to have
to bring my wife with me.”
Ice coursed through her. He’d wooed her. Kissed her. “You never said anything about your wife.”
“Because I don’t have one.” He stepped closer, his gaze warm. “But I know a woman who’ll make a perfect solicitor’s bride. One who’s got the brains and confidence to handle this ploy. I can’t lie to you, Alyce. It’s going to be a difficult job. A confidence game. Neither of us will be able to drop our disguises, not for a minute, and if we make the slightest misstep, say the wrong thing, then the whole plan’s up in flames.”
She swallowed hard. “Will it be dangerous?”
“The owners might consider themselves civilized men, but if a man’s wealth is threatened, the veneer of civilization peels off like a snake shedding its skin. There’s a poison adder beneath, and it’ll strike without warning.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I’ll do my best to protect you, yet sometimes I won’t be able to. But I need you for this, Alyce. I need you.”
Wrapping her arms around herself, she considered his proposition. She’d always wanted to deal a serious blow to the owners of the mine, always knew that to do so meant putting herself at risk. Every time she went up against the managers, it was a gamble. Still, what Simon proposed went far beyond anything she’d ever considered. Disguises. Confidence schemes. Traveling all the way to Plymouth—a city she’d never visited—pretending to be, of all things, a solicitor’s wife. All she’d ever been in her life was a miner’s daughter, a bal-maiden. Simon could slip in and out of identities like an actor in a traveling troupe. He’d even been careful to keep his Sheffield accent when talking to the men earlier, to keep them from being too suspicious and wary.
But what did she know of confidence schemes? She’d only been Alyce.
“You could get one of those other Nemesis women to play the part of your wife,” she said. “They’ve probably got cartloads more experience than me. Especially when we’re talking about disguises and fancy schemes. I’ll wager they’ve had training that included more than swinging a bucking iron.” This was so much more than simply marching into the managers’ office and voicing complaints. Far more than stealing butter under cover of darkness.
For the first time, doubts choked her, thick as coal dust.
“Alyce.” Simon’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up sharply, seeing the clean planes of his face in the lamplight, the certainty in his gaze. “It has to be you.”
Trewyn was her village, her community. No one wanted it to thrive more than she did. She had to make sure that the people and the workers were being represented by one of their own. Someone who cared about them. A woman from Nemesis might care, but not as much. How could she? This was Alyce’s home. The women and men were her neighbors, her family. She wouldn’t trust the fate of Henry’s child to a stranger.
Don’t forget your pride, a wry voice whispered in her mind. You’re too stubborn and proud to trust this to anyone except yourself. And Simon.
She released her tight grip on her arms, and let them fall to her sides. “When do we leave?”
The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he were fighting a grin, but then he lost the fight, and he beamed at her. Suddenly, the air in the cavern became scarce.
“Tomorrow night,” he said. “We’ll have to sneak out after everyone’s gone to bed. This isn’t anonymous London, where you can come and go without anyone noticing.”
“And that’s why you want me to pretend to be sick.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow, at work, you’ll make everyone think you’re coming down with a nasty case of the ague. Henry will make the excuse to the managers the next day, so you can miss a few days of work.”
She wouldn’t get paid for those lost days, but she’d be willing to trade scrip for tossing out the corrupt owners. “And you?”
“Edgar and Nathaniel will cover for me. I’ll be rushing off to my father’s deathbed.”
“Without permission from the managers? You might not have a job to come back to.”
“At that point,” he answered, “it won’t matter.”
She took a step toward him. “It’s a lot of faith you’re putting in me.”
His gaze, bright blue even in the cavern’s dimness, was level. “Because I know you can do it. The miners bring the rocks and ore up from the ground, but you’re the one who breaks those rocks apart and makes them valuable. Without you, they’re just worthless lumps of minerals.”
“That’s my job,” she muttered. “No different from any other bal-maiden.”
“No—you’ve got something no other bal-maiden has. Not just physical strength, but strength here.” He tapped the center of his chest. “I’d wager there’s nothing you can’t do, not if you want it badly enough.”
Her back suddenly itched, as if wings were about to sprout there and send her soaring toward the stars.
Freedom spiraled through her. Anything she desired, anything she wanted, she could have. It was all possible.
Her gaze moved across the contours of his face. So sharply carved, those shapes, the hollows of his cheeks. His deep-set eyes. Lips that verged on too thin, but she knew from experience their feel, their softness, and their strength.
Anything, she reminded herself. I can have anything.
He seemed to sense her intention, even as she held herself perfectly still. The black of his pupils nearly swallowed the ring of blue around them. His breathing roughened. She took another step closer, until their bodies pressed tightly together. Simon wrapped one arm around her waist, and walked them backward to the cavern wall. She brought her hands up to grip his shoulders. He turned them, so her back leaned against the stone, and his other hand cradled the back of her head, protecting her from the rock. Heat blossomed out from everywhere he touched. She felt the broadness of his hands, their strength, the tight-knit muscles of his body against her. Coldness from the rock spread across her back. But his heat chased the cold away. She felt only him.
They inhaled together, sharing breath. And then she rose up onto her toes and kissed him. They had kissed once before. This was a new discovery—the discovery of knowing him and the anticipation of what he might feel like again. The give and demand of his mouth on hers. His taste of tobacco and coffee, and his own flavor. His need as powerful as her own. And his confidence. Here was a man who knew how to kiss a woman, and shamelessly used his skill to weaken her knees and send pulses of hunger through her.
She wasn’t sophisticated, like him. Could count on one hand the number of men she’d kissed—with him among that number. But she didn’t care. Cultured seductress or not, she understood the wants of her body. And feeling the thickness of his erection pressed against her belly, she understood his wants. Basic, animal.
Yet more. Even as she urged herself closer to him—her breasts growing heavy, small groans escaping from the back of his throat—she felt another pull, almost as strong as desire. He was the only one. The one man who didn’t back down when she challenged him. The one man whose gaze heated when she spoke her mind.
His hand came up, tracing up the curve of her waist, then cupped her breast. She gasped, and he growled. God. It felt so right, so delicious. It didn’t matter at that moment that he was a gentleman by birth, an agent of Nemesis, or she was a unworldly Cornish girl. Their bodies had selves beyond blood and place.
She cupped his hips with her own, but muttered her frustration at her skirts and flannel petticoats tangling around their legs, keeping her and Simon apart. He rocked into her. Bolts of hot sensation shot through her, as if someone had poured molten copper into her veins.
She growled her disappointment when his hand left her breast. But when she felt him gathering up her skirts, cool air rushing up around her legs, and then the sensation of his hand upon her stocking-covered leg, she gasped in pleasure. His large hand skimmed up her leg, over the coarse wool, tracing patterns of heat. He reached her garter, slid his fingers beneath the elastic strap to touch her bare thigh—all the while making low, a
nimal sounds that fueled her need even more.
At the touch of his fingers to her uncovered skin, she gave a soft moan. No one but herself had ever touched her there. It was strange to have him stroking her thigh. Strange, a little frightening. But wonderful.
Suddenly, she was cold. Cold everywhere.
Her eyes blinked open, and she saw Simon standing almost a yard away. He was gasping for breath, and kept raking his hands through his hair as if needing to do something with them. Something other than cupping her breast or caressing her thigh. His expression, normally so calm, so assured, looked wild. There was no missing the long, thick shape of his erection, either—the sight both aroused and alarmed her.
“Don’t stop,” she managed to gasp. She reached for him, but he edged away.
“I don’t always have sterling manners,” he rumbled, “but I don’t fuck virgins in caverns.”
She started at his coarse language. “But I want you to.”
He swung away. “Hell, I shouldn’t touch you at all.”
More coolness flooded her, then anger began to take its place. “You don’t want me.”
“Of course I bloody want you,” he snarled. “But I can’t have you. If my brain’s in my cock, I can’t make sure the mission succeeds.”
“I’d wager you’ve got enough brains for your head and your … cock.” Much as she knew the rough ways and language of men, she was indeed a woman, and a virgin. She couldn’t pretend to be comfortable saying words like … like cock.
“I won’t imperil the mission, and I sure as hell won’t put you in any danger.” He turned to her. “I’m—”
“No saying ‘sorry,’” she snapped. “We both wanted—want—this. We’re both responsible. Nobody’s at fault. And it won’t happen again.” Still, frustration and thwarted desire left her tight, aching, and tense.
He gave her a clipped nod, looking about as unsatisfied as she felt. He strode to his lantern and picked it up. “I’ll walk you home.”
“I know the way.” She hurried through the caverns, hearing his footsteps echoing behind her. He called her name, but she wouldn’t slow or stop.
