Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel

by Zoë Archer

  Until she reached the entrance to the cave, and froze.

  Constable Tippet stood just outside the cavern. The lantern he held cast long, leering shadows over his face. He smirked at her.

  “Alyce—” Simon reached her, then also came to an abrupt stop when he saw the chief constable. A bit farther off in the shadows lurked Freeman, waiting, it seemed, for the signal to pounce.

  “Lover’s tiff?” Tippet smirked. “Damned shame.”

  “You know how irrational women can be,” Simon answered, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Just because I said I didn’t like the way she makes mutton stew—”

  “It’s my mother’s recipe,” she snapped. “If it was good enough for me and my family, it’s good enough for you.” Her heart pounded in her throat. Had Tippet and Freeman come by the caverns only a few minutes earlier, they would’ve seen all the miners or, worse, heard their plans.

  Tippet chuckled. “Ought to learn better timing, Sharpe. Don’t complain about a lass’s cooking when you’ve got her horizontal. Once you get what you want, then feel free to criticize.”

  She fought a wince as Simon’s fingers tightened on her shoulder.

  “I’ll remember that for next time,” he answered.

  Another chortle from Tippet. “If there is a next time. Better make with an apology, and quick, or you’ll have to find another lass to bring to Carndale.”

  Alyce’s own fist ached with the need to punch the chief constable right in his lecherous, smug face.

  “I might,” Simon replied breezily. His tone just as offhand, he asked, “Carndale part of your usual patrol, Chief Constable?”

  Tippet shrugged. “Not usually, but sometimes I come up here and give the randy kiddies a scare. Keeps ’em honest and pure. We don’t want any bastard babes in the village.”

  Probably just wants to watch the lustful goings-on, the filthy son-of-a-bitch.

  “Given my lass’s dudgeon,” Simon said wryly, “there’s no chance of that tonight. So we’ll wish you a good evening, Chief Constable. And Constable Freeman,” he added.

  “Evening,” Tippet replied. “Better luck next time.” With another lewd chuckle, he and Freeman ambled down the hill.

  Neither Simon nor Alyce spoke until they were certain the lawmen had gone. Only then did she exhale. Simon cursed softly. They shared a relieved but wary glance, each knowing how close they’d come to disaster.

  Or how close they’d come to making love, with Tippet catching them in the act. Only Simon’s rejection had kept that from happening. Anger surged in her again.

  “I’m going home,” she said, her voice clipped. “Alone.”

  “It’s a moonless night—”

  “I was born in Trewyn and I’ll probably die here,” she answered, a biting edge in her voice. “There’s not a rock or tree I don’t know. Even in the dark.”

  “I won’t—”

  “Again,” she said, cutting him off, “it’s not your choice to make. But don’t worry,” she added tartly, “I’m still going to be your wife.”

  With that, she sped down the hill, letting the night’s darkness smooth over the rough edges of her confusion.

  * * *

  Standing at the large oak tree at the outskirts of the village, carrying his rucksack, Simon half anticipated she wouldn’t meet him that night. Yesterday evening, they’d parted … well, he had no idea what to think of the way they’d parted. Angry. Frustrated. Aroused. He’d had to take the longest possible route back to the bachelor lodgings, practically running up and down the hills to burn his need for her out of his body. And when he’d collapsed into bed, his hands still felt the soft weight of her breast and the satin of her thigh. His cock had continued to ache.

  But privacy was in short supply where the men slept, so he’d had to try to sleep without getting a measure of self-provided relief. Not an easy night. But those had been few ever since he’d met Alyce.

  He checked his pocket watch—the dented, cheap one he used when on assignment, not the Vacherin Constantin his brother had given him after he’d retired from military service. Nearly nine o’clock. If she didn’t arrive soon, they’d never reach St. Ursula in time to catch the late-night train. And the longer he waited here, the greater the chance someone might spot him. He’d already given his excuse to the managers that he’d be rushing off to see his dying father. They didn’t like it, but he’d marched from their offices before they could issue any threats.

  Still, it’d look suspicious if he was found lingering at the edge of the village, when he was supposedly halfway to Sheffield.

  He hadn’t seen Alyce all day. God, had he turned everything into a damned mess by kissing her again? Or made it worse by not making love to her, as she’d wanted?

  As we both wanted.

  He gritted his teeth and fought the urge to pace. Pacing would only make him more visible if anyone happened to be out. So he held himself still, though he seethed with the desire to move, to act. To find Alyce, wherever she was, and kiss her breathless, feel her melt against him—though he suspected she had too much spine to melt. It would be a luscious battle the whole time, each of them fighting, pushing, and giving. Exactly the way he liked it.

  Enough, idiot. The mission was ongoing. He couldn’t let his thoughts wander, not for a moment, even if the path his thoughts took was awash in erotic images.

  A twig snapped close by. He crouched low, blending into the tree’s shadows. A woman’s slim silhouette appeared from the darkness, her steps cautious. He stood.

  “Here,” he whispered.

  Alyce emerged out of the night, wearing a woolen cloak, and carrying a small bag made from carpet pieces. Her eyes were wide in the darkness, but her steps didn’t falter as she approached him.

  “It’s taken care of,” she whispered back. “I made a good show of it at work today, coughing as if I were pounding on death’s door. No one came within five feet of me. Made my throat raw, though.” She did, in fact, sound a bit more raspy than usual. “Henry’s covering for me for the next few days, telling everyone that I’m too contagious to go to the mine.”

  He nodded, pleased at how coolly and efficiently she and her brother were handling the machinations of the scheme. “Time to go. It’s ten miles to St. Ursula.”

  Without another word, they headed off toward the other town. They trekked wordlessly beneath the star-strewn sky, crossing fields and farms and sleeping little villages. Tension silently radiated out of Alyce. She kept throwing glances over her shoulder, as if checking to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  “My sneaking around at night has increased three times over since I met you,” she muttered when he helped her over a stone wall.

  “Better than just lying in bed, waiting for the next workday to come.”

  He couldn’t tell if her silence was one of agreement, but she didn’t contradict him, either. Of the whole population of Trewyn, no one else would’ve agreed to help him with this mad scheme. Alyce was either reckless or courageous. Or both.

  Lights finally glimmered ahead. Almost all the businesses in St. Ursula had closed their shutters for the night, but the tiny railway station was open, a few lamps burning on the platform and one in the biscuit box of a ticketing office. Three men stood on the platform—two farmers and a clerk of some kind—but they were too weary to give Simon and Alyce much notice as they approached.

  Ten minutes to midnight. They’d just made it.

  “Stick your hands inside your cloak,” he said under his breath.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not wearing gloves, and I forgot to give you a ring before we reached town.” He took her bag from her, and she did as he asked, tucking her hands into her cloak.

  He neared the ticketing office. It was only a wooden box with a counter and a window, and a small stove shoved into one corner. The clerk propped his head on his fist, dozing lightly. Simon rapped on the glass. Snapping to partial wakefulness, the clerk regarded Simon and Alyc
e through bleary eyes. “What’s that?”

  “Two tickets to Exeter for me and my wife,” Simon answered. He slid coins across the counter.

  He felt Alyce tense beside him, but fortunately, she didn’t speak.

  With dull, mechanical movements, the clerk took Simon’s money, then handed him two slips of paper. “Ain’t no dining car on the train at this hour.”

  “We’ll manage,” Alyce said. As she and Simon stepped away from the ticketing office, she whispered, “There are two meat pies and a flagon of cider in my bag. Sarah was afraid we might starve,” she added on a whisper.

  “A prime woman, that sister-in-law of yours.”

  Genuine pleasure lit Alyce’s face. “She is at that. Don’t know how a dunderhead like Henry managed to trick her into marrying him.”

  “Must be that famed Carr charm.”

  “You can’t see it, but beneath my cloak, I’m making a very rude hand gesture.”

  His laugh startled the drowsing men on the platform.

  “Why—” she began.

  He knew what she was going to ask. “Wait until we’re on the train. It’s late, so we should be able to find a carriage that’s mostly empty. Then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  She arched a brow. “That’s a foolishly generous offer. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

  “Looking forward to answering them.” He meant it, too. Even with his fellow Nemesis operatives, there was a certain code of secrecy among them. They all led dual existences, kept parts of themselves hidden. A strategy they’d all silently adopted as a way to keep from being completely absorbed by their work. It’d be all too easy to fall down the pit of assignments, never emerging, never knowing life beyond one job to the next. But they had to shelter themselves to some extent, or risk vanishing altogether.

  Yet something inside him felt a strange … safety … with Alyce. Maybe because she was a temporary part of his life. Once he’d completed the mission, they’d part company forever, she to continue on at Wheal Prosperity, and he to the next Nemesis objective. There was a freedom in that.

  But he also sensed a different kind of security with her. Her mind was sharp, constantly questioning. Nothing was assumed or taken for granted. With her, he felt … real. Body and mind and purpose united into a single self. He could show her both the gentleman and the vigilante. She didn’t turn away, but demanded more of him.

  And it stirred within him, the feeling that this job was more than a job—helping someone else, righting the wrongs against them. Every assignment held meaning, but this one … he needed it to succeed not just for the workers of Wheal Prosperity, but for Alyce herself.

  Even … for himself.

  The approaching train’s whistle punctured the night. Alyce started as the hissing, steaming machine chugged to a stop. A few passengers staggered out, and the men on the platform hurried to board.

  She eyed the train with trepidation. Alyce never looked at anything with trepidation. She probably hadn’t been on a train before. Or, if she had, not that often. Whereas he crisscrossed the country several times a month. Nothing could be more quotidian.

  He placed his hand low on her back, not so much for guidance but reassurance. “This way, Mrs. Sharpe,” he murmured, and escorted her onto the train. They found a carriage with one man asleep in the corner, and settled into their own seats at the far end. Simon placed their bags on the brass overhead rack. Then he took the seat opposite hers. The lamps in the carriage turned her face pale. She lost even more color as the train lurched into motion.

  The seating in the carriage had been designed so that a decent distance separated the knees of the passengers who faced one another. But he leaned forward, narrowing the space between him and Alyce.

  “Give me your hands.”

  The fact that she did so without questioning him indicated how rattled she was. She slid her hands into his—they were chilled, shaking slightly. He frowned. Even when it was bitterly cold outside, she never shivered.

  Jesus—she was frightened. She was taking a huge risk, far greater than anything she’d ever done. Damned courageous woman.

  She looked down, startled, when he slid a plain gold band onto her left ring finger. Something contracted in his chest as he placed the ring on her. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone in disguise as a married man—he’d done so half a dozen times with Eva and occasionally Riza. It shouldn’t unsettle him the way it did now. But he’d never put the ring on either of his colleagues’ fingers. And now, here he was, sliding a wedding band onto Alyce’s hand, in a shabby second-class train carriage.

  It felt … wrong. As if it, as if she, deserved better.

  “This makes me your wife, now,” she murmured, then added, “Temporarily.”

  “Temporarily,” he agreed.

  “Then I claim a wife’s privilege.” She leaned closer, her gaze flicking down to his mouth.

  His body tightened in readiness, though his mind rebelled. They’d agreed not to pursue their attraction—and this was a public train carriage. If anyone spotted them kissing, he and Alyce would be thrown off for indecency.

  But all those doubting thoughts dulled as he contemplated the tempting curves of her lips.

  “Claim away,” he said.

  “Dear husband,” she breathed, leaning even nearer. “You said we were going to Plymouth, so why the hell are we going to Exeter?”

  CHAPTER 9.

  Alyce carefully watched his face for the slightest hint of surprise, but he seemed perfectly at ease, damn him. Her heart was racing as fast as this awful train; she’d never gone beyond the borders of Trewyn without her family. And he’d casually slipped the bloody wedding band on her finger—as if being fictitiously married were something he did every day—looking as calm as a summer sky.

  He glanced over at the sleeping man. When he spoke, his voice was just loud enough for her to hear him above the rattling train. “It’s for the mission. We’re meeting some Nemesis operatives there to help us get ready before moving on to Plymouth.” He raised one elegant eyebrow. “Thought I had nefarious designs on your person? After last night?”

  Her face heated as she remembered practically begging him to make love to her, and his refusal. “I was thrown, was all.”

  “I can’t step off the train in Plymouth claiming to be a solicitor but dressed like a machinist. Marco and Harriet are bringing us clothing, among other things.”

  She looked at the cuff of what was her very best dress, worn to church, weddings, and funerals—including when she’d buried her parents. Good as Sarah’s needlework was, anyone could see that the seams of Alyce’s dress had been mended more than once, and the merino had grown thin and shiny in places. No one in Trewyn had fine, new clothing. Everything had been handed down for so many years, it was impossible to know how long a garment had been in the family.

  How shabby she and the other villagers had to look to Simon. Like … like peasants.

  Not once, though, had he ever looked at her or any of them as if they were beneath him.

  But she wouldn’t let herself feel ashamed. Most of the world labored for the smallest bit of bread or the possibility of one shiny, new ribbon. There was no embarrassment in working hard and having little.

  “Tell me about Marco and Harriet,” she said.

  “How dare you say that about my parents!” he said loudly.

  “I—”

  “They’re not in the least bit common!”

  A grumble rose up from the sleeping man. Alyce peered around her seat. The man had awakened and now stared balefully at her and Simon. Clearly, the passenger wanted them to quiet down so he could go back to sleep.

  She turned back to Simon. “As common as sheep in Wales,” she yelled. “And the way your mother fusses about everything! ‘Oh, dear, are you sure that’s the proper way to boil a pudding? It doesn’t seem right to me.’ ‘Is that really what you’re going to wear?’ ‘Why is there always a chill at your house?’”

 
“Maybe if you were more respectful—”

  “Maybe if you weren’t such a milksop—”

  Muttering angrily, the other passenger got to his feet. He sent Alyce and Simon one last spiteful glower before slamming out of the train carriage.

  Now that they were finally alone, Simon stretched his legs out, settling in for the trip. Despite the space between them, his legs were so long that his ankles brushed against the hem of her dress. An odd pride refused to let her shift her position and break the intimate contact.

  “You play the part of harridan well,” he murmured.

  “It’s easy when I’ve got such excellent motivation.”

  “That was nicely done,” he said. “You transitioned to your role without a hitch. As good as any Nemesis operative.”

  Brief pleasure surged in her. She could do this. She was more than a woman with a hammer. Her intelligence could be a weapon, too.

  “You were going to tell me more about Nemesis before we had to wake our sleeping friend,” she said.

  “Marco’s been with Nemesis since the beginning. Four years, it’s been. Back then, it was he, I, and Lazarus. Three strangers who happened to meet in a pub the night they executed William Vale.” He looked at her as if expecting her to know who that was, but she only shrugged. “The news of it wasn’t sensational enough to make it out to Cornwall, but it was a man’s life, just the same. Vale was a low-paid clerk who’d been thrown out of his tenement by a son-of-a-bitch greedy landlord. The landlord kept raising the rent, and Vale couldn’t afford it. Not an uncommon situation in London, but Vale had a wife and young son, and no place to go. And it was winter. The woman and child died, and Vale wanted restitution. Not money, but something to make up for the loss of his wife and child.”

  “He didn’t get it,” Alyce guessed.

  “The police and courts wouldn’t hear his complaints, so he took justice into his own hands. Tried to kill the landlord, but failed. They sentenced him to swing, of course.”

  She winced at the casual note in his voice, but beneath that seeming coolness, his words were edged like blades, and his eyes were hard blue shards of glass.