by Zoë Archer
His gaze shot to the Larkfields. Lady Larkfield sat with Lady Cowan and several other of the female guests. She watched the children play with their presents, but her eyes kept darting around the room, as if afraid or searching for something. Her husband also looked distracted, his clothes and hair less than perfect, his hands knotted into fists. He stood with some of the male guests near the fireplace, talking of hunting or Parliament or whatever it was that the nobs concerned themselves with. Normally, Michael listened very carefully to these conversations. Today, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Think, goddamn it. There had to be a way. Some means so he wouldn’t have to lose Ada now that he’d found her again. Sharing a bed with her for a night wasn’t enough. And he couldn’t be content with hoping to see her for a few days between assignments. She deserved better than that. But what the bloody hell could he do? Leave Nemesis?
Or, after Boxing Day tomorrow, would he kiss her and wish her well, and make a clean amputation of his heart?
There’s a solution. Has to be one. That’s what Nemesis does. Find answers when they can’t be found.
“They’ve no idea,” said a woman’s sleep-deprived voice just behind him.
Damn, it was a measure of his mind’s chaos that he hadn’t heard Ada approach. He wanted to turn and pull her close for a kiss, but instead, as she pretended to dust a vase in the hall, they both watched the Larkfields celebrating the holiday.
“If they do,” he answered quietly, “then they ought to find work on the London stage. They look distressed, but not as if over a hundred thousand pounds has gone missing. Not a word, gesture, or secret look between them.”
“While their blood money is probably in London.”
“Nemesis will wash it clean of that blood,” he said.
“We’ll be laid off after Boxing Day,” she murmured, and his guts clenched. “I just wish…”
His body tensed even more. “Wish what?”
“I could see the look on their faces when they realize that the thieves have been robbed.”
It was and wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. And he wanted to look at her, damn it. But if he left his post, he might be dismissed.
“Sod it,” he muttered. He grabbed an empty decanter as an excuse to leave, then strode from the room. Turning, he had a glimpse of her startled face as he linked their hands and pulled her into an empty parlor where the lamps were unlit.
He set down the decanter as they faced each other in the elegant little room. He couldn’t let go of her hand. The snow had stopped falling some time before dawn, and it covered the ground outside in a thick, pure layer. Despite the gray skies, pale sun shone off the snow, washing the parlor and Ada in soft light.
“I’m not doing it again,” he growled. “I’m not walking away from you.”
There was a momentary joy in her face before her brow furrowed. “The mission’s over. Marco said they had another assignment waiting for you as soon as you got back.”
He shook his head. “I’ll return to London, but I won’t go to headquarters.”
Now she looked stunned. “Abandon Nemesis? For me? Michael—no.”
A rod of hot iron pierced his chest. “Goddamn it, I won’t let you go. I’ll…” He finally released her hand and paced the room. “Work as a clerk. Save for a house for us in Brixton.”
“Where we’ll lead quiet, ordinary lives,” she pressed, “leaving the business of justice to others?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The hell we will.”
“Goddamn it,” he said again, “if I have to make a choice between Nemesis and you—”
“Then don’t,” she interrupted. She stalked close to him, her cheeks stained red as she fought for words. “I’ve been silent too long. Biting my tongue to keep from speaking out. But I don’t want to be quiet anymore. To be that mute housemaid or shopgirl. You helped me see that.”
She shook her head. “I tried so hard to keep myself safe. Put my heart in a strongbox.” A wry smile touched her mouth. “I should have known that you’d be able to pick that lock.”
“I’m not sorry,” he said at once.
“I don’t want you to be. Because…” She continued to search for the right words. “Because when you opened that safe, I discovered things inside there I hadn’t counted on. Like the fact that you’re a man of dedication and integrity. A man I admire. A man I love.”
Every part of him lurched to a stop. His breath, his blood, the beat of his heart. All he could do was stand in amazement, a mortal presented with a vision of the divine.
“I love you, too,” he said thickly. “So bloody much.” The same words he’d wanted to put in that letter he’d written in his mind. Pulling her snug against him, he kissed her deeply, and she held tight, returning the kiss with the same hunger.
“But that’s not all I found in the strongbox,” she gasped, pulling back after several moments. “Something else was there, too. Another thing I hadn’t expected.”
“Tell me, love,” he murmured against her lips.
She leaned back, enough to look him in the eyes. “I want to be a part of Nemesis. The way you are. Permanently. Being in service, working in a shop … none of that’s given me half the pride I’ve felt these last days. I want … I want to give what I can to others. Get them the justice they deserve. It’s so hard to find it in this world. If I can grab a little and give it to someone who needs it…” She shook her head. “Nothing’s finer than that.”
He mulled the idea over. “It’s a dangerous business.”
Her gaze flashed. “I’ve shown my courage.”
“You have. The warning’s for myself as much as you.”
“But the choice to join Nemesis is mine,” she countered.
Damn, he loved her audacious courage. “Soon as I get back to London—”
“As soon as we get back to London,” she said.
“When we return to London,” he continued, “I’ll speak with them. Simon and Marco and the others. They’ll have to vet you before taking you on.”
A small frown creased between her brows. “Do they ever turn anyone away?”
He couldn’t lie. “Not everyone’s suited for this work. But,” he added quickly, “Marco’s already impressed with how you’ve handled this job, and you wouldn’t have been picked for it in the first place if they didn’t already think you capable. God knows I do.”
She exhaled, then gave a small smile, and kissed him. They held each other close. Despite the fact that the fire wasn’t lit in this room, leaving it chilled, heat spread through him. Heat he and Ada made together. The world was a cold place, but they could keep each other warm.
Epilogue
Despite the gray, coal-stained light sifting in through the window, inside Michael’s small flat, everything was snug and warm. Mostly thanks to a little stove huddled in the corner, but also because Ada felt herself to be exactly where she wanted. His landlord had frowned at her presence in Michael’s rooms, until she showed the man her engagement ring. Then he was more than welcoming. After all, soon she’d be sharing this flat. But not soon enough. She comforted herself with the knowledge that there were only two more weeks left of reading the banns.
It wouldn’t be a lavish wedding, and that suited her fine. The guests would be her siblings, her uncle, Michael’s brothers and mother, and some members of Nemesis, who’d be introduced as “friends.” Not colleagues—though Ada was now one of their number.
“It doesn’t have to be pretty,” Michael said. He stood behind her as she sat at the table, his hands curved over her shoulders, warming her further.
She carefully tucked colored tissue into a box. “But think of the wonderfully hideous surprise they’ll receive. Having this beautiful gift delivered to their door, and then finding this”—she held up the key to the Larkfields’ suitcase—“inside.”
He bent down and kissed her. “Wickedness. Definitely a quality I want in my future bride.”
She smiled up at him, then returned to her work. Aft
er setting the key in the box, she added a small card.
Replacing the lid on the box, she secured it with a lavish burgundy satin bow. With that finished, she handed the “gift” to Michael, who carried it to the door. Outside, a boy slouching in the hallway snapped to attention. He took the gift from Michael, along with instructions to deliver the present to another boy in Middle Temple Gardens, who’d then take it to a lad at St. James’s. And finally that boy would take the gift to the Larkfields’ address in Mayfair.
“Mind,” Michael cautioned, “you’re not to tell anyone who gave you this box, nor where it came from. And be sure to take a roundabout path home so you’re not followed.”
“Yes, sir.” If the boy found his instructions strange, a shilling seemed to quiet his concerns. In a flash, he was gone, clattering down the stairs.
Michael shut the door and leaned against it, his mouth curved into a nimble smile. “To be invisible…”
“We caught a glimpse, though,” she noted. “The whole house was buzzing on Boxing Day. How Larkfield went storming up to Lord Cowan and pushed him against the wall, demanding to know where it was.”
“Cowan didn’t know what the hell his cousin was talking about,” Michael said. “Why would he? But he knew enough from London gossip to tell Larkfield to leave his house at once, and never come back.”
“And there wasn’t a bloody thing Larkfield could do about it but storm off.”
She rose from the table and crossed to him, looping her arms around his neck. It would be satisfying to actually see the Larkfields’ expressions when they discovered that Nemesis had taken its pound of flesh, but that wasn’t to be. At the least she knew that the money had been given to foundling homes around London. A painstaking search had followed, of which she’d taken part, finding the displaced children, but Nemesis had found nearly all of them, and situated them in clean, safe orphanages.
The streets still teemed with children mired in the depths of poverty, but she and Nemesis had done what they could to help those they could reach. It had been one of her first lessons as a new operative: the work was never finished. But if they could chip away even a little at the mountain of disparity, maybe someday that mountain would crumble, crushing people like the Larkfields beneath it.
“We’ll just have to use our imaginations,” she said.
His smile widened as he placed his hands on her waist. “I’ve got a very good imagination.”
Didn’t she know that well. Despite her protestations, he’d insisted they not make love until after their wedding—some unnecessary notions of honor—but that hadn’t stopped them from other pursuits, where Michael had indeed shown the wicked depths of his imagination.
“Let’s put it to the test,” she murmured.
He groaned. “Love, I’d like nothing better. But we’re expected at headquarters in half an hour. We’ve got a new assignment. Posing as servants at a crooked Parliamentarian’s home and gathering evidence against him.”
“What’s the bastard done?” She still thrilled at using rough language, but nothing else seemed to suit when describing Nemesis’s targets.
“Diverted poor relief funds to line his own greasy pockets.”
No, the work was never done, but at least she was making a difference. She and Michael—together. Nothing pleased her more.
Though she was looking forward to her honeymoon …
“Then let’s serve him a bit of retribution,” she said.
“Agreed. But first,” he answered, “this.” Then he pulled her snug against him, his long, lean body tight to hers, and kissed her—a thorough, slow kiss that turned her molten. There would always be justice to be served, wrongs to be repaired, but she allowed herself this moment of indulgence.
In just an hour or so, the Larkfields would open their gift and read the note.
Holiday Greetings from Nemesis, Unlimited, it read.
But now, she was in Michael’s arms. When they kissed, the world fell away, fluttering off like soot-dusted moths. She knew only him, and the heat they created even in the depths of winter.
Read on for an excerpt from Zoë Archer’s new book
DANGEROUS SEDUCTION
Coming December 2013 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
For several minutes, Simon simply watched her. Every so often, he’d lift the cigarette to his lips and take a drag, then slowly exhale smoke. He held the end between his index finger and thumb, which mysteriously fascinated her. All the chaps in Trewyn wedged their cigarettes between their index and middle fingers, but he made this ordinary action exotic. She tried not to watch him, focusing instead on her task, yet from the corner of her eye she caught small details: the shape of his lips as he drew on the end, the way he let his arm casually drop after each inhalation, how his fingers curled around the cigarette itself to keep it protected from the slight breeze. How smoke drifted up from his mouth in a way that was almost.…sensuous.
Alyce had seen dozens, maybe hundreds, of men smoking. But only he made it look like a rough seduction.
“You can’t smoke on the dressing floor,” she said without looking at him. It felt vitally important to act indifferent to him—a kind of balm after the fear that had twisted through her earlier.
He immediately knocked off the cigarette’s smoldering end and pinched it shut, then tucked it in his pocket. “Still learning the rules.”
“Is that why Constable Tippet came to see you?”
One of his eyebrows rose. “Five other men work in the engine house. Tippet could’ve been talking with any of them.”
She swung her hammer again, splitting apart another hunk of rock. “Abel, Bill, and the others, they know their place. The rules. Not you. There’s something about you that warrants keeping an eye on.”
“I’m harmless as eiderdown,” he answered, sticking his hands in his pockets.
She laughed at that. “Don’t forget, I saw everything last night.” Lifting her hammer once more, she said, “You’re anything but harmless.” She swung again and smashed apart more hunks of ore.
He eyed the pieces of rock. “I could say the same about you. My arms ache just watching.”
“Can’t get paid if I don’t keep swinging. Besides,” she added, “I’ve been spalling nearly seven years now, ever since I got big and strong enough to wield the hammer. Before that, I was carting away deads.” She nodded toward a group of girls carrying barrows heaped with the discards and rubbish that remained after the ore had been cleaned and sorted. “That’s not light work, either.”
Lifting her arm, she flexed. “This isn’t a fine lady’s arm. Not a bit soft.”
She almost jumped when he reached out and gently squeezed her bicep. It was a quick, impersonal touch, but it made her heart leap like a miner catching his first sight of daylight.
“It’s a powerful arm,” he said. “Much better than a limb that’s yielding and weak.”
Was he having her on? From what he’d said about himself, he’d been around working women for years, so he wouldn’t be shocked by a female with muscles. But, outside of mines and factories, women were supposed to be supple, delicate creatures. She’d seen a few fashion journals—though they’d been at least two years out of date. All the ladies in those magazines had smooth, white arms. One could hardly think they had bones, let alone muscles.
Proud as Alyce was of her strength, she knew she wasn’t the height of femininity. Dainty women didn’t put bread on the table. Men did have their fantasies about what women were supposed to be, and that didn’t necessarily mean a woman who could wield a bucking iron.
Yet she thought she saw real admiration in Simon’s gaze, and his voice was low and earnest.
He liked that she was strong. Just as much as she did. A quick, swift pleasure coursed through her.
The constant thump and clatter of the dressing floor stopped. All of the bal-maidens and the other workers stared at her and Simon with open fascination. Women normally didn’t go about flexing their arms and men didn
’t squeeze their biceps. Especially not a man and a woman who’d met just the day before.
Damn, there’ll be talk all over the village.
“You’d best be getting back to manning the pump engine. We can’t have our lads swimming down there.”
“That, we can’t.” He started to turn from her, then stopped. “Does Tippet report to anyone?”
“Why? Do you want to lodge a complaint against him?” The very idea made her laugh.
He shrugged. “Just wondering if he’s the final word here.”
“It’s the managers who run the circus,” she answered.
“Not the owners?”
She snorted. “They’re snug and oblivious in Plymouth. So long as their profits keep coming, they don’t give a parson’s belch what happens at Wheal Prosperity.” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s why you came out here, to ask me about Tippet and the fat-bellied owners?”
It was his turn to chuckle. “I’m just a machinist. As the good constable phrased it, I’m only a cog in the engine. If I’m desperate enough to take this job, I wouldn’t do a bloody thing to make me lose it.”
She had to admit that made sense. Still, she pressed, “Then why’d you come out here?”
He grinned, and she thought she heard some of the other women sigh. “Maybe I find a nice bit of sunshine in your company.”
He tipped his cap at her, and then at the other bal-maidens, before strolling back to the engine house. He didn’t look back.
Once he’d gone, Alyce felt dozens of eyes on her. She stared them all down, until everyone returned to their hammering, shoveling, and carting. She, too, got back to work, but the arm he’d touched continued to pulse with the echo of sensation, and she turned the words over and over, like pretty, smooth stones.
Much better than yielding and weak. I find a nice bit of sunshine in your company.
Careful, she warned herself. He’s still just a stranger. A flirtatious stranger, but unknown just the same. And if the eyes of the law were on him, she needed to keep a protective distance. She couldn’t make a difference at the mine if the managers and constabulary watched her every move. Better to keep away from Simon—the bright blue of his eyes and his warm grins and the way he matched her, thought for thought, the way no other man in the village had ever been able to.
