Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (12 page)

They’d known they could speak and act openly around him, and he wouldn’t go tattling.

You’re not like the other ones,
the head housemaid had said.
Got mischief in your heart, you do.

And roast chicken in my belly,
he’d answered. The cook always gave him leftovers from the servants’ meal—meat pies and roasts and other simple fare, instead of
ris de veau grillés
or
poulet sauté au fenouil.

But you shouldn’t make your father so cross,
the butler, Tindle, had said.
You eat more of your dinners down here with us than you do upstairs.

Simon remembered looking around the kitchen, with its bustle and noise and jokes and chaos.
I like it better here,
he’d said.

And he liked it better here in the snug kitchen of the Carrs, as brother and sister exchanged loving barbs, and Sarah took it all with affectionate patience. He’d been eating in the bachelor lodgings all week, and it had been much like his time in the army. Insults, stories, or the quiet of tired, hungry men shoveling food into their mouths as fast as possible. Sometimes the different members of Nemesis would take a meal together at their headquarters—business being the main topic of conversation, and business meant nefarious deeds against nasty men. Not exactly cozy, comfortable environs.

But here, with the Carrs, warmth blanketed him. For as much as Henry and Alyce badgered each other, real fondness and concern shone in their eyes when they looked at each other. And Sarah formed a buffer—against the siblings, against the world outside, keeping the space of their shabby little house as safe as possible. Heroic, in her own way. Especially carrying a child, both she and her husband occasionally placing a protective hand against her round belly.

In those moments of intimacy, both Simon and Alyce studied their plates intently. They shared glances, the looks of people on the outside.

He’d never believed a wife and family would be his. He still didn’t. And he didn’t want them, either. But watching the way Henry and Sarah looked after each other and their unborn child, sitting at this small table with clever, pretty Alyce, that strange emptiness in him filled slightly. A tiny, glowing warmth, small and flickering as a tinder lit in the wind.

Careful. Getting too involved puts the mission in jeopardy.
He wouldn’t be able to think with a level head.

Yet he fought against himself uselessly. This place, these people—Alyce—already shaped him. Stole the distance he needed to get the job done. But he was a veteran of more than one campaign. He’d find a way to make everything work out.

Whatever he planned, it’d have to involve the Carrs—especially Alyce. They were key to figuring out Wheal Prosperity, where even a simple family supper turned into a debate between the siblings.

“While other mines have been shutting down, ours has been making a good profit,” Alyce contended. “I don’t see why we can’t push for an increase in wages.”

Henry shook his head. “
Push
—no. The managers are mule-headed bastards. Push them and they just push back. It’s got to be worked at slowly, subtly.”

“Too slow and there won’t be enough to feed the baby when she comes.”

“When
he
comes, and I’ll make my suggestions to the managers—in my own time.”

Having seen the ledgers, Simon knew how vast the disparity was between the mine’s earnings and the miners’ portions of that profit. Even Henry, who sought peace between the two groups, would be brought to a rage if he understood. But Simon couldn’t very well tell them that he’d broken into the managers’ office, picked the lock of the strongbox, and reviewed all the numbers.

“Someone has to give them a shove,” Alyce fired back. “If you don’t, then I will.”

“Naturally. Steam-shovel Alyce just storms ahead, and forget about if it lands you in gaol or you lose your position.”

Sarah gave Simon an apologetic smile. “Henry should’ve warned you. It turns into a regular battle royal here every night.”

“Only because Henry insists on moving as fast as a drunk tortoise when it comes to change,” Alyce said.

“It’s because my sister has a good heart but the subtlety of a charging bull.”

“Sounds like you want the same things,” Simon noted. “Only there’s a basic difference in tactics.”

Alyce rose. When he scooted his chair aside to make room, their arms grazed. She began to clear their empty plates, and he immediately got to his feet to help. She tried to wave him off, but he wouldn’t be dissuaded. Their fingers brushed as they passed dishes back and forth. With the table cleared, she set a kettle on the range and took down three mugs from their hooks on the wall.

“Damn,” she muttered. “I forgot to borrow an extra one from next door.”

She dashed out before he could tell her that he’d forgo tea.

Simon eased back into his chair, but, despite the fact that the fire in the stove still blazed, it felt as though the heat and light had gone out of the room.

“She’d throttle me if I tried to apologize for her,” Henry said.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Simon answered at once.

“She’s always been headstrong, but when our da died in the mine six years ago, and then our ma took sick and died soon after for want of a good doctor, Alyce became a woman on a mission.”

A smile curved Simon’s mouth, even as his heart contracted from the loss of the elder Carrs. Their stories weren’t uncommon, but that didn’t make them less painful. Sometimes he wondered if he’d have an easier time with his work for Nemesis if he cared less—but if he cared less, he wouldn’t risk his life over and over again. “I understand having a mission.”

He always had goals, objectives. A never-ending fight. But, unlike Alyce, he never fought for himself. Just others. Even when he’d been in the army, struggling for survival, he’d mostly worried about keeping his fellow soldiers safe.

Thinking on it now made him frown. Why hadn’t he taken up any battle on his own behalf? Always it was for someone else. As if … as if he didn’t merit the fight. Easier to take up another’s struggle than his own.

Odd, that. When it came to his own conflicts—with his family, his role as a gentleman—he’d turned away. Found somebody else’s war to wage.

A troubling thought to have, especially in this place, now.

“Here we are.” Alyce came back inside, brandishing an earthenware mug. “It’s only got one chip it in, which means it goes to our guest. Keep the handle on the right side so you don’t cut your lip.”

She bustled about, getting the tea ready over Sarah’s objections. “I can take care of that,” Sarah complained.

“And stagger around with that giant belly of yours, knocking everything to the ground? No, thank you.” Yet Alyce’s words were teasing and affectionate, and her sister-in-law only smiled.

The kettle whistled, and Alyce added milk to each cup before pouring in the tea. No sugar. Soon four full mugs were set on the table, along with a seed cake, unwrapped from a soft muslin cloth. Simon held his cup close to his face, breathing fragrant steam deeply. It was better than what they served in the bachelor lodgings, but hardly more than twigs compared to the special blend that his father drank—a mixture of Assam and Formosa oolong—and always with the milk added last. Simon sipped this gratefully. It tasted damned better than any custom blend served in a Sèvres.

Leaning back in his chair, he asked Alyce, “Is yours a one-woman crusade to change things at the mine? Anyone else willing to stick their necks out?”

“Not as far as I do,” she said with a rueful smile.

“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.”