Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (20 page)

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, animal 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.

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 Alyce 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.