Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (22 page)

“So you’re not all highborn.”

He laughed, and she admired the strong column of his neck. “God, no. Jack’s a convict from Bethnel Green. Harriet’s a clerk. Eva’s parents were missionaries. Lazarus was an enlisted man for three decades. Desmond and Riza’s parents taught piano and singing. Marco’s father is some industrialist. Went to Cambridge, though. And he’s the craftiest bastard you’ll ever meet.”

“What do your families think of all this? Of Nemesis.”

He looked appalled. “They know nothing about it. We all keep it a secret. My father thinks I amuse myself at an office a few days a week, moving papers around and acting important but bored.”

“You think he’d be embarrassed.”

“‘Embarrassed’ wouldn’t cover it. More likely ‘mortified’ or ‘humiliated.’ He was ashamed when I decided to enlist instead of buying a commission. I can only imagine his enraged paroxysms if he ever learned about Nemesis.”

She stared at him. He’d
enlisted.
Like a commoner. “But … if it’s so important to you, I don’t see how it’s possible to keep something like that hidden.”

“We’re not exactly models of filial and paternal attachment, my father and I. I wasn’t the heir, not even the spare. He left me to my own devices—and I took advantage of that. When we do occasionally meet, we’re acquaintances who share a last name, nothing more.”

Did he hear the chill in his voice, the disappointment? She’d never spent much time considering the lives of the highborn—why torment herself with something she couldn’t ever have?—but never did she think that they could be so cold toward one another, that there wasn’t …
love.
They had wealth and privilege in abundance, but it just hid a hollowness. A glittering shell covering nothing.

Then he laughed again and shook his head. “Clever lass. Got me to blather on about myself, when I said I wouldn’t.”

She offered him her own sly smile. “Maybe I’m better suited to this skulduggery than either of us figured.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” he said warmly, making it sound like a compliment. “Not in the slightest.”

*   *   *

Alyce didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she felt someone gently shaking her. Blinking, she looked up into Simon’s face—not a bad way to wake up, even if her mind felt swaddled in fog.

“Time to rise, my bride,” he murmured. “We’ve arrived.”

The train had, in fact, stopped, and she squinted out the window to see a large platform and train station beyond the glass. A sign hung from one of the girders, proclaiming
EXETER.

She rubbed her eyes and struggled to her feet. Simon cupped her elbow, smoothly guiding her to stand. He took their bags down from the rack, then offered her his arm. There was hardly anyone around, and yet he continued to play the role of attentive husband. She told herself that it was just an act, and she oughtn’t like it too much. Even so, a little ember glowed in her chest as they got off the train and emerged onto the platform of the Exeter train station.

It wasn’t much more populated than the station at St. Ursula. A large clock suspended from the metal beams overhead showed the time to be just after three in the morning. The newsagent’s kiosk was closed, as were the other shops in the station. A few men milled around, including some porters and a constable—which made her nervous for some reason.

“We’ve got nothing to fear,” Simon said in a soothing, low voice, his breath brushing her cheek. “Just a happy eloping couple.”

The constable actually gave them a smile and nod as he passed. Alyce exhaled.

“Just the same,” Simon continued, leading her through the station, “let’s not dawdle.”

They progressed through the building until they wound up on the street. She would have wagered that no carriages for hire would be around at this hour, but the moment she and Simon stepped out onto the pavement, a little two-wheeled cab rolled up, drawn by a single horse with a driver perched at the back.

“Take you someplace, sir?” the cabman asked.

“Hotel Imperial,” Simon answered. He helped Alyce into the cab, his hand steady on her waist, then placed their minimal luggage on the floor of the carriage before settling himself in and shutting the door. As soon as he’d taken his seat, the driver snapped the reins, and they were off.

“Don’t know how you managed to find a hired carriage at this time of night,” she murmured.

“Eva thinks I’m blessed by the god Cabicus. I just have to step into the street, and suddenly, hansoms and hackneys appear.”

She didn’t doubt it. An air of possibility clung to him—that if he wanted something, he simply willed it into being.

But she didn’t say anything, conscious not only of his thigh pressed against hers, but of the strange city they drove through. It was late, the streets almost empty, but the gas lamps were still on, revealing the storefronts and fenced parks. Exeter may as well have been on the other side of the world. It was so much bigger than any other place she’d been to, with orderly paved streets, shops after shops, signs announcing important businesses. The buildings had imposing stone fronts, some with elegant arches, balconies with wrought-iron railings.

She couldn’t stop herself from gasping aloud when they passed the most magnificent building she’d ever seen. She nearly fell out of the cab as she strained to take it all in.

“Exeter Cathedral,” Simon explained. “Driver,” he called up, “slow down for a moment.”

She braced her hands on the edge of the cab window and stared. There were fancy words to describe the different parts of the cathedral, words she didn’t know, and didn’t care to know. But the elaborate flowerlike central window, the rows and rows of holy figures standing imposingly above the door, the soaring towers—all of it left her awestruck.

“How old is it?” she asked.

“I think the final building, this one here, was built around 1400. Not much of an Exeter historian, so I don’t know more than that.”

“They made all this without modern tools.” She shook her head. “The things faith can move us to do.”

“Madness or inspiration,” he said quietly. “There isn’t much difference between the two.” He rapped on the side of the carriage, calling up to the cabman. “Drive on.”

“Thank you,” she murmured as they drove away.

His brows rose. “For what?”

“Stopping the cab so I could get a better look when we’re short for time.”

He smiled softly. “I’d make a poor guide if we came to Exeter without viewing the cathedral.”

Her lips curled. “No doubt you think I’m a terrible rustic, gawking at everything.”

“Never put words in my mouth or thoughts in my head,” he said with surprising heat. “I don’t believe that at all. You’ve lived your whole life in a small village. Why would I expect you to be unimpressed by an old and beautiful cathedral? Intellectual curiosity—that’s the most important thing. You know who’s bored or jaded? Narrow-minded dullards. Don’t need that kind of person around. I’d be worried if you
didn’t
care.”

He fell silent, and she wondered if she’d struck a sore spot. Remembering how he’d described his upbringing, she thought he was probably encouraged to act just that way—uninterested, cynical, world-weary. Yet Simon was anything but those things. And he had probably been rebuked for it.

The cab rolled on for a few more minutes through the streets of Exeter, occasionally passing men and women pushing carts, a lone man out by himself, or dustmen already making their rounds. The buildings grew finer and finer, and Alyce more and more uneasy, until the cab pulled up in front of a three-story building with a grand red and gold awning, and brass banisters on either side of its carpeted front steps.

“Hotel Imperial,” the driver called out.

Simon hopped out of the cab, paid the driver, and handed Alyce down to the curb. After grabbing their bags, he offered her his arm. She took it and together they went up the steps. Through the glass doors, she saw the lobby of the hotel, its floor thickly carpeted, plush armchairs near a white stone fireplace, even tall plants in big Chinese vases. No wonder they called this place the Hotel Imperial. It looked like an emperor’s shiny palace.

The gaslights had been turned down to burn low, and when Simon tried the door, they discovered it was locked. He pressed a little button by the door. Within seconds, a man in a sleek suit appeared.

The man’s ready smile faltered when he looked at Simon’s and Alyce’s clothing. He paused in the act of unlocking the door.

“Can I help you, sir?” the man asked through the glass.

Despite his workman’s clothing, Simon stood tall and spoke with his gentleman’s voice, polished and clipped. “The Blaines are expecting us.”

The manner of the man behind the door instantly changed. He quickly unlocked the door and waved them in. “Of course, of course! Can I get you and your wife anything? Some tea for the lady? Something a little stronger for you, sir?”

“Just the Blaines’ room number,” Simon answered.

“Number 302,” was the reply. “If you like, you can ascend in our elevator.” The man gestured proudly toward what looked like one of the cages used to send miners down into the pit, except this metal box was sparklingly clean and covered in brass scrollwork.

“We’ll take the stairs,” Alyce said.

“As you wish, madam. If you just give me your bags, I can show you up.”

“That’s not necessary.” Simon pressed a coin into the protesting man’s hand, and the protests quickly faded.

“Have a pleasant evening,” he said after pocketing the money. Then he backed out of the lobby and ducked behind a swinging door, smiling all the while.

Alyce glanced at Simon. “I’m starting to see the benefits of being a part of Nemesis.”

“It’s not all smart hotels and obsequious servants,” he said, climbing the stairs.

She followed, eyeing the pretty framed pictures on the wallpaper-covered walls, the vases of fresh flowers on tables at each landing.

“Most of the time,” he continued, “we’re stuck in rented, smelly carriages for surveillance, crouched in alleyways, and hunkered in dark, rat-infested hovels.”

“You need to work on your recruiting skills.”

He stopped and faced her. Standing on a step higher than her, he looked even taller, more imposing. His expression was grim. “This is a one-time mission for you, Alyce.”

“I know that,” she said quickly, fighting to keep her cheeks from turning red. Hard not to feel like a chastised child when he spoke to her like that, damn him.

He took several steps down, so that their eyes were level. “Nemesis keeps its numbers small for a reason. The work is dangerous, and only meant for people willing to devote their lives to it. You’re here for one purpose, and when that’s done, we all go back to where we came from. You go back to an improved life.”

“That’s all I want,” she fired back. She glared at him. “What are we quarreling about?”

He grinned suddenly. “Hell if I know. Lack of sleep, I’d wager.” He tipped his head toward the ascending stairs. “We’ve got people waiting for us.”

As Alyce followed him up the steps, her heart began to pound, as if she were about to meet his family for the first time.

In a way, I am.

They finally reached the third story, and Simon stopped in front of the door marked 302. Instead of knocking, however, he scratched his fingers against the door in a pattern. One long scratch, then two short, then another long.

Footsteps muted by carpet sounded on the other side of the door. And then more scratches, this time from inside. Three short, one long. Simon answered with another pattern.

The door unlocked and was pulled open. Standing on the other side was a man with olive skin, black hair, and a neatly trimmed goatee. Aside from Simon, Alyce had never seen anyone with such perceptive eyes, as if he could pick a lock simply by looking at it. He held himself light on his feet, and if it weren’t for his expensive-looking dark suit, she would’ve sworn he was an athlete. His shoulders were broad, his limbs long and powerful.

Standing just behind him was a woman of middle years, striking in her appearance. Her skin was darker than the other man’s, a light brown that suggested she had mixed blood, and the sleekness of her hairstyle didn’t quite hide the slight kink in her hair. Her eyes were pale, however, and in the lamplight, sharp as cut agate. She had an air of biting intelligence and capability.

Neither of them were people Alyce would ever want to cross.

Nemesis.

*   *   *

Though Alyce’s first instinct was to move back when the olive-skinned man stepped aside to let her and Simon into the room, she walked inside. Both members of Nemesis watched her like falcons as she moved farther into the room.

“Any trouble getting here?” the man asked Simon.

“None. A damned easier train ride than when we dealt with Dalton.”

Alyce glanced around the hotel room, as cautious of the luxury as if it could bite her. The chamber in which they now stood appeared to be some kind of sitting room or parlor, with a fine mahogany desk, upholstered chairs and a sofa, and its own fireplace. A door joined the parlor to a bedchamber, and from what she could see of it, it contained a large brass bed and painted wooden cabinet. If she’d been able to take the two rooms of her house in Trewyn and lay them side to side, they’d be dwarfed by this hotel suite.

But the hotel rooms interested her far less than the people in them. She was having her first look at other Nemesis operatives. What she’d heard wasn’t just words and stories. It was as solid and genuine as her own flesh. Besides Simon, there were these two others, at the least. He had mentioned many more names on the train.

Nemesis is real, and for now, I’m part of it. Part of
them.

They shared Simon’s intense perceptiveness—the kind of people who had seen and done much. Never had she felt as unworldly as she did just looking at them across the hotel room. Their gazes were wary as they studied her, and she felt like one of the tunnels in the mine, as if she were being chipped apart to see what she was made of.

No hope for it but to brazen it out.

“Alyce Carr,” she said, stepping forward with her hand outstretched.