Dangerous Seduction: A Nemesis Unlimited Novel (28 page)

Alyce had the strange urge to peel back her gloves and see if her skin had turned to glass. How else could Eva had seen through her so easily? Yes, she’d kissed Simon at the tavern, but one kiss didn’t reveal everything. Did it? Or maybe Eva was really that astute, perceiving things that Alyce herself wasn’t ready to admit.

“So,” Alyce said dryly, “this test. I’m on tenterhooks to know if I passed.”

“He made a good choice by picking you for the mission.”

Alyce was wry. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in years. Your approval means everything to me.”

Eva grinned. “I might like you.” Resuming their stroll, she continued. “To keep us all safe, we don’t socialize with each other outside of our objectives for Nemesis. Our lives are all divided. My parents don’t know. Marco’s sisters are completely unaware. Harriet’s employers are ignorant. It’s a tightrope we walk every day.”

“And you all take these risks because…?”

The blond woman’s expression darkened. “If we don’t, who will? Who’ll make sure that the cook who’s horribly burned her hands has a way to feed and house herself? Who will make men of power pay when they abuse that power? Who’ll keep children out of brothels or factories that pay them less than a penny for fourteen hours of work?”

The passion and quiet anger in Eva’s voice was a contrast to the cool, composed way in which she ambled along the waterfront, past the pretty shops and their oblivious patrons. But Alyce saw how the other woman’s eyes flashed, the conviction that sank deeper than bone. Admiration reluctantly climbed through Alyce, like a stray cat being lured out from a hedgerow with an offer of meat.

“And who’d care that the workers at one little copper mine were being exploited by the owners and managers?” Alyce added. “Nobody in Trewyn can pay you, you know. There’s no reward for everything Nemesis is doing.”

Eva seemed an expert in cold little smiles, for she gave another one. “Don’t worry. Simon will find a way so that everyone’s costs are recouped.”

Though she gazed out at a pretty little harbor full of masted ships and sprinkled with sunlight, Alyce’s mind saw only Simon in his solicitor’s coat and hat, preparing to swindle the mine’s owners, ready to face whatever danger confronted him.

Some worry must have shown on her face, for Eva said, “Other than Marco, no one knows the confidence game better than Simon. He’ll be fine.”

“I know he will,” Alyce replied with much more sureness than she felt.

*   *   *

“Tea, no sugar or cream,” Simon said to the mystified clerk.

“Uh…” Linford glanced at Tufton and Harrold.

“Fetch it for him, Linford,” Harrold directed. “If only as a thanks for getting that appalling thug out of our office.”

As the clerk bustled out, Simon draped himself in a chair in front of Harrold’s desk. Tufton continued to stand, his arms still folded across his chest. Both men looked innocuous enough, like any other man between forty-five and sixty with a comfortable income and the belief they had a blameless conscience. Simon saw past the disguise, to the rot and corruption beneath. Everything in this office, from the imported rugs to the crystal decanters of whisky to the gold stitching on Tufton’s waistcoat—all paid for by the sweat and toil of the people of Wheal Prosperity. By men like Henry and Edgar, risking their lives daily on worn-down equipment, and women like Alyce, smashing rocks of ore for hours so that she and her family could slowly starve on minimal rations.

But these men in their tasteful office didn’t care. They got precisely what they needed, and saw no reason why they ought to make any changes to a corrupt system.

It was all Simon could do to keep from punching the two of them square in their prosperous faces.

Instead, he smiled blandly at them, crossing one foot over his knee in a posture of utter ease.

“Again, Mr. Shale,” Harrold said, “who
are
you?”

Simon took the clerk’s offered cup of tea and sipped at it. Excellent tea. Doubtless imported from Suchow, at great expense.

“I’m the man who’s going to make Mr. Darby go away,” he answered.

“How do you propose to do that?” Tufton demanded.

“Quite simply, really.” A familiar but always welcome thrill shot through him, more potent than any tea. “The ownership of Wheal Prosperity is transferred to me, in exchange for three days of the mine’s profit and, say, a thousand pounds.”

Both Tufton and Harrold sputtered indignantly. “Outrageous!” Tufton exclaimed.

“And how much is Darby bilking you for?”

Sullenly, Harrold said, “Twenty-five hundred pounds.”

Simon set his tea cup on the edge of the desk, much to Harrold’s displeasure, and spread his hands. “A minimal outlay in comparison. Further, the group to which you’ll be transferring ownership isn’t subject to the taxes Darby’s trying to enforce. The transfer will effectively serve as a barricade to that blockhead.”

His bulk must have made standing wearying, because Tufton sank into a large leather tufted chair, but his expression didn’t ease. Calm enveloped Simon. This might take some time—these men were shrewd business owners—but Simon would bring them around.

“We’ve been ruddy careful to keep all this taxation claptrap out of the public’s ear,” Tufton said. “I’ve never laid eyes on you until today. So how do you know about our situation?”

Simon made a show of clenching his jaw. “Darby. My income doesn’t come solely from my work as a solicitor. I have shares in other businesses and industries. But Darby’s been the damn fox in my henhouse. Always finding taxation loopholes to exploit. Wringing me dry.”

“Bastard pockets some of his revenue, I’d wager,” Harrold muttered.

“He wouldn’t have a job with the government if he wasn’t crooked.” Simon had to remember to repeat that to Marco later. And Marco would agree with him. “I’ve been tracking the son of a bitch, and heard about your endeavor’s misfortune. So, I’m here to help.”

Tufton narrowed his already small eyes. “Why?”

“Because I want to kick Darby in the teeth. Because we can help each other.”

“You’re just a solicitor, Shale,” Harrold said, scornful. “You can’t help us.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken. I have a few business endeavors in Assam and Karnataka that are exempt from British taxes. Perfect little opportunities for you to hide your income.”

“Why would you want our money in those endeavors?” asked Tufton. “That would just lessen your share of the profits.”

Simon smiled. “Your capital would make the investments more robust for everyone, including myself. And you, my good gentlemen, would have a lovely chunk of untaxable income. It offers nothing but profit.”

Tufton and Harrold glanced at each other. Simon read the pure avarice in each man’s gaze and the pleasure at the thought of getting something for nothing. This had been one of Marco’s lessons in the realm of confidence schemes: get the mark’s own greed to work against him. Nearly every person liked the idea of having it better than someone else, of cheating the system. It fed their sense of a world centered entirely around their own needs, their belief that they were better, more deserving than others.

Clearly, Harrold and Tufton were no exception.

“Once Darby’s off your back,” Simon continued, “I’ll transfer ownership of the mine back to you, and that bugger won’t bother you anymore.”

Harrold steepled his fingers in a way he likely thought made him look clever. “What’s to say he won’t come back and start his harassment all over again?”

“It’s wondrous what the fear of one’s in-laws can accomplish,” Simon answered. “What you have here is a London problem, not a Plymouth problem.”

“I don’t see the bloody difference,” grumbled Harrold.

“It’s more than a distance of miles, gentlemen, it’s mentality. London’s my home. I have connections that neither of you possess.”

“If that’s the case,” Tufton said, “you could’ve taken care of Darby sooner.”

“Timing is everything.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together. “
Now
is the ideal moment to get rid of Darby, and if you agree to transfer ownership of Wheal Prosperity to the corporation I’ve created, he’ll be nothing more than a smear beneath the wheel of your barouche.”

“Are you certain you can succeed, Shale?” Harrold demanded.

Tufton added, “You keep mentioning this other corporation.” He matched Simon’s posture—an amateur gesture for someone in the confidence game. “What is it?”

“I have the incorporation documents here.” Simon hefted his portfolio. “My own wife has signed the papers—using her maiden name, of course. All you good gentlemen need to do is sign over ownership of the mine to her. She has a brother who’s an assistant to the President of the Board of Trade. Edward doesn’t think that highly of me,” he added, annoyed. “But once he gets word that Darby is harming the business his sister owns, and his own name is getting dragged into it, he’ll be motivated to make Darby go away. By the time the government realizes that Alyce is my wife”—unexpected heat pulsed through him at the words—“Wheal Prosperity will belong to you again.”

Harrold and Tufton traded doubting looks. It was time for Simon to play his last card in this hand.

“Can’t blame you for not trusting me. After all, you’ve only met me within this past hour. Your caution does you credit.”

Naturally, both owners puffed at the praise.

“My wife and I are in Plymouth together,” Simon continued. “There’s no better way to get a sense of who we are than having us over for dinner. Tonight.”

“Damn impertinent of you to invite you and your wife over for dinner,” Harrold blustered.

“Your sense of restraint’s justifiable. I’m only honoring that. Consider, you’ll have ample opportunity to answer the question, Is this blighter to be trusted?”

“And your wife,” added Harrold.

It was a reasonable thing to say, but Simon still wanted to leap over the desk and ram his elbow into the other man’s throat for even
speaking
of Alyce or questioning her integrity.

Simon continued, “Her, too. We’ll be partners in many ways. The mine, my Indian endeavors. Dinner’s a perfect opportunity for everyone to get to know one another. A single misstep on our part, if we say or do anything to arouse your suspicion, then the deal is off. Simple as that. Who knows? We could forge a friendship that could be profitable for
all
of us. It’s the wisest course of action on your part.”

Tufton nodded. “Yes, it
would
be prudent of us to subject you to a bit of close scrutiny.”

His expression remained placid, but inside, Simon reveled. There was something so damn satisfying about setting a trap and having his prey waltz right into it, all the while believing the trap was the prey’s idea.

Simon got to his feet. “Marvelous. Shall we say dinner at eight? At Mr. Harrold’s?”

Blinking, Harrold said, “That would be … yes, I suppose … Linford will give you my direction on the way out.”

“I look forward to it. Gentlemen.” Simon bowed and strolled out the door, his every step light with confidence, but he knew that the most unpredictable part of the scheme was yet to come. And it all depended on Alyce.

CHAPTER 12.

Alyce strolled beside Eva as they moved east from the rows of shops, following a road that brought them around to look out at the open sea. A green park sloped down from limestone cliffs, and a striped lighthouse in the park kept its glass eye turned out toward the water. More boats and ships danced along the surface of the sea in their own ageless rhythm.

Landlocked. That was her. All her life. And here was just a tiny sliver of the sea, and ships skimming along the waves. But—aside from Simon—she’d never seen anything so exotic. This was merely someone else’s world, as routine to them as the miners plunging every day over a hundred feet underground. Maybe a sailor would gape at the man-engine, the complicated device that lowered the miners far down into the earth.

Simon had been on many ships. Had journeyed across oceans to faraway places. She pictured him on the deck of a ship, his hair wind-tossed, his eyes as blue as the sea around him. It filled her with lightness, that image. It seemed right that he’d have the freedom of the ocean.

In her vision of him aboard the ship, a shadow appeared beside him, flickering like an uncovered lamp. Her. Could she take her place next to him, flying across the sea?

It’d never happen. Her shadow guttered and went out, and Simon was alone again in her dream. She stayed on the shore, watching him sail off, the horizon eagerly reaching for him, taking him away.

As they walked, she and Eva ate lemon ices from paper cups, using little flat wooden spoons. Her first lemon ice, and despite the brisk weather, the treat tasted like summer holidays she’d never have.

They’d been silent for some time, she and Eva. There seemed no need to fill the air with chatter—Simon wasn’t on a ship, but in the offices of the mine owners.

“I can’t help wondering if the ruse is going as we planned,” she confessed. “Think he’ll convince the owners to sign over ownership of the mine?”

“A more persuasive and charming lad you couldn’t find anywhere,” Eva said.

“But the bloody owners have hearts of rock and brains like tills at a shop, thinking only of pounds and pence.” Alyce looked around at the other people strolling by. Probably none of them were talking about confidence schemes and greedy mine owners.

“Simon has a way about him,” Eva said. “He’ll get it done.”

Alyce didn’t want to say it aloud, but she agreed. That devil had sneaked his way inside her mind, in the fibers that knit together to make her body. Had it only been a few weeks ago that she’d first met him, on the road from the mine to the village? It felt like the whole span of a life.

She thirsted for more of him.
All
of him. “Why’d he enlist instead of buy a commission?”

Eva was silent for a few moments, considering. “He didn’t want to be treated any differently than other men. So he told me. Started as a rank private. By the time he was at Rorke’s Drift, he’d worked his way up to sergeant, and that’s where he stopped.”