Wicked Temptation (Nemesis Unlimited) (39 page)

“You the bitch that won’t let me see my own flesh and blood?” he demanded.

“That’s right,” she answered.

“Let me take her home, or by God I’ll—”

“Hit me, too? I wouldn’t advise that.”

“What you going to do? Call the damn coppers? They can’t do nothing.”

“They might not,” she replied, “but I happen to be rather well connected to a certain section of London’s East End populace. Ruthless individuals who are very effective at using their fists, too.” She took a step toward the red-faced bully. “Just a word from me, or from Anna, and my East End friends will make certain you can never use your hands to hurt anyone ever again.”

The brother’s face went ashen.

“I think you understand me,” Bronwyn continued levelly.

Anna’s brother shook off the employees still clustered around him. “Who needs the whore?” he spat. “Tell her I don’t ever want to see her again.” With that, he trundled out the door, disappearing into the gray afternoon fog.

As soon as he was gone, Bronwyn pressed a shaking hand to her stomach. She barely heard the women around her congratulate her on her bravery.

She glanced through the open front door. A figure stood out in the street, poised to come to her aid, if she needed it.

Marco.

She stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back. Neither moved. But she felt a vicious pounding in her chest. Her heart—as if it wanted to run to him.

She turned and hurried to her office. But he followed her.

Bronwyn took a moment. Steeling herself before turning around. Yet it didn’t ease the sweet, agonizing shock of seeing him again.

He appeared just as dangerous as ever, standing in her doorway, his hat in his hand. He looked a little thinner, his eyes set a little deeper, but other than that, he was the same. Sharp, handsome, and opaque.

Love flooded her, bright and wondrous and painful.

“This…” She swallowed hard. “This is a surprise.” It took all her strength not to cross the room, go to him.

“For me, too.”

His voice stroked every sense.

She frowned. “Why—”

He glanced away, his gaze alighting on small details like the painting of a flower one of the children had made for her, a half-finished embroidered pillow crafted by a widow, a stack of letters from different women who’d moved on to new lives.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, almost grudgingly. He continued to look around. “This place is doing well.”

“We manage.”

“And you?” He finally looked at her, and she saw now the fatigue beneath his eyes, the drawn look around his mouth. He wasn’t taking care of himself. She fought to keep from leading him to their refectory and giving him a bowl of nourishing soup.

“I manage, too.” But something inside her wouldn’t allow her any cowardice, so she added, “Barely.”

His gaze sharpened. “Do you need more money? We can get it. Are you ill? I know a doctor—”

She shook her head. Decided to be completely open. “None of that. I barely sleep. Can’t eat.” Her clothes hung on her, and she kept having to take them in. “But I’m not ill. Overworked, perhaps, but not sick.”

“Then what—”

“You know the reason. So if you’re here for a tour, I can get one of the other women to take you. Otherwise, you’d better go.”

He stepped forward, stopped. “I don’t want to go.”

“
I
want you to.”

He gazed at her. The moment stretched out with agonizing sweetness. How could she keep from touching him? Yet she had to. Or else give in to the morass of emotion engulfing her.

Instead of leaving, he reached into his coat and produced a folded letter. Tossed it lightly onto her desk. “Go on,” he said softly. “Read it.”

With shaking hands, she picked up the letter and did as he directed. She read it over several times. “This is … the resignation of Marco Galileo Black, member of the Bureau of Profit and Loss.” She looked up at him. “I never knew your full name.”

“My mother had astronomical ambitions,” he answered.

She held up the letter. “And this means…?”

“It means…” He took more steps toward her, coming around the desk and setting his hat upon it. “As of yesterday, I’m a pensioner. I no longer work for the British government.”

She struggled to understand, even as her mind and heart shouted the truth. “You’ve been with them for a long time.”

“Over fifteen years.”

She’d been at boarding school, learning French and dancing, when he’d been roaming the globe, involved in shadowy espionage. How unalike they were. And yet, how well he knew her. Better than anyone else. And she’d wager few understood him the way she did.

“You’ll miss it.” She busied herself with straightening papers on her desk, though she was certain he’d recognize it for the diversionary tactic it was.

“Not especially. Had my go at the Great Game. I’m ready to stop playing. My interest lies elsewhere.”

“Nemesis,” she said.

“That won’t ever cease, but I’ve spoken to Simon and Lazarus and the others. We agreed. Well, I decided. They had to agree. From now on, I’ll be taking a more advisory role.”

“They need you,” she protested.

He gave his Italian shrug. “They do, and I’ll be close. But we’ve got new agents coming up in the ranks.” He narrowed the distance between him and her.

And she saw it. His heart was in his eyes. It ached. For her.

“Bronwyn,” he said, his voice hoarse. “
Fragola mia.
I didn’t think … I thought that I had nothing in me but my work for Nemesis and Intelligence. But then … but then … I walked into an empty house, and I met this woman. A woman who grew. Who learned how powerful she truly was. And she showed me … I was more than just a spy. More than an operative. I was … a man.”

She could only stare at him, while her heart beat loudly in her ears and her breath came in fast gulps.

“She taught me something, too,” he continued, words rough. “That I was capable of more than I knew. That I could … I could love.” He looked at her directly, exposed and completely revealed. No masks. No armor.

It was the bravest thing she’d ever witnessed.

“I love you, Bronwyn,” he said. “And, if you want to be my lover, be my lover. If you want to be my wife…” He finally glanced away, but not before she saw the need in his eyes.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Could hardly catch her breath. If it weren’t for the voices of shouting children down the hallway, and the bang of soup pots in the kitchen, she’d think herself in some opiate’s throes.

Finally, she was able to find her voice. “I’m not supposed to wed yet. That’s what the rules of mourning say.”

A second passed, and then it dawned on him what she was saying. “I’ve lain in wait for days, completely still, as I watched the front of a secret Russian munitions installment. I’m very good at waiting.”

She stepped close. Slowly, she brought her arms up. Then looped them around his neck. She felt a wild kind of joy, and fear at the leap she was about to take. But mostly a flood of happiness in which she’d readily drown. “I don’t care if I’m being improper and wicked,” she whispered. “I love you, Marco. I’ll marry you, fast as you can get a license.”

He held her close, an expression of profound gratitude crossing his angular face. “Fortunately, I have some connections. We could be wed by tomorrow. If that’s what you want.”

“I want.”

They kissed, no hesitation, holding back nothing. She felt how fully he was with her, how complete he was, and she felt that same completeness in herself.

“What’s Nemesis without you?” she asked, when they surfaced for air.

“A hydra. Always more of us to step in. But my head’s not cut off. I won’t be out in the field as much, yet that’s the thing about this damned world—there’s always more work to be done.”

“However I can,” she said, “I’ll help.”

“Mi amore,”
he said, brushing his lips over hers, “you already do. If you can teach an old spy how to love, you’re capable of anything.”

EPILOGUE

Two weeks later.

For all Marco’s promises that the wedding could be held within a day, there were delays. Harriet insisted on an actual wedding breakfast. Via telegram, Simon demanded that Marco wait until he and Alyce could return from the Continent so he could serve as best man.

And, of course, his mother would have killed him if she hadn’t been in attendance.

So on a blustery morning, Marco and Bronwyn were married. The wedding was small, held in a little London church near the widows’ home. It had been an odd mix of guests—his family, Nemesis agents, a few of Marco’s colleagues from Intelligence, and Bronwyn’s sister—but that hadn’t impeded anyone’s happiness.

Least of all Marco and Bronwyn’s. Joy made her glow, and she’d smiled her way through the whole ceremony. She’d even continued to smile as he’d kissed her, sealing their vows. And damn him if he didn’t smile the whole time, too.

“Barely recognized you without that ice-up-your-arse look on your face,” Lazarus had said.

Marco had responded by covertly flashing Lazarus one of his favorite rude hand gestures.

The women and volunteers at the home had insisted on hosting the wedding breakfast, and now they stood in the refectory, the food-laden tables all pushed to the sides, as happy chaos reigned in the echoing room—children, family, women, even a handful of musicians.

Bronwyn stood beside Marco’s mother, soaking up her fussing and attention. His sisters, too, did their share of fluttering around Bronwyn.

From across the refectory, Marco watched them together. Warmth swept through him. It took him a few moments to understand fully what caused the feeling. There was his bride, looking so joyous and beautiful, being welcomed so thoroughly into a new family.

“Addictive, isn’t it?” Simon asked at Marco’s shoulder. He glanced over at Alyce, talking with Harriet, Desmond, Eva, and Jack. The former convict loomed hugely over the others, but with his arm draped comfortably around his wife’s waist, his menace dimmed. Somewhat. “Seeing that look on their faces.”

“How the hell do you stand it?” Marco wondered. “This feeling that you’re nothing without them?”

“I stand it because it’s the truth. If I didn’t have Alyce…” A bleak expression crossed Simon’s face. “I can’t even think of it. And I see how you look at your new wife. There’s no hope for you, my friend.”

“I don’t want hope. I just want to make sure she’s safe.” Bronwyn hadn’t officially joined Nemesis yet, but she continued to assist them, taking in more women and children as new cases brought in those needing help. And there were always more needing help.

“With you as her protector and helpmeet,” Simon noted dryly, “I doubt anything’s going to happen to her.”

Marco had vowed from the beginning that he’d guard her from harm. And while she knew far more about defending herself now, he’d never lose his sense of protectiveness. This was a perilous world, and he was a ruthless man. Especially when it came to safeguarding the woman he loved.

She caught his gaze, and managed to disengage herself from his fawning family. As she crossed the refectory, Simon said in a low voice, “My well-honed senses tell me that I’m no longer needed. And it’s been over ten minutes since I’ve stood close to
my
wife.”

Marco barely noticed his friend’s departure. All he saw was Bronwyn, gliding toward him in her pearl-gray lace gown.

“You’re tolerating my family well,” he said when she finally stood before him.

“I’m glad of their attentions,” she confessed. “And they’d despaired of you ever taking a wife. They can’t be blamed for their enthusiasm.”

“So long as that
enthusiasm
doesn’t drive you away,” he growled.

“As if a doting mama could ever keep me from you,” she said softly. “As if
anything
could keep me away.
Mi amore.
”

There it was again, that expansive, almost painful pleasure. But he’d rather live with it than without. How damn bleak his life had been before Bronwyn. How bloody foolish he’d been to think there was any future devoid of her.

He drew her into his embrace, ignoring the knowing smiles from the crowd. “I’m a better man with you.”

She looped her arms around his neck, and shook her head. “Not better. You and I, we’re like lock picks. Alone, we’re capable. Together—nothing stands in our way.”

He chuckled. “Thievery metaphors? Now I
know
I’ve corrupted you.”

Her lips pursed. “The world’s corrupt. But we can work to change that.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Today is just for us.”

“Every day is ours.” She looked wonderfully fierce. “Because we’re Nemesis, damn it, and we get exactly what we want. It’ll take some ruddy hard work, though.”

“But it’s all worth it,” he said. Then, in full view of his friends, his family, and Nemesis, he kissed his bride. He loved her so bloody much. There was no disguising it. For the first time in his life, he was unafraid to show everyone who he truly was. Because of her.

Don’t miss the first two novels in this breathtaking new series by Zoë Archer

SWEET REVENGE
DANGEROUS SEDUCTION

Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

… and don’t miss Zoë Archer’s e-novella

WINTER’S HEAT

www.stmartins.com

ALSO BY

ZOË ARCHER

Sweet Revenge

Dangerous Seduction

PRAISE FOR
SWEET REVENGE

“Unforgettable … This bold mix of an unlikely romance, a gritty setting, and a page-turning thriller will leave readers craving more.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Revenge can be sweet, smart, sexy, and make for a fast-paced, non-stop read when Archer’s the storyteller. Creating heroes to die for and empowered women and bringing them together in powerful action/adventures with depth of emotion and sensuality are her forte. To readers’ pleasure, she brings an amazing cast of characters, a strong plot, and romance to the first in her Nemesis, Unlimited series.”