Free Wicked Temptation (Nemesis Unlimited) by Zoe Archer

deserve help from Nemesis.
    She stirred, her eyes blinking open. Looked at the carriage. Then him. She started.
    “It’s not a dream,” he said.
    She sat up straighter, tugging on her cloak. “I couldn’t decide if it was a fulfilled wish or a nightmare.”
    “A bit of both.” He watched her rub at her face, then asked, “Still want to move forward with this?”
    “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I want my fortune back—and, as you said, there’s so much I could do with that money. Some real good. Maybe I won’t live as lavishly as before, but I don’t need six bedrooms to be happy.”
    What did he need to be happy? He usually considered himself a contented man. He had his work for the government, but more importantly, his missions for Nemesis. Both shaped and changed the world. Perhaps in small ways, but enough to give him a sense of accomplishment. Not many could say the same, including his father, who manufactured vulcanized rubber gaskets, which brought him wealth but didn’t erase the lines of worry from his forehead. Or gain him entry into the realm of high society. For the titled, Marco, his father, and his grandfather would never be more than tradesmen, more fit to enter through the servants’ entrance than the front door of the houses of the aristocracy.
    A sharp memory jabbed him. His first year at university, and though his father had also attended the same university, Marco had still been the object of the titled students’ scorn. They’d locked him out of his room several times. Left boot black, shoes, and rags on his bed. As though he were their servant.
    Instead of returning home, as they’d hoped, Marco had made sure to excel at every endeavor. Including captaining the rugby team, earning trophies in boxing, and taking top prizes in his courses.
    And for Prescott Black, the only thing that had real power wasn’t a thing at all, but a person, Marco’s mother, Lucia. Her smiles made his father smile, and her raucous laugh made him laugh.
    And if he envied what his parents shared, he knew it to be an anomaly. In his work, he’d seen too many unhappy marriages, too many people tied together for the wrong reasons. His preferred lovers were widows, and hardly any of them had good things to say about their dead husbands.
    Mrs. Parrish was a widow.
    He kicked that notion out of his head like an errant football. All his thoughts needed to be on the mission. As much as he enjoyed making love, he could always put his desires on hold until the time was right. And the time—and the person—were definitely not right when it came to Mrs. Parrish. Pretty as she was, and admirably fighting hard against her own fears.
    The widow frowned as she looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “Strange. I’ve never thought about … what I needed to be happy.”
    “Happiness isn’t a promise when we come into this world.”
    “Duty, responsibility,” she murmured. “Those were the things I’d been taught. To be a good daughter, a wife. A mother.”
    Interesting that, though she was childless, there was no wistful longing in her voice at this last word. “How long were you married to Mr. Parrish?”
    “Doubtless Lucy told you.”
    “It might’ve escaped my notice.”
    She looked up, her lips curling into a wry smile. “I have a difficult time believing anything escapes your notice. So I can only imagine that your question is a circuitous way of asking me why I have no children, despite the six years I was married.” She gave a short laugh. “Your roundabout question would have shocked me only yesterday.”
    “And today?”
    “Perhaps I’m just exhausted, and can’t summon enough energy to be scandalized.” She rubbed her face. “But in answer to your question-yet-not-a-question, Hugh wanted a family.”
    “You didn’t.”
    “Not yet. I needed…” A frown creased between her straight brows. “Time as myself, before someone called me mama.”
    “Mr. Parrish supported this idea?”