A Dangerous Game (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 2), Laura Beers [i read books TXT] 📗

undeniable beauty, but it was how her eyes sparkled when she spoke about something that she loved that drew him in. She was kind, considerate, and beautiful, deep down to her soul.

If he was going to be saddled with a bride, he was glad that he’d chosen Emmeline.

His musings were interrupted by his friend asking, “Did you hear me, mate?”

He turned his attention towards Follett. “No.”

“Pray tell, what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Follett smirked. “Are you sure you weren’t thinking about your lovely wife?”

“Why would you ask that?”

Pointing towards his face, Follett said, “Because you were smiling.”

“I was not.”

Haskett spoke up across from him. “You were. It was an obnoxious smile that greatly annoyed me.”

“Why was that?”

“Because you looked smitten,” Haskett remarked. “I had a sudden urge to punch you just to wipe that smile off your face.”

Oliver shifted in his seat. “I assure you that I am not smitten.”

“No?” Haskett asked. “It certainly appears that way.”

Frowning, Oliver inquired, “Why am I friends with you again?”

Haskett grinned. “I assume it is because I am the only one who can tolerate you.”

Turning his attention back towards the window, he saw the buildings were huddled closer together and appeared blackened. Men loitered on the narrow streets, and he saw an older woman hunched over with a threadbare blanket covering her shoulders, begging in a corner.

“Have you ever been to the rookeries before?” Follett asked.

“Rarely,” Oliver lied. “They are much too dangerous for my tastes.” He was grateful for the overcoat pistol hidden in the back of his trousers and the muff pistol in his right boot.

The coach came to a creaking stop outside of a nondescript building that was in dire need of a paint job. The roof in some spots had caved in on itself. A crude sign above the door read, “Howl Hill Pub”.

“We are here,” Follett acknowledged as the footman opened the door.

As Oliver stepped down onto the muddy road, he saw that his friends were staring up at the building with uncertainty on their faces.

“Is something wrong?” Oliver asked.

Haskett frowned. “This is not how I envisioned the Howl Hill Pub to look.”

“What did you expect?” Oliver questioned. “We are in the rookeries.”

“We’d better hurry inside,” Follett said, glancing over his shoulder. “I fear that we are not safe standing here.”

Oliver walked up the three steps that led to the pub and opened the door. “After you,” he encouraged.

He followed his friends into the dimly lit hall and his alert eyes scanned the crowded room. Long tables ran the length of the room and serving wenches walked around with tankards in their hands.

A blonde woman with a scandalously low neckline came up to greet them. “Can I get ye blokes something to drink?”

Oliver spoke up. “We are here for the meeting.”

The woman gestured towards a door along the back wall. “Just go through that door,” she said before turning to another customer.

“Come on,” Oliver encouraged with a wave of his hand. “You heard the lady.”

His friends followed him as he swiftly navigated the hall and arrived at the back door. He opened it and stepped into the square room. Four round tables filled the small space, and he counted ten men sitting around the tables.

The room grew silent as the door behind them closed, and a stocky man from the front of the room came to greet them. The brown jacket and matching trousers did little to hide the man’s muscular frame.

“Follett,” he greeted with his arms out. “I am so glad that you came.”

“I hope it was all right, but I brought two of my mates with me.”

The man nodded his approval. “Are they free thinkers, as well?”

“They are,” Follett confirmed.

“Then they are more than welcome.”

Follett turned towards them and said, “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Guy Stewart.”

“I just go by Stewart,” the man revealed.

Oliver gave him a polite smile. “I am Radcliff.”

“And I am Haskett.”

Gesturing towards an empty table, Stewart remarked, “You are more than welcome to sit back and drink some ale until everyone arrives. Although, I should warn you that it is rather watered down.”

“That sounds terrible,” Oliver said.

Stewart laughed. “It still gets the job done.”

“That is all I care about,” Follett joked before moving towards the table.

After they were situated around the table, Oliver’s eyes roamed the room and noted the two windows along one wall. If he did need to make a hasty retreat, he had found his way to depart.

A serving wench entered the room with three tankards of ale in her hand and placed the drinks in front of them. Oliver reached into his waistcoat, removed a few coins, and extended them towards her.

“Thank you, Mister,” the serving wench said.

A few more men trailed in before Stewart stood up in front of the room, causing the room to grow silent. “Before I begin, I just want to remind everyone that what we will be speaking of today could be considered treasonous to some.” His eyes grew solemn. “You are welcome to leave if you are uncomfortable with free thinking.”

No one moved to leave, so Stewart continued. “Our mad King George and his misfit son, the Prince Regent, are making a mockery of all of us. They tax us relentlessly, and they use those funds to finance their lavish lifestyles. They live in castles while we live in squalor.”

A man raised his tankard. “Hear, hear.”

“But what can we do about it?” Stewart asked. “Do we just sit back and allow this misfortune to befall us?”

Another man spoke up. “What can we do about it?”

“I propose we march to the palace and have a protest!” Stewart exclaimed. “We can express our displeasure, and the Prince Regent can’t pretend he doesn’t see us. After all, we will be protesting just outside of his windows.”

Follett frowned as he said in a hushed tone, “This is not what I had in mind when I agreed to attend this meeting.”

“What did you expect?” Oliver asked.

“I thought we would just sit around and debate about