A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1), Laura Beers [romantic books to read TXT] 📗

and it scares our mad King George. He knows that the fate of the French monarchy could be his own. Perhaps we should put his head on a stake, too!”

“Hear, hear!” the men in the room yelled.

Morton put his hand up to quiet the men down. “I have just spoken treason for even uttering those words, but the king must know that we have rights! While the Prince Regent is acquiring more debt to fund his lavish lifestyle, the people are starving.” He pointed towards a man who was sitting at one of the tables. “When was the last time you ate?”

The man smirked. “Tonight.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Morton’s face held an amused grin. “You are one of the lucky ones, my good man,” he said, then grew solemn. “But men, women, and children are starving right here in Town. I have seen their disheveled, sunken faces as they beg on the streets. The hope in their eyes has vanished. It has been taken away by a merciless king who only cares for himself!”

A man spoke up from the back of the room. “What can we do about it?”

Morton turned his attention towards him. “We can fight!” he exclaimed. “France did it! As did the Americans!” He held his clenched fist up in the air. “What is stopping us from doing it?”

The men in the room cheered as Morton bobbed his head. When the room died down, Morton walked over to a box in the front of the room. “We need funds to start a revolution,” he said, holding it up. “Give what you can but keep enough so you can eat. A starved man is not a useful rebel.”

Morton placed the box on a table and stepped back. “If anyone is looking for work, then I might be able to help you. But it is not without risks, mind you.”

The back door opened and two serving wenches walked in with trays filled with tankards. “Drink and remember, men,” Morton said as he stepped away from the front of the room.

Baldwin went to intercept Morton. “I am interested in a job,” he said.

Morton bobbed his head in approval. “Follow me,” he instructed as he left the back room. He sat at an empty table in the main hall.

Baldwin sat down across from him and gave him an expectant look.

Morton leaned closer. “I have found a lucrative business,” he said in a hushed voice, “but it is not for the faint of heart.”

“You don’t want me to kill anyone, do you?” Baldwin asked, keeping his face expressionless.

“No. Nothing like that,” Morton chuckled, “but it might make you squeamish.”

“You have seen the place where I live,” Baldwin joked. “Nothing makes me squeamish anymore.”

“That is what I wanted to hear,” Morton said, glancing around him. “I found a merchant who will take some merchandise off our hands and sell it in India.”

Baldwin nodded his understanding. “What do you want me to steal?”

Morton paused. “Women.”

Baldwin lifted his brows. “Women?”

“We are careful who we abduct, so as not to attract too much attention,” Morton explained. “We pluck them off the streets, and no one is the wiser.”

“What happens to these women?”

Morton shrugged. “Who cares?” he asked. “But we make a hefty profit.”

“What’s my cut?”

A self-satisfied smile came to Morton’s face. “I pay five pounds a girl.”

“Five pounds?” he repeated back in astonishment. “Just to abduct some girl and deliver her to you?”

Morton leaned back in his seat and declared, “It is the easiest money that you will ever make.”

“How much do you make off each girl?” Baldwin asked.

“Ten pounds, but my cut goes to help the revolution,” Morton shared.

Baldwin wiped his hand over his chin. “What girl do you want me to abduct?”

“You choose,” Morton remarked.

“How long do I have to get her?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Morton said, “The merchant will be arriving by the end of the week. We are keeping the abducted girls in a pub near the docks known as the Flailing Duck.”

“I can find a girl before then.”

“Excellent,” Morton said as he waved a serving wench over. “Shall we drink on it?”

“You want to do what?!” Corbyn shouted.

Unperturbed by his friend’s outburst, Baldwin slowly repeated his request, “I want to abduct a girl and deliver her to the Flailing Duck.”

Corbyn shifted his disbelieving gaze towards Oliver. “Your brother is mad,” he declared.

Oliver wore an amused look on his face. “I won’t disagree with you there.”

“Hear me out first before casting judgment,” Baldwin insisted.

“Proceed, then,” Corbyn said as he sat back in his chair. “I find that I need a good laugh anyway.”

“I will abduct a girl and deliver her to the pub,” Baldwin explained. “Then, we tip off the Runners about the location of the missing girls and they will raid the pub. The girls will be saved, and I won’t risk my cover being blown.”

Corbyn shook his head. “How have you stayed alive for all these years?” he muttered under his breath.

“The plan will work,” Baldwin insisted.

“No, it won’t,” Corbyn said. “I can’t even begin listing how many ways your plan could go horribly, terribly wrong.”

“Not if you and Oliver are in on it,” Baldwin revealed.

Oliver shifted in his seat towards him. “What would you have me do?”

“You two cannot possibly be in earnest?” Corbyn asked. “I am all for taking risks, but not at the expense of an innocent woman.”

“That is why we will find a woman who will go along with the plan willingly,” Baldwin said.

Corbyn huffed. “And what woman would be stupid enough to let herself be abducted intentionally, putting herself in harm’s way?”

Baldwin shifted in his chair. “I was thinking Miss Dowding would.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as Corbyn and Oliver stared at him with wide eyes. Finally, Oliver spoke. “I doubt that Miss Dowding is up to the task.”

“I believe you may be underestimating her,” Baldwin said.

“And you may be giving her too much credit,” Corbyn contended. “Furthermore, Miss Dowding is a genteel woman. If word got out that