A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1) Laura Beers (well read books .TXT) 📖

“How can ye be so sure they will even agree to see me?” the thug asked. “It will cost me nearly two shillings to travel there.”

“You do not need to concern yourself with that,” Baldwin remarked in a firm tone. “When you arrive at Hawthorne House, your travel expense will be reimbursed, as well.”

The man gave him a humbled look. “Thank ye,” he said in a sincere tone. “I don’t know what I did to deserve yer kindness, but I am grateful for it.”

In a stern voice, Baldwin warned, “If I hear that you have resorted to thievery, you will be dismissed. Understood?”

Straightening to his full height, the man replied, “Yes, sir.”

“Good, because I expect my employees to be trustworthy.”

The man’s eyes widened as his voice resonated with awe. “Ye are the Marquess of Hawthorne?”

“I am,” he replied, seeing no reason to deny it.

“Do ye not know how dangerous Drake Street is at night?”

Baldwin smirked. “I am well aware, but I have business I must attend to.”

“Would ye like me to escort ye out of here?” the man asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” Baldwin replied, “but I thank you for your offer. Besides, I intend to meet up with some of my associates soon.”

The man bowed slightly. “Thank ye, milord. It will be a pleasure to work for ye.”

Baldwin tipped his head as he resumed walking down the street. It wasn’t long before he approached a dilapidated brick building and heard the sound of a bird call coming from further down the street. He stopped and repeated the sound.

A long moment later, a husky man with a pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers stepped out from the shadows.

“Are you lost, Mister?” the man asked as he placed his hand on the butt of his pistol.

Baldwin shook his head. “I am not, but the king requested to see me.”

“The king?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing. “What makes you think the king wants to see you?”

“Because I have something he needs to hear.” Baldwin hoped that the code had not changed since he had been gone.

“What did you say your name was?” the man asked, removing his pistol from his trousers.

“I am known as Falcon.”

“Falcon?” the man repeated, surprise in his voice.

“Yes.”

“I heard you were dead.”

Baldwin raised his hands wide. “As you can see, I am very much alive.”

“Come with me,” the man ordered, pointing the pistol at him. “I have someone who will be very interested in meeting you.”

“Finally, we are getting somewhere,” Baldwin remarked in an amused tone.

The man gestured with his pistol towards a plain brown door that was in desperate need of painting. “You go first.”

Baldwin approached the door and opened it, revealing a dark, narrow passageway.

“Walk,” the man commanded.

As Baldwin walked down the dark passageway, he saw a lone candle burning on a table. A stern-faced man was seated next to it, a pistol in his hand. “What do we have here?” he asked.

The man spoke up from behind him. “This man claims he is Falcon.”

“I heard Falcon died.”

“Me, too.”

Baldwin began to open his mouth to respond but stopped when a door behind the man opened, the light illuminating the passageway.

A familiar voice came from within. “Falcon!” The dark-haired man stepped into the passageway, his eyes perusing the length of him. “It is about time you finally showed up. I expected you days ago.”

“Hello, Corbyn,” Baldwin greeted. “What happened to the other guards?”

Corbyn chuckled. “There have been a lot of changes since you have been gone.” He ushered Baldwin into the room. “We have much to discuss, Falcon.”

Baldwin noticed that the guards had lowered their weapons and were staring at him with a newfound respect in their eyes. A look that he had grown accustomed to over the years.

He brushed past them and headed into the office. His eyes scanned the sparsely decorated walls. “I see you haven’t made any changes to your office since I left for France,” he commented.

Corbyn huffed. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the time.”

“In three years?”

Corbyn appeared unconcerned. “It makes it much easier to move offices, if the need arises,” he remarked.

“That is a good point.”

Corbyn walked over to the drink cart in the corner. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes.”

Angling his body towards him, Corbyn picked up the decanter and removed the stopper. “Pardon me for saying so, but you look terrible,” he said as he poured the drinks.

“That is understandable since I just stepped off the ship,” Baldwin shared.

Corbyn picked up the two glasses and walked one over to him. “I expected you days ago.”

“We ran into some unexpected trouble,” Baldwin responded. “It isn’t easy to cross the Channel undetected.”

“You got caught.”

“That we did.”

“By us or the French?”

Baldwin took a sip of his drink. “The HMS Victory,” he replied, “but Captain Hampton was being a real stickler, despite the war being over.”

“Did you not have the proper documentation to cross?”

“We did, but we weren’t able to produce it until after they shot a few cannons at us.”

Corbyn walked over to his desk and sat down. “Were you using a French schooner to cross?”

“We were,” he confirmed. “We paid a French merchant to take us.”

Corbyn lifted his brow. “Willingly?”

Baldwin smirked. “He was compensated enough, and we left him and his crew alive at the dock.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Wasn’t it?” Baldwin asked before taking the last sip of his drink. He walked over to the drink tray and set it down. “If the schooner leaves in the middle of the night, it should be able to cross back into French waters without an altercation.”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t receive my message,” Corbyn said, placing his drink on the desk.

“What message?”

“The one that ordered you home.”

Baldwin furrowed his brows. “I received no such message.”

“Then why did you come back to England?” Corbyn asked.

Baldwin walked over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down. “The group of royalists that I had been working with discovered a credible threat against England,” he revealed.

“Which is?”

“A