A Dangerous Game (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 2) Read online

Oliver gave his brother an impatient look and Baldwin cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, I shall return shortly.”

  They did not speak as they walked away from the crowd and stepped outside onto the veranda. After Oliver ensured their conversation would remain private, he turned to face his brother.

  “I did something intolerably stupid,” Oliver admitted.

  Baldwin grew serious. “What did you do?” he asked cautiously.

  Oliver hesitated for a moment before saying, “I offered for Miss Emmeline Lockhart.”

  “You did?” Baldwin asked, his brow shooting up.

  He nodded.

  “What did she say?”

  Oliver frowned. “She refused me.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” Baldwin declared.

  “Why do you say that?” Oliver asked, his voice taking on an edge.

  Baldwin cast him a look of exasperation. “It almost sounds as if you wanted her to accept your proposal.”

  He found the fight draining out of him as he admitted, “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Why did you offer for her in the first place?” Baldwin asked.

  Oliver reached up and adjusted his white cravat. “I was listening to her plight about being forced to marry the Duke of Billingham,” he explained, “and the next thing I know, I was offering for her.”

  “That was a foolish thing to do.”

  Oliver ran a hand through his brown hair. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “The Duke of Billingham wouldn’t take kindly to you marrying his betrothed,” Baldwin said.

  “I am not afraid of him.”

  “Neither am I, but he is not a man that you want to aggravate.”

  Oliver put his head back and looked up at the moon. “I suppose I just wanted to save Emmeline from that old, cantankerous duke.”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t want saving.”

  “I don’t believe that is the case,” Oliver replied, bringing his gaze back to meet his brother’s. “After all, it is either marry the duke or enter a life of servitude.”

  “Then why did she turn down your offer?”

  “Emmeline rejected me because I am a rake.” His words came out much harsher than he’d intended.

  With a bob of his head, Baldwin replied, “This is beginning to make sense.”

  “What is?”

  “You were rejected by Charlotte because you were a rake, and now her cousin just did the same thing.”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” he declared.

  “No?” Baldwin asked. “Then, pray tell, why are you so upset that Emmeline just rejected your offer?”

  “I was trying to help her,” he asserted, “but she didn’t want my help.”

  “So, your pride has taken a hit.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Baldwin gave him a knowing look. “Did you want to be married to Emmeline, a girl that you hardly know?” he asked.

  “That is not true. I am well acquainted with Emmeline,” Oliver defended. “We have always been friends.”

  “Do you know her well enough to be tied to her for the rest of your days?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, “but it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  Baldwin crossed his arms over his chest. “This isn’t like you. I have never known you to make such a rash decision before,” he commented.

  “I know, but it just felt right to offer for her.” He winced. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Did you have too much to drink?”

  Oliver huffed. “I never drink enough to get inebriated. That is a good way to get me killed.”

  “I assumed as much, but I had to ask.”

  Music drifted out of the ballroom. “Another set is about to start,” Oliver said. “You should go dance with your wife.”

  “Do you mind?”

  Oliver shook his head. “I will retire to the card room for the rest of the evening. I don’t feel like seeing Emmeline again.”

  “Would you care to depart?” Baldwin asked, his tone hopeful. “I would be more than happy to accompany you.”

  Chuckling, Oliver remarked, “I daresay that Madalene won’t let you leave so easily.”

  “I generally hate dancing, but I must admit I do enjoy dancing with my wife.”

  “That is good to hear,” Oliver said as they started to walk back into the ballroom.

  As they approached Madalene, her eyes lit up as they landed on Baldwin. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  Baldwin nodded. “Everything is perfectly well.”

  “Do we need to leave?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Baldwin kissed her on the cheek. “Oliver just needed my advice, desperately.”

  Glancing over at him, Madalene asked, “Is that so?”

  Oliver smiled at his sister-in-law. “Your husband is quite full of himself.”

  Madalene laughed. “I am well aware of that, but I still find him charming.”

  “If you will excuse me, I will be in the card room for the rest of the evening,” Oliver informed them before he stepped away.

  He started making his way to the card room when he saw Emmeline out of the corner of his eye. She was speaking to her companion, but she stopped when their eyes met from across the room. At that moment, it seemed that time stood still, and nothing else seemed to matter in the world.

  Oliver was so distracted that he failed to notice that he had bumped into someone.

  “Excuse me,” the man remarked gruffly.

  Reluctantly, he broke his gaze with Emmeline and turned towards the man. “My apologies. I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “No harm done,” the man replied, tugging down on his black jacket, “but you might want to be more mindful of where you are walking next time.”

  “You are right, of course,” Oliver agreed.

  He brushed past the man and headed towards the card room. When he stepped inside, his eyes scanned the room as he looked for a place to sit at one of the many round tables.

  His eyes landed on a table where his friends were playing cards, and there was an empty seat next to them. He walked over and claimed the chair next to Booth.

  “Radcliff!” Booth exclaimed, shifting in his chair to face him. “We were wondering when you would join us.”

  “What took you so long?” Follett asked.

  Oliver shrugged as he adapted his usual persona. “I didn’t want to disappoint the ladies by depriving them of my attention.”

  “That was most kind of you,” Follett jested.

  “Wasn’t it?” Oliver replied.

  Haskett spoke up from across the table. “I saw you conversing with Miss Lockhart.” He smirked. “She is quite the beauty. I can see why the Duke of Billingham wants her for himself.”

  Oliver stiffened. “They aren’t married yet,” he said, hoping he kept the terseness out of his voice.

  “No, they are not,” Follett remarked. “I heard the duke is marrying her even though she has no dowry.”

  “They must be a love match, then,” Booth commented dryly.

  Follett glanced down at the cards in his hand before saying, “Everyone knows the duke likes to collect pretty things, including wives.”

  “It is a shame his wives keep dying on him, though,” Booth said.

  “They probably grew bored to death,” Haskett joked. “After all, have you tried speaking to the duke? It’s exhausting.”

  “Regardless, Miss Lockhart will become a duchess soon,” Follett said, “and she will deserve everything she gets for being married to the duke.”

  “I couldn’t be married to someone like him,” Haskett declared. “Not for all the money in the world.”

  A servant walked by with a tray of flutes filled with champagne, and Oliver reached up and grabbed one. He was growing tired of this conversation. He didn’t want to hear anything more about Emmeline and her upcoming nuptials.

  “Are you with us, mate?” Booth asked.
r />   Oliver placed his glass on the table. “I am, but I am growing tired of hearing about the duke.”

  Follett nodded as his expression grew solemn. “Perhaps I have something that might interest you.”

  “You don’t want to race through the streets, do you?” Oliver asked.

  “No,” Follett said. “I had the most interesting conversation with a gentleman at the coffeehouse on Tabley Street.”

  “Is that so?” Oliver asked, uninterested.

  Follett leaned closer and shared, “We spoke in great lengths about economic and political reform.”

  “I must assume that he was a Whig, as well,” Booth commented.

  “I have no doubt,” Follett said, “and he invited me to a meeting with other like-minded individuals.”

  Now Follet had his undivided attention. Oliver leaned in and lowered his voice. “What kind of meeting?”

  “The gentleman said if I was interested in further debate on the subjects, then I should attend the meeting at the Howl Hill Pub,” Follett shared.

  “The Howl Hill Pub is in the rookeries,” Haskett said. “Why do you have any desire to attend such a disreputable establishment?”

  Follett appeared unconcerned as he remarked, “It could be enlightening.”

  Booth reached for his glass. “I am rather wary of such a meeting,” he admitted. “I imagine it might just be a bunch of radicals spouting political nonsense.”

  “Don’t you want to find out?” Follett asked as he glanced around the table.

  Oliver took a sip of his drink before inquiring, “Who was this man that you spoke to?”

  “His name was Guy Stewart,” Follett replied.

  Placing his glass down, Oliver pressed, “And he just invited you to this meeting?”

  “He did.”

  “When is it?” Oliver inquired.

  “In five days.”

  “I believe I would like to attend,” Oliver said, hoping it was the lead he was looking for.

  A smile came to Follett’s lips. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Haskett made a clucking noise with his tongue. “I suppose I’m in, too.”

  “I’m not,” Booth said. “My father would stop my allowance if he ever discovered that I attended a meeting with radical views. He is a staunch Tory.”

  “We don’t know if this is a radical group,” Follett remarked. “It is just a place for people like us to express our views more freely.”

  Booth shook his head. “I am going to pass, but I wish you all luck.”

  Follett glanced down at the cards in his hand. “We need to hurry and finish this hand,” he said. “I want to go collect my dance from Lady Isabella.”

  “Lady Isabella?” Booth repeated with a whistle. “How did you accomplish that feat?”

  “It was relatively simple,” Follett explained, smirking. “I just asked her for a dance, and she accepted.”

  “Ingenious idea,” Haskett declared.

  Oliver chuckled. “You are all fools.”

  As they continued to banter back and forth, Oliver kept a smile on his face, but he was processing the information that Follett had told them. He didn’t want his friends mixed up with a radical group, but he needed to see if this meeting had any anti-monarch rhetoric.

  Chapter Four

  “You turned him down?!” Mary exclaimed. “Are you mad?”

  Emmeline pressed her lips together at her lady’s maid’s disapproval. “Lord Oliver is a rakehell. His exploits are legendary amongst the ton.”

  “But he isn’t the duke,” Mary pressed.

  “I know, but I couldn’t tie him down,” she replied. “It would have been entirely unfair to him, especially since I believe it was out of pity.”

  Mary gave her an exasperated look. “Whyever would that matter?”

  “I don’t want a marriage based upon pity.”

  “Of course not,” Mary replied, lifting her brow. “Instead, you would prefer to marry an eighty-year-old man who still retains a mistress across Town.”

  Emmeline walked over to her bed and dropped onto it. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “I turned him down, and I have no doubt that he is relieved by my refusal.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “After I refused him, he stormed off and spent his evening in the card room.”

  Mary walked over and sat down next to her. “Were you watching him?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Lord Oliver may not be perfect, but he would have treated you kindly,” Mary remarked.

  Emmeline reached for a pillow and brought it in front of her. “But he wouldn’t have remained faithful.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “My cousin was adamant that Lord Oliver would never stay true to her,” Emmeline said. “That is why she broke the engagement with him.”

  “People can change.”

  “Not that much.”

  Mary shook her head. “You have known Lord Oliver for a long time,” she started, “have you ever thought he would betray you?”

  “No,” Emmeline replied, “but we have only ever been just friends.”

  “Your cousin might have been wrong about Lord Oliver.”

  “I don’t believe that to be the case,” Emmeline said. “His words are too smooth, too calculated. At times, I wonder if he’s being genuine or not.”

  Mary gave her a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “When we were alone, Lord Oliver was different,” she shared. “He made me feel special and valued. But his entire demeanor changed when he was around other people.”

  “Which one do you suppose is the act, then?”

  Emmeline frowned. “Or did I read into something that wasn’t there?”

  “I don’t know, but you should have at least considered his offer,” Mary said. “It would have saved you from the duke.”

  “Can you imagine the scandal if I jilted the duke and eloped with Lord Oliver?” she asked. “My reputation would never recover.”

  “But you would have had the protection of Lord Oliver’s name.”

  “True,” Emmeline said as she ran her fingers along the fringe of the pillow. “Perhaps I was too hasty in refusing his offer.”

  “Perhaps you can convince him to still marry you.”

  Emmeline’s hand stilled. “How would I accomplish that feat?”

  “Go and inform him that you have changed your mind,” Mary suggested.

  “That would never work.”

  “Why not?”

  “For starters, it is not as if I could call on Lord Oliver,” Emmeline said. “A lady must never call upon a gentleman.”

  “Go under the ruse of seeing Lady Jane.”

  “And say what?”

  Mary smiled. “Do I have to think of everything?”

  Emmeline placed the pillow to the side and rose. “I suppose I could always say I was confounded at his proposal, and I have had time to consider it.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Mary encouraged.

  Emmeline winced. “What if he refuses me?” she asked. “It would be mortifying.”

  “But isn’t it a chance worth taking?”

  Walking over to the window, Emmeline glanced out the darkened window. “I am to choose between an old duke or a rakehell.” She placed her hands on the windowsill and sighed. “How did I end up here?”

  “You could always become a companion or governess.”

  Emmeline’s shoulders slumped. “Why did I have the misfortune of being born a woman?”

  “If you want me to pity you, I do not,” Mary declared, rising from the bed. “You have the choice of becoming the Duchess of Billingham or Lady Oliver.”

  “I do apologize,” Emmeline said. “I’m afraid I am at a crossroads and I am unsure which way to take.”

  “Which one does your heart tell you to take?”

  Emmeline huffed as she straightened from the windowsill. “My heart has nothing to do with this choice.”

  �
�It should.”

  A knock came at the door before it was opened. Her aunt stepped into the room and gave her a terse smile.

  “I need a moment alone with my niece,” Betty said in a steely tone.

  Mary dropped into a curtsy. “Yes, milady.”

  After her lady’s maid left, closing the door behind her, Betty stepped further into the room, and a frown marred her annoyed features, her lips thinning out into a line. “I understand that you not only danced with Lord Oliver, but you took a stroll around the gardens with him.”

  “I see that Mrs. Jackson tattled on me… again,” Emmeline remarked.

  “She may be your companion, but she is under our employ.”

  Emmeline rested her head on the windowsill. “How silly of me to forget that small detail.”

  Clasping her hands in front of her, Betty remarked, “Need I remind you that you will be a duchess soon, and your reputation needs to be above reproach?”

  “I am more than aware of what is expected of me.”

  “Then why would you even associate with the likes of Lord Oliver?”

  “He is my friend.”

  “Even after everything he did to our family,” Betty declared.

  Emmeline attempted to keep her face expressionless as she replied, “Charlotte was the one who broke the engagement, not Lord Oliver.”

  “We were most fortunate that Lord Albert was willing to overlook a broken engagement,” Betty said.

  “Yes, Charlotte was lucky,” Emmeline remarked dryly.

  Betty’s expression softened. “I know you miss her, my dear,” she responded, “as do I, but life does move forward whether we want it to or not.”

  “I do miss Charlotte,” she admitted.

  Betty stepped closer. “You have endured many hardships these past two years,” she said, “but you mustn’t give up hope.”

  “I’m struggling, Aunt Betty.”

  Betty reached out and tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. “All the more reason for you to marry the duke and secure your future.”

  “But I don’t want to marry him.”

  “Not this again,” Betty said with a sigh. “I thought we had properly put this to rest.”

  “He is eighty years old.”

  “You must take comfort in knowing that he will die soon,” Betty replied. “You only have to endure a few years with him, and then you will be comfortable for the rest of your days.”