A Treacherous Engagement Read online

  Text copyright © 2022 by Laura Beers

  Cover art copyright © 2022 by Laura Beers

  Cover art by Blue Water Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, copied, or transmitted without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Also by Laura Beers

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  England, 1813

  Growing up, Nathaniel Calvert, the Earl of Hawthorne, had always wanted to be a spy or a pirate. Each would have given him the adventure he craved, but being a pirate was a good way to get a noose around one’s neck. So, he was grateful he’d been recruited out of Oxford to be a spy.

  It had helped fill a void in his life these ten years, one that he hadn’t even realized he had. He enjoyed being an agent of the Crown, even though he knew things that could easily get him killed. He recognized that he was therefore living on borrowed time.

  Nathaniel’s reflections on his occupation came to a crashing halt as he was hit squarely in the jaw and stumbled back towards the wall.

  His friend, Mr. Aaron Berkeley, shook his head. “You left yourself open.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Nathaniel said, pushing off the wall.

  Berkeley put his hands up in front of him. “We shall see.”

  Nathaniel advanced towards Berkeley, his posture slightly bent and his footwork nimble. He pulled his fist back and swung at Berkeley, hitting him in the face.

  “Nice hit,” Berkeley acknowledged begrudgingly, rubbing his jaw where he was hit.

  Nathaniel lowered his fists. “On that note, I should be going.”

  “So soon?”

  “I’m afraid I will be late for a meeting if I do not leave soon,” Nathaniel replied, stepping out of the chalked area.

  Berkeley followed him out and waved off the bottle-holder.

  Nathaniel removed the cloth that was wrapped around his hands, then reached for a towel on the bench to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Are we still on for White’s this evening?”

  “I hope so,” Berkeley said. “Everyone will be there.”

  He nodded approvingly as he dropped the towel onto the bench. After he unrolled his white sleeves, he reached for his cravat and made quick work of tying an intricate knot.

  “We should try to get them to join us here at Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon,” Berkeley remarked.

  “Perhaps,” Nathaniel said, picking up his blue jacket. “It would give me a chance to knock some sense into Hugh.”

  Berkeley chuckled. “Hugh is a lost cause.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You are only saying that because he is your brother.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Nathaniel said good-naturedly. “Good day, Berkeley.”

  Nathaniel exited Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon, leaving the smell of rancid sweat behind. He enjoyed starting his morning off with a boxing match. It kept him limber, knowing that he always had to be prepared for a fight. One wrong misstep could mean the difference between life or death for him.

  He hailed a hackney and shouted the address up to the driver. As he stepped inside, he felt his boots stick to the floor, and a pungent odor filled the air. It was a far cry from the smart coaches he was used to, but where he was going, it wouldn’t be wise to draw attention to himself.

  Nathaniel stared out the window and watched as they headed towards the unsavory part of London. The buildings shifted from large and spacious to narrow, darkened structures that gave the appearance of being structurally unsound. The men and women walking down the pavement all seemed to be lost in their own thoughts.

  The hackney came to a stop and Nathaniel exited. He reached into his waistband pocket and removed a few coins.

  The driver’s nervous eyes roamed the street. “Are ye sure ye want to be here, mister?”

  “I do,” Nathaniel replied, extending the coins to him.

  “This ain’t no place for a gentleman,” the driver pressed.

  Nathaniel took a step back. “You do not need to concern yourself with that.”

  “Suit yourself,” the driver said as he urged his team forward.

  Tucking his hands in his pockets, Nathaniel walked down the pavement, being mindful of all the eyes on him. He would be a fool to dismiss the men that no doubt had pegged him as an easy target.

  Nathaniel carried only an overcoat pistol in his right boot and a dagger in his left, easily accessible if he was called upon to defend himself. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had been forced to fight himself out of a dangerous situation, and he was confident it wouldn’t be the last time, either.

  As he approached a two-level, nondescript brick building, he saw two familiar men sitting in front of it, both wearing tattered clothing. They appeared to be down on their luck, but he knew it was only an act. These men were poised for a fight as they guarded the building from any potential threats.

  The thin, dark-haired agent held up a cup as he approached. “Do you have any coins to spare, mister?” Talbot asked.

  Nathaniel reached into his pocket and removed a sixpence. “I do,” he replied, dropping it into the cup.

  Talbot nodded, lowering the cup. “Thank you, mister.” He looked inside and frowned. “I expected better from you, Hawthorne.”

  The other agent spoke up as he brushed his red hair to the side. “Why are you dressed so fashionably?” Worsley asked.

  “Not that it is any of your business, but I had something I needed to see to across Town,” Nathaniel replied.

  “It’s a good look on you,” Worsley said, holding up his cup. “I believe you forgot something.”

  Nathaniel shook his head as he retrieved another coin from his pocket. As he dropped it into the cup, Worsley advised, “You’d best get inside before you draw any more attention to yourself.”

  Nathaniel tipped his head as he moved to open the door. He stepped inside and saw an older man behind a desk, his white hair slicked to the side.

  The man brought his gaze up, but his hands were hidden behind the desk. “What business do you have here?”

  “The countryside is idyllic in the spring.”

  The man visibly relaxed at his coded message. “Very good, sir,” he said, gesturing towards the back door with a pistol in his hand. “You may go back now.”

  “Where is Mostyn?” Nathaniel asked as he approached the back door.

  “His wife is sick,” the man replied. “Merritt asked me to fill in for him today.”

  Nathaniel opened the door and stepped inside the hall. Desks filled the space and agents were busily working, giving him little heed as he headed towards the rear of the hall.

  He stopped outside of Merritt’s office and knocked.

  “Enter,” Merritt ordered.

  Nathaniel opened the door and stepped inside. The chief spymaster was sitting behind his desk, an annoyed look on his face. His black hair was heavily streaked with grey, accentuating his wrinkles. Merritt may be advancing in age, but he was still a man who was not to be trifled with.

  The chief spymaster’s critical eye swept over him and announced, “You are late.”

  “I assure you that it couldn’t be helped.”

  Merritt closed the book in front of him and moved it to the side of his desk. “I expect my agents to be punctual.”

  “Duly noted,” Nathaniel said as he came to sit down in front of the desk. “Your note indicated that it was urgent.”

  “It is,” Merritt responded. “I have a new assignment for you.”

  “But I am already working on a case,” Nathaniel responded. “Two, in fact.”

  “Not anymore,” Merritt said. “I want this assignment to take priority.”

  “I understand.”

  Merritt grew serious as he gave him his full attention. “There has been some alarming chatter about the prince regent.”

  “There is always chatter,” Nathaniel replied, unconcerned. He couldn’t think of a time when there wasn’t an active threat against the prince regent’s life.

  “That may be true, but I would like you to take these threats seriously and investigate them,” Merritt said, reaching for a file on his desk. “There is a group starting to garner strength in the rookeries.”

  “That is not surprising. Crime has always been rampant there.”

  Merritt nodded in agreement. “Their hatred seems to be concentrated on the prince regent, and I worry that they might do something rash.” He extended him a file. “The group is known as the Red Ravens, and they are growing in numbers. The file will
give you some basic information about them.”

  “This assignment sounds easy enough,” Nathaniel said, rising. “I shall infiltrate them and have a report to you by morning.”

  Merritt gave him a displeased look. “I do not believe this assignment will be that easy,” he remarked. “You will not be the first agent who has tried to infiltrate the group. The last agent I assigned to this case is still unaccounted for.”

  Lowering himself back onto the chair, Nathaniel dreaded the answer to his next question. “Who?”

  Merritt’s jaw clenched. “Rutledge.”

  Nathaniel felt like he had been punched in the stomach at that unexpected news. It took him a moment to recover. “When did he disappear?” he asked.

  “He failed to check in last week.”

  “And I am just finding out about this now?” Nathaniel asked, his voice rising. “I should have been out there looking for him.”

  “I had a few agents make some inquiries, but they were unable to turn up anything.” Merritt grew solemn. “It isn’t entirely uncommon for Rutledge to disappear for a week or two, only to appear later unharmed.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “I want you to proceed with extreme caution,” Merritt advised. “I don’t want to lose two agents on this assignment.”

  Nathaniel rose from his seat. “I will find Rutledge and bring him home.”

  “Hawthorne—”

  “I don’t believe that Rutledge would have succumbed to his fate without a fight,” Nathaniel interrupted.

  “We don’t know what that fate is,” Merritt remarked. “For all we know, Rutledge is deep undercover and was unable to get a message out.”

  “When has that stopped him before?” Nathaniel questioned. He walked to the door with the file in hand but was stopped by Merritt’s voice.

  “Do not let Rutledge’s disappearance cloud your judgement,” he said. “You will need all your wits about you to solve this case.”

  “You need not concern yourself with that. I can complete this assignment and find Rutledge,” Nathaniel stated before he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. He quickly exited the building and started down the pavement. There was no point in trying to hail a hackney in this part of town; they weren’t foolish enough to pick up fares here.

  Nathaniel half-hoped for a fight, growing increasingly agitated that his mentor and friend had disappeared without a trace. That didn’t sound like the man who had recruited him out of Oxford and taught him everything he needed to know to be an agent. No; he refused to give up on Rutledge, just as his friend would not have given up on him.

  A man stepped out of the alleyway with a dagger clutched in his hand. “Give me yer money,” he demanded, his beady eyes perusing the length of him.

  “No.”

  “No?” the man repeated back in disbelief. “But I have a dagger.”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “That dagger is not sharp, and it would cause little damage, assuming you even know how to use it properly.”

  “I do,” the man claimed as he stepped in front of him.

  “Not likely,” Nathaniel said. “Now, let me pass before I get angry.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “I think not,” he replied. “Ye are the one at a disadvantage.”

  Nathaniel took a moment to size up his opponent. His clothing was threadbare, his cap was crooked, and his shoes had holes along the top. This man was robbing him out of desperation, and that made him dangerous.

  In a swift motion, Nathaniel reached into his boot, pulled out his overcoat pistol, and pointed it at his attacker. “It would now appear that you are at a disadvantage.”

  His attacker looked unsure. “Who carries a pistol in their boot?”

  “A man who is prepared for the unexpected.”

  Lowering his dagger, the man said, “That pistol only has one shot, and ye are far from home.”

  “Perhaps, but I like my odds.”

  “Ye won’t make it far,” his attacker insisted. “If I don’t kill ye, someone else will have the pleasure.”

  “You underestimate me, and that is your biggest mistake.”

  Nathaniel had just spoken his words when a coach pulled up alongside of him. The door opened to reveal Lord Grenton.

  “Get in,” Grenton ordered.

  “Gladly.” Nathaniel approached the coach, keeping a close eye on his attacker.

  He sat across from Grenton, who gave him a look of disbelief before asking, “What in the blazes are you doing in the rookeries?”

  As the coach jerked forward, Nathaniel set the file down next to him and slipped his overcoat pistol back into his right boot. “I had an errand that I needed to see to.”

  “In the rookeries?” Grenton asked.

  “Yes.”

  Grenton gave him a look that implied he didn’t believe him. Not that it mattered; Nathaniel had no intention of revealing the truth. “Why were you pointing a pistol at that man?” Grenton pressed.

  With a shrug of his shoulders, Nathaniel replied, “He was attempting to rob me, and I turned the tables on him.”

  “I see,” Grenton muttered. “You must think me a fool.”

  “Not particularly.”

  Grenton huffed. “You have always been one to have secrets.”

  “That is true,” Nathaniel replied, seeing no reason to deny it. “Not that I am complaining, but why were you in the rookeries?”

  “I was visiting my mother’s orphanage on Tryon Street,” Grenton revealed, his voice growing reflective. “The orphanage meant a great deal to my mother, and I am going to ensure that it thrives.”

  “That is good of you.”

  “It is the least I can do to honor her memory,” Grenton remarked, dismissing his praise. “But I am having a hard time hiring someone to run it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “There have been many applicants, but I wonder if my expectations are too lofty.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A lady,” Grenton revealed.

  “A lady?” Nathaniel questioned.

  Grenton nodded. “My mother wanted a lady to run the orphanage, giving it credence amongst members of high Society.”

  “What lady is foolish enough to accept the position?”

  “That is the issue.”

  Nathaniel glanced out the window, then asked, “Are you still joining us at White’s tonight?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Grenton replied. “It has been far too long since I have gone out.”

  “We have missed you.”

  A pained look came to Grenton’s face. “I’m afraid I haven’t felt like celebrating since my mother’s death.”

  “That is understandable.”

  Grenton forced a smile, attempting to mask the sorrow beneath. “Enough of that talk,” he started, “I would much rather discuss how you intended to get yourself out of your predicament earlier.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “You weren’t?” Grenton asked. “You were walking through the rookeries, alone.”

  “I had a pistol on me.”

  Grenton shook his head. “Your cockiness has always astounded me.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “I must have said it wrong, then,” Grenton joked.

  Nathaniel smiled as the coach came to a stop in front of his three-level whitewashed townhouse. “I do thank you for the ride.”

  “You mean ‘rescue’,” Grenton corrected.

  “No, I said it correctly,” Nathaniel smiled as he opened the door. “I had the situation in hand.”

  “You are an idiot, Hawthorne.”

  Nathaniel chuckled. “I shall see you this evening,” he said as he exited the coach.

  As he approached the main door, it opened, and his butler, Balfour, stepped to the side to allow him entry.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” Balfour greeted.

  Nathaniel stopped in front of the lanky butler. “I shall be eating at White’s tonight,” he informed him.

  Balfour tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Very good.”