The Danger of Desire (2 page)

The admiral nodded once with sharp satisfaction. “Good. I think you should also know there is talk of putting you up—well, you’ve already been put up—for a knighthood. Your name is on the list for His Majesty’s consideration. Nelson, in particular, has been fulsome in his praise for your valor, though he was certainly not the only one to note it.”

Hugh could not stop the warm feeling of pleasure brewing in his chest from becoming a smile. He was more than surprised, and even a little chagrined. His Scots grandfather would be turning over in his grave to hear he’d been made into an English version of a gentleman, though he would be proud of all Hugh had accomplished for himself. But Sir Charles intended him to understand something else as well—that a preferment, as well as this knighthood, would be advanced only by his accomplishing whatever unsavory task Sir Charles was about to assign him. Hugh could feel his smile broaden across his face. Here was work, at last.

As they walked out over the newly frozen ground, Sir Charles’s tone became more firm, though also more quiet in the hush of the lightly falling snow. “You will have noted my need to assure our solitude”—he gestured to their empty surroundings—“and concluded I do not want our conversation overheard by anyone.”

“Anyone?” Hugh glanced back at the building, a bastion of staunch patriotism. “In the Admiralty?”

Sir Charles shook his head, and in that instant, he looked care-worn and old. “With the country embroiled in the war with France, one would like to think the Admiralty, of all places, would be safe. But it is, I fear, not. We will take only a short turn, for your leg is no doubt cramped, and then we will go back inside to meet with a ... staff officer of the army.”

“Sir?” Unease tightened Hugh’s spine. He was a straightforward man. He took orders and accomplished them. But the admiral’s hesitation indicated some unpleasant odor was in the breeze. It smelled like the sort of army staff officer who never seemed to have an official function. The kind who dealt in dark alleys and informants. And Hugh would rather navigate his ship through a harbor full of mines than tangle with the likes of them.

The admiral was nodding his head in apparent agreement. “This is a navy matter, unquestionably. However, it gives our colleagues in the army ... comfort to be involved. They have sent a representative.”

Hugh expected the
representative
’s involvement had not eventuated without serious resistance. He kept his mouth shut and listened.

“Since I took up the Blue, I left the Admiralty Board. Earl Spencer is First Lord of the Admiralty now, and he has his Cambridge cronies in as Lord Commissioners. However, Spencer has appealed to me, since I am not directly involved with the board at present, to intervene and stop a serious leak of information.”

Hugh’s blood got colder by degrees. The ramifications were immense.

“Valuable information, sensitive, secret, or what ought to be secret information, has gone missing. Here, from this building, where every man’s loyalty and honor ought not be questioned!” The admiral’s face grew ruddy with frustrated, suppressed rage. “It’s intolerable.”

“My God.” Hugh let out a low expletive. “That’s treason. Do you have a suspect?”

Admiral Middleton fixed Hugh with a bleak stare. “I obtained a list of the intercepted communications from Military Intelligence along with the dates they were intercepted. I could immediately correlate the missing information with dates of meetings of the Board of Admiralty.”

“God’s balls. One of the Lords Commissioners.”

“Yes. And there are seven Lords Commissioners on this Board of Admiralty. All very high up, both in the government and in society.”

This was why Sir Charles had asked him. He knew Hugh didn’t care two farthings for society or rank. The navy had taught him merit and character were all that mattered. “Surely it can’t be one of the Naval Lords?”

Sir Charles gave a grim negative. “I should like to deny the possibility it is one of the Naval Lords—they know the consequences as well as you or I. Much as I would like to, it would be beyond foolish to assume it could only be one of the civilian politicians instead.”

“You want me to find out which one is responsible.”

“Yes. Before the next formal meeting of the board, you will rout out this traitor and serve him up to Earl Spencer trussed and ready for hanging. I want this handled quietly, within the navy, before any other part of the government becomes involved. Or notified.”

Hugh could easily understand the ramifications of treason of such magnitude. Governments had fallen for less. “This representative of the army knows of my involvement?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I would wish I could leave this solely within navy hands, but ministers must be appeased. Special staff officers must be catered to. But I’ve told them nothing of what I suspect regarding the Admiralty Board.” They had arrived back at the steps. “They’ve sent a Major Rawsthorne. Twenty years in. India service for the most part. We’ll see him now.”

Major Rawsthorne proved to be a pale, solid man in his middle years with an air of callous importance. If India had left a mark on him, he hid it well. He looked like any soft, well-connected, government-posted officer, not the hardened, sun-baked veteran Hugh had expected. There was shrewdness but no understanding in his eyes. A political man. Hugh always got a pain from political sorts, but he knew enough to keep both his feelings and his opinions to himself.

“Major Rawsthorne,” Middleton introduced them, “Captain McAlden. Captain McAlden will be handling this matter for the Admiralty.”

Rawsthorne lifted his eyebrow for a leisurely inspection. Hugh let him look, preferring to keep his gaze level on Admiral Middleton. He was a navy man. Rawsthorne would do well to learn where his loyalties lay.

“And Captain McAlden is experienced in these sort of ... subtleties?”

Pompous bastard.

“Yes.” The admiral did not deign to qualify his statement. He knew well enough how to play these games. “You will appreciate that from your reading of the reports from Acre.”

“Making use of Arab street rats born into a life of crime? London isn’t a walled, besieged city with a captive populace of heathen children.”

A pompous man with his own ways of getting information, if he already knew Hugh’s record. Yet the major must not look about him in the streets of London. God knew the sidewalks and alleys here were crawling with the same kind of children, crafty and quick, their lives full of meanness and want.

The admiral felt as Hugh did. “Heathen or not, there are plenty of street rats in London. Damned if one of those cheeky young devils didn’t relieve me of no less than six silver buttons as I was getting into my carriage last evening. Cut them off my cuff with one swipe of a knife before I knew it.”

And there it was. Hugh knew exactly what he was going to do. He would have laughed at the lunacy of it not five minutes ago, but now it made unaccountable sense.

“No,” Rawsthorne was insisting. “While I’m sure Captain McAlden is a competent enough and courageous commander of a fighting ship, you need to leave this sort of thing to us. We have all the experience necessary to deal with the problem. My men—”

“Admiral Middleton, I have my assignment.” Hugh bowed to his admiral and turned, bland and obedient, to give the same honor to Rawsthorne, though Hugh was the higher ranking officer. “Major.”

The major was too full of his own importance to notice the courtesy. “Now see here. I don’t want to have to make a fuss, but this is our jurisdiction. We cannot tolerate any further breach or compromise of information.”

“I understand you perfectly, Major. You may consider the matter taken care of. Admiral Middleton.”

“Captain McAlden.” The admiral gave his hand in a firm grasp. “I’ll see you out.” They left the major sputtering objections in their wake.

As soon as they had reached the outer doors, Hugh asked, “The Lords Commissioners—your clerk will furnish me with a list?”

“I have it here. I have sealed it personally.” Middleton handed over a missive. “All the information I have to hand on each man.”

“Thank you. Will you want to be kept up to date on details of my plans and progress?”

Middleton held up a hand to forestall him. “No, no. Whatever you feel necessary. I don’t want to hear the particulars—because this conversation has not taken place.” His lips curved in a wry smile. “Not until you are successful, of course.”

“How much time do I have?”

“As little as possible. Two weeks at most. We need this done, Hugh.”

Sir Charles had never called him by his Christian name before. He’d no idea the man even knew it. He gave his admiral his hand. “You have my word, sir. I’ll begin at once.”

Hugh took his leave and stiff-legged his way back down the echoing marble stairs and out onto the streets, heedless of the aching cold and blowing snow. He was thinking of Acre, of heat and meanness, and the faces of children.

CHAPTER 2

T
he toff limping out of Spring Gardens onto Cockspur Street was just the sort she liked, if she couldn’t have a drunk. Big man, but tired he was, weariness stewing from his bones like the cold steam of his breath in the frigid, snowy air. And he was a gimp—heavily favoring his left leg—but without a cane or walking stick. So far so good. It paid to stay well clear of walking sticks. But he was a gentleman, all right, with a well enough set of togs, though he looked none too comfortable in them. Too new. Country man recently come up to town was her guess.

Meggs took a deep breath, hitched the basket of sewing higher onto her hip, tipped Timmy the wink, and headed along the pavement in the man’s direction.

She kept her eyes on the mark. On his hands and his face. Definitely a country man, though he was younger than she had first thought. Pain and injury did that to a man—aged him. His face, as he looked up and down Cockspur Street for his direction, was weathered and rugged like the granite hills of Derbyshire. A walking tor, that’s what he was.

There it was again, that same strange pang of dread, that feeling that was half memory and half longing for something just out of reach. She tried to mentally push the nebulous sensation away, but it was like swatting at a cobweb—invisible, tenuous bits of feeling clung stubbornly to her brain.

But there was no room for mooning about. She needed to keep her wits about her and concentrate on the flat ahead. On the gleaming watch he’d just pulled from his pocket to consult the time.

And then, he looked up and Meggs saw his eyes. So pale a blue, they were shocking in a face so tan. Chips of ice held greater warmth, and yet there was a fire, a force that sparked so strongly, so powerfully within the frozen wasteland of his gaze, she had to turn away for fear of being singed.

She knew that look. A zealot. Moon eyed. Dicked in the nob. Whatever it was, every instinct she possessed screamed
danger
. And clever girl that she was, she minded quick-like, keeping her head down and scurrying across the street to stay well clear of his path, away from all that steely awareness. She had no desire to receive another blast from the furnace that was his eyes, thank you very much.

But that was a mistake, too.

For while she was minding the dangerous, sharp-eyed cove, she smashed headlong into another body and down they went, for real.

It was generally
not
the sagest of ideas to frisk a toff without having ever clapped peepers on him to see if he were a likely chum, but her clever fingers were already making professional-like, cataloging his portable chattels before she could have a look-see and come to a prudent decision.

Merino wool, good quality. Waistcoat, brocade silk. Belly of considerable girth. Scent of expensive cigars and brandy. Toff. Watch, fob, and purse, quick and easy as you please as she fell down, and the top button of her loosely pinned bodice obligingly popped open to fill his eyes with the sight and feel of her padded, upthrust breasts as they brushed against him. And to finish the business, a spill of white petticoat and a breathless, helpless display of calf.

It was all as familiar as a Drury Lane play, and twice as well rehearsed.

“Lawks,” she cawed on top of him, “me basket!”

Then she snatched at the fallen bits of fabric and sewing, an embroidered bodice piece having fallen, quite by design, in the gentleman’s considerable lap. Her fingers brushed mercifully fleetingly across his cods so his blood would keep well away from his brain.

It was just as old Nan always said—a man couldn’t think and fill his rod at the same time. Keep him doing the one, and he’d never be able to do the other.

And it was done. She was up and fussing with her basket and moving away muttering, “Don’t care who they knock over. Missus’ll have my head, if—Ere, gimme that!” she called as Timmy darted by pretending to grab at the lacy underthings she carried in her basket.

“Here now! Leave off there!”

Meggs turned back, thinking for some ungodly reason of the pale-eyed man. But no, it was worse—a constable. How had she missed seeing him? Cripes, that was all they needed—the Law barging his way toward her, waving his cosh at Timmy.

But Timmy scarpered right quick, the heavy purse she passed him already surreptitiously down his shirt. “I saw her bottom, I saw her bottom!” he yelled gleefully as he went running through the foot traffic.

Meggs stepped into the trap’s line of sight to divert his attention. “Oh, Constable!”

“You all right, miss?” the constable asked.

The constable was young, and thankfully, someone she had never crossed before. Meggs let her real fear and apprehension color her voice. “Brazen it out,” old Nan would have said, “but make it real, dearie.”

“Thank you. Knocked me off my feet, he did.” She cut her eyes toward the fat toff still righting himself and fanned her hand demurely across her half-revealed décolleté. Lovely word that, one of Nan’s favorites. “Have to be rich to have décolleté,” she used to say. “The poor just have titties.” Rich or poor, the young constable’s gaze had dropped six inches to what one hand revealed, while under the basket, her other hand concealed the liberated watch deep within the folds of her skirts.