When life hands you a raw deal, you must do what ever you
can to survive. Meggs found herself alone at the young age
of twelve. Her parents passed away leaving her and her baby
brother, Timmy to fend for themselves on the mean streets of
London. To make sure they both had food to eat, Meggs turned
to the life of crime. Picking pockets, finding marks,
targeting the rich is now her bread and butter. Everything
changes when an unwanted witness to her profession would
like to hire Meggs to gather information for a government
secret mission. Could this proposal change her life? Will it
be for better or worse?
Captain Hugh McAlden is not happy with his current position.
After a battle wound, he has been placed on disabled pay and
lost command of his ship. He will do anything to retain the
glory he once had. The admiral of her Majesty's Navy may
have the very mission the Captain desires. It seems there is
a traitor within the Lord's Commissioners, selling secrets
to the French. The Captain must figure out who is committing
treason against the crown before the information risks the
lives of more British soldiers.
The Captain is amazed when he witnesses a young girl
skillfully remove valuable assets from a gentleman without
the mark even realizing what has happened. Could this girl
be the tool he needs to discover the traitor? Little does he
know that she is the answer to questions he hasn't even
asked himself yet.
THE DANGER OF DESIRE is a suspense filled adventure that
will have you in awe as the mystery unfolds before your
eyes. The turbulent relationship that the reader witnesses
build between the talented Meggs and her stubborn Captain is
written beautifully. The reader can feel the suspicion,
pain, angst, and desire right along with the characters. The
story and the sub-plots are blended together beautifully. It
will leave you feeling as if you read three stories wrapped
into
one. Elizabeth Essex masterfully delivered a story involving
the lower and working classes in a genre saturated with
tales of nobility and the rich. If you are in the mood for a
story that seems to have it all, look no further. THE DANGER
OF DESIRE is the book for you.
Naval Captain Hugh McAlden is accustomed to taking on
deadly, high-stakes assignments--and being rewarded
handsomely for his success at them. But to accomplish his
latest mission, he'll need someone more inconspicuous among
his own ranks. Someone like the larcenous beauty who just
relieved him of his pocket watch under his very nose. . .
Meggs Tanner's livelihood--as one of London's stealthiest
thieves--depends on her remaining un-tethered and unnoticed.
But when she is caught by an icy-eyed Scottish officer with
an unusual proposition, she sees a chance to escape her life
of crime forever. Ever wary, she accepts the job even as she
plots her exit strategy, ready to cut and run at a moment's
notice.
But as Meggs and Hugh come nearer to the danger of their
shared mission, thoughts of betrayal and distrust begin to
dissolve. . .overshadowed by a passion worth any risk. . .
Excerpt
Chapter One
London, November 1799
Lord, but it was cold and raw as a St. Giles curse. Nothing
kept out the aching damp. Meggs hugged her arms closer to
her sides, tucked her bare fingers up in fists, and
quickened her pace along the deserted sidewalk as she and
her brother slipped their way through St. James's dripping
streets toward the Strand, looking for a few more likely
culls. But drunken lords had been thin on the ground this
morning. The icy drizzle had been falling in fits and starts
since dawn, and the sky remained an ominous, bone-cold gray.
She hated it. Hated it all—the insidious cold, the incessant
rain, the petty larceny—but hunger had a way of sorting out
priorities. There was thievery to be done.
"Tell me again." At her side, Timmy swiped at his cold nose
with the back of his sleeve. For her brother, Meggs pushed
the bleak feeling of unease aside.
"We'll be rich, we will. And we'll live in a lovely house, a
stout cottage, you and me, my lucky Tanner, just the two of
us. Someplace warm, like Dorset."
She had no idea if Dorset really was a warm place. Perhaps
she had heard it said once, or perhaps she had been told
palm trees grew there. And even she knew palm trees grew
only in warm places. But wherever it was they went, she was
determined it be warm. They had been cold for far too long.
Almost forever. And today, when London's creeping, yellow
fog was thick with ice, she felt as though it would be
winter forever. Days like this, she despaired of ever being
dry and warm again. Or full. Her stomach growled in empty
resentment.
And so, in the face of such barren grayness, she lied.
"We'll have a house with lots of fireplaces with warm cozy
fires, all snug and toasty. And in the summer, a rose garden
so the air will always smell nice, not like coal. We'll have
a big garden with an orchard at one end with apples and
pears for you to eat whenever you like, and trees for you to
climb. And a tree with a rope swing for you to play on."
Her brother was too young to remember what it had been like
before. He'd been barely four years old when they'd been
packed off to London. And eight years under old Nan's deft
tutelage couldn't help but leave its mark.
"When?" he asked with the cynical straightforwardness of a
child who was well used to hearing Banbury tales.
"Soon, I think." Her eyes never stopped combing the
pavement, even as her mouth spun fantasy out of the chill
air. "There. They'll do. Look sharp."
Three rich, sotted culls were ahead, weaving their way
homeward from their club. Drunk as lords. Young toffs with
more hair and money than wits. Never notice the lowly
housemaid they'd barreled into had relieved them of their
purses, would they? In their pleasant stupor, buffered from
the cares of the world by wealth and copious amounts of good
liquor, they would not even see Timmy, the small, whip-quick
crossing guard to whom she would pass the take as he chanced
by.
Timmy nodded once, then melted across the street, made
silent and invisible by the fog. Meggs resisted the urge to
give him more instruction, or follow his progress to make
sure he was well positioned. It wouldn't do. Her Tanner was
getting old enough to know their business as well as she. If
they wanted to eat, they needed to steal.
The men lurched closer, in and then out of the small circles
of lamplight, laughing loudly and singing some bawdy tune.
"There was a young girl from Crupp, whose pleasure it was
for to tup . . ."
Meggs let the lewd lyrics slide past and echo down the
street. The one on the left was tallest. Tall Boy's arms and
hands were completely engaged in holding up his drunken
comrade, who was draped over his shoulder like a drunk
sailor. Tall Boy was happy. His coat flapped open to reveal
a bounteous, bulging waistcoat pocket. Tall Boy had been the
winner.
And so would she be. Meggs flexed her hands on the handle of
her basket and wiped her fingers dry on the inside of her
apron, swallowing the jitters that crawled up her throat. It
would work. It always worked. Drunks were easy. Easy as
taking gin from a dead whore. She gauged the distance and
picked up speed, keeping even pace with the rising hammer of
her heart, aiming to reach them just as they left the watery
circle of lamplight. She'd be in the dark, and they'd never
see her until it was too late.
Three yards to go. Two. Eyes and ears stretched open, blind
to everything but the waistcoat pocket and deaf from the
roaring of her blood, she put her head down and plowed right
into them.
And it was dead easy. A turn of her body, a firm shove with
the prickly reed basket, and the culls were separated and
falling. And there she was, patient as the saints, waiting
for the precise moment when his purse eased into her waiting
hand, like a ripe plum plucked from a tree.
Then she was racing past and beyond, into the safety of the
dark before they had even registered her presence. "Come
back, darling," one of them called. "I'll make it worth your
while."
He'd already made it worth her while, thank you very much.
Meggs dismissed the drunk young culls from her mind as she
passed Timmy the take and moved on swiftly into the rising
dawn.
But she was wrong. Two blocks later, when they met up, Timmy
had already discarded the purse and counted the money.
"Flimsies," he sighed, "and small change."
Banknotes. Not so good as ready coin. They'd not get full
value if they tried to fence them, and they couldn't very
well waltz up Poultry Lane to the Bank of England to
exchange them, could they? Get shoulder clapped right there
in the lobby, they would. "How much in coin?"
"Two quid, three crowns, six pence."
She couldn't look at the disappointment scraped across his
pinched face. It was not enough. Why was it never enough?
"We need one more this morning. One good one." It was always
the hardest—that last purse of the morning. After nearly
four hours she and Timmy were getting tired, but the toffs
were waking up. So much easier to dip them when they were
still half-muzzied with drink. "So look sharp, my little
Tanner. You clap your peepers on a likely greenhead, and
we'll get a meat pie, after."
"Each?"
She hated that hopeful tone. The one she always had to
disappoint. "To split. But only if we spy a likely toff to
tip. So look sharp. Mind the traps." The last thing they
needed was to run afoul of the Constabulary, who were always
about in this part of town protecting the deserving rich
from the undeserving poor, the criminal element. From
thieves like them.
Hugh McAlden's leg had begun to ache. The cold, wet walk up
from Chelsea, all the way to the Admiralty Building in
Whitehall, had taken more out of him than he had anticipated.
He ought to have taken a walking stick, or gone down river
by boat with a waterman, but the morning had promised to be
fine. So much for his weather eye.
Normally, the leg only pained him like this when it rained.
But this was England. The only place wetter was the bilge of
his ship.
His former ship. And the only way he was going to regain
command of Dangerous was by currying the favor of the
Admiralty. Thus, gimpy and out of sorts, he presented
himself to the porter in the cavernous Admiralty Building in
Whitehall and wound his way through the warren of rooms to
his appointment.
"Captain McAlden?" the clerk inquired as soon as he found
the room. "Admiral Middleton will see you immediately.
Please come this way."
Sir Charles Middleton, recently promoted to Admiral of the
Blue, greeted Hugh like an old friend, which they were if
giving Hugh dangerous, unsavory assignments and rewarding
him heartily with advancement counted as friendship.
"Captain McAlden." The admiral came though the doorway and
held out his hand. "Good to see you, my boy. You're looking
fit. I expected to find you much the worse for wear after
hearing of your injuries."
"I'm improving, sir, I thank you."
"Good, good." The admiral refrained from clapping Hugh on
the back, but his smile was full of relief. "I was pleased
to hear such things of you at Aboukir Bay—how you took
Dangerous to cut the line to engage the French from behind.
Well done, sir, well done, but I expected nothing less from
you. The dispatches were full of it. And at Acre. Hell of a
thing for a sailor to be wounded in a battle on land, what?"
He glanced down. "How's the leg?"
"Still attached."
"Ha! We'll have you back to the fleet in no time. Come walk
with me."
Hugh kept his grimace to himself and limped after Sir
Charles, back down the echoing staircase and out the rear of
the building toward the parkland beyond. "It's damnable to
be so hobbled and unfit for command," he said to cover his
awkwardness on the stairs. "I don't know what bothers me
more—the leg or being so damn useless."
"Ah, but that is where you are wrong, Captain. I have every
expectation you will be very useful to me—even in your
present state."
"Admiral?"
"I have another interesting assignment for you."
Hugh found his leg began not to pain him so very much with
such a prospect before him. And the weather was improving as
well. The damned iced drizzle had at last begun to give way
to snow. "More interesting than the last?"
It had been over four years since Sir Charles, who at the
time had been an influential member of the Admiralty Board,
had sent him off on an interesting special assignment.
Special meaning unofficial and unacknowledged—at least
publicly. But Sir Charles had seen to it Hugh was rewarded
with command of Dangerous. Which had led to his success at
Aboukir Bay and then Acre. And ultimately, his damn wound.
But caution had never brought him success or advancement.
Completing Admiral Sir Charles Middleton's unsavory tasks
had. "Admiral, I am completely at your disposal."
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.
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