Page 25 of A Wicked Game

Harriet nodded absently. “Very well.”

God, he wanted to bundle her up in his coach and whisk her away to Trellech, far away from any hint of danger. Harriet, sadly, would see that as kidnapping, and to be fair, the weight of history was on her side. It wouldn’t have been the first or even the tenth time a Davies had kidnapped a Montgomery—or vice versa. She’d never believe it was due to protective concern.

“I think this confirms our theory about the break-in,”Harriet said, blissfully unaware of his mental detour. “De Caen can’t have got the map he wanted from the Admiralty. I bet he’s going around all the printsellers in town looking for a copy.”

“Is there a chance one of them might have a Crusoe version to sell him?”

“Unlikely. Most of the ones we made for the Admiralty were planted on board French ships. They’ll be dispersed all around the world by now.”

“Didyoukeep a copy?”

Harriet’s sly, secretive little smile would have made da Vinci’s Mona Lisa look guileless, and Morgan quelled an unreasonable surge of lust. God, he loved clever women. This one in particular.

“Of course we did,” she said. “We have copies ofallCrusoe’s maps.”

“Where?”

In answer she bustled out from behind the desk and dragged a set of library steps until they were positioned below the map she’d indicated earlier. She was wearing a fetching pale blue day dress with a teasing little ruffle around the neckline, and Morgan enjoyed a glimpse of her slim ankles as she climbed up and lifted the map from the wall. His fingers twitched with the temptation to grab her by the hips and tumble her down into his arms.

“Here, take this; it’s heavy.”

He bounded forward to oblige, and placed the map she gave him on the leather-topped desk. Harriet came to stand by his side and they both looked down at it.

“I thought you said this was the Montgomery version?” Morgan said.

“It is. But this”—she turned the frame over to reveal a second map, almost identical to the first, attached to the reverse of the original—“is the Crusoe copy.”

With a few deft twists she unpinned the second map, turned the frame back over, and placed the two versions side by side.

“Hidden in plain sight,” Morgan marveled with a laugh. “It’s like Janus, that two-faced Roman God.” He gazed around the walls. “Are thosealldouble-sided?”

“Many of them,” she admitted. “It seemed a safer way to store Crusoe’s maps than having them lying around in drawers. That’s how the Admiralty stored theirs, don’t forget.”

Morgan glanced between the two pages. Apart from the different names engraved in the scrolling cartouches at the corner of each, they looked identical.

“Can you spot any differences?”

He bent closer. “Not really.”

She shook her head and bent over too. Her shoulder brushed his and the scent of her perfume filled his nose. He reminded himself to concentrate.

“The differences are subtle, but they’re there.” She slid a slim finger toward a cluster of tiny dots in a vast expanse of ocean, and indicated the same area on the second map. “Look. This trail of islands just to the south of Martinique. On the real map there are only two, but for Crusoe’s version I added three more, and moved them to the east, farther out to sea.”

“You naughty girl.” He gave her shoulder a friendly nudge, and enjoyed the way her blush spread down her neck and across her chest. He’d give anything to see how far it extended.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell Melville that De Caen was here. Perhaps he can assign men to keep watch at the other mapmakers’ in town and see if De Caen visits any of them. They might be able to catch him before he leaves the country.”

Harriet straightened and he did the same, and her eyes widened as she realized they stood toe-to-toe. She was so small she barely came up to his chin; she had to tilt her head way back to look into his face.

He gazed down into her gray eyes. “It worries me that you’ve been in such close proximity with a man as dangerous as De Caen.”

“Pfft. A Davies concerned for a Montgomery? That’s a first.”

“I’m merely looking out for my own interests,” he drawled. “Can’t have you dying before I’ve claimed my last two kisses, can we?”

Her lips parted in a surprised, “Oh!” and he fought the urge to bend down and kiss her.

As if she could read his mind, she darted another desperate glance toward the back room. “My father!”

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