Page 6 of A Wicked Game

Morgan didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “Why?”

Melville turned to Harriet. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain, my dear?”

“Of course.”

Harriet fixed her gaze on Morgan and adopted a prim,businesslike tone. She’d never had the opportunity to display the full extent of her expertise in front of him before and a tiny, vain part of her was thrilled at the prospect of impressing him.

“Cartographic disinformation—the altering of maps to disguise or mislead the enemy—has been a weapon deployed in wartime for centuries.”

Melville nodded. “Back in the fourteen hundreds the German cartographer Martellus distorted the southern coast of Africa on the orders of King John of Portugal to pretend that the eastern sea route to Asia was longer than it actually is. They wanted to discourage foreign interlopers from profiting from Portuguese discoveries.”

“The Russians did the same thing fifty years ago,” Harriet continued. “They extended Siberia by thirty degrees eastward to exaggerate the difficulty of the Northeast Passage, so European merchants wouldn’t attempt that route to China.”

“In more recent times,” Melville said, “the Admiralty ordered Captain Cook to amend his maps of the places he encountered in the Pacific to conceal any strategic discoveries. We told him to omit any naturally deep harbors where ships could be anchored, and we even employed a second mapmaker, a Doctor Hawkesworth, to amend Cook’s charts even more, before they were printed as the official account of his voyages.”

Melville chuckled. “That was back when the Earl of Sandwich was First Lord of the Admiralty. We’ve been misleading our rivals for decades.”

Morgan’s expression was one of pained frustration, and Harriet tried to conceal her smile.

“As fascinating as the impromptu history lesson is,” he said tersely, “I fail to see what it has to do with mypredicament. The Admiralty hasn’t been providing misleading maps to itsownmen, surely?”

Melville sent him a sympathetic glance. “Of course not. But I’m afraid, Captain Davies, that you and your crew were the unfortunate victims of a ruse by our government to play havoc with the French. May I ask where you found the map that led you astray? Because I can assure you, it wasnotissued to our own sailors.”

Harriet saw the exact moment Morgan realized how the error had occurred. His eyes narrowed and he raked his hand through his dark hair with a groan.

“It was taken from theBrilliant—a French ship we’d captured the week before and taken to St. Lucia.” He shook his head, clearly lost in memory. “The governor of the island, General Delaval, ordered us to continue harassing the French around Martinique, and since my own map was in a sad state, I confiscated the charts from theBrilliantto use instead.”

Melville steepled his fingers on the desk. “Well, that explains it, I’m afraid. Our spies went to a great deal of trouble to make sure the French received those falsified maps. Your shipwreck was exactly the result we intended—only for the enemy, not one of our own.”

Morgan’s cheeks reddened with an angry flush. “I see.”

Melville shrugged. “A regrettable and quite unforeseen accident, I’m afraid. Who could have imagined you’d end up using that particular map? The odds of it happening are staggering.”

“Indeed.”

Harriet was sure Morgan was grinding his teeth. And she was absolutely certain he was hating the fact that she was present to witness his mortification. If he hadn’t been a Davies, she might have felt sorry for him. As it was, it was hard not to enjoy the moment.

Just a little.

“So you see, there really is no need for you to know the mapmaker’s identity.”

Morgan opened his mouth to argue, but Melville wasn’t finished.

“However.In light of the high esteem with which you are held by the Admiralty—not least for the capture of theBrilliant—I shall tell you. Provided, of course, that you swear not to exact any form of retribution. Your shipwreck was beyond his control.”

“Fine,” Morgan growled, and Harriet almost snorted at his obvious reluctance. “No retribution. You have my word.”

Melville shot her a satisfied glance and Harriet returned it with a smile of her own. Morgan’s eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion.

“In that case,” Melville said happily, “the mapmaker known as Mister Crusoe is none other than Miss Montgomery here.”

Harriet’s heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe, but she inclined her head in serene acknowledgment. An unholy glee bubbled up inside her, even as she waited for the explosion that was sure to follow Melville’s shocking pronouncement.

Oh, she’d been both dreading and dreaming of this moment for months!

Morgan’s brows shot toward his hairline. “I beg your pardon?” His gaze speared her own as he turned to her. “You?You’re‘R. Crusoe’?”

Harriet nodded again and relished the wave of triumph that threatened to sweep her away.

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