Page 54 of A Wicked Game

“All by the Sea of Doubt,” he pointed out.

“I drew a Marriage Harbor.”

“Right next to Spinstertown. And I can’t help noticing that the River of Inclination leads to the Lake of Indifference. Is that a warning?”

“Pure coincidence.”

Morgan shook his head. He loved her humor. But for all its levity, this map was symbolic of their own situation. He’d taken her to the Peak of Desire this afternoon, but could she be convinced to pay a visit to the Dale of Permanent Affection?

Or had they sailed so far off the edge they were in uncharted territory? He certainly felt as if he was somewhere he’d never been before, in some strange, uncertain hinterland where they weren’t quite enemies, nor lovers, nor friends. Where did that leave them? Floundering around in the Swamp of Bloody-God-Knows-Where.

She should putthaton her map.

A glint of silver on the corner of the desk caught his attention and his eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Isn’t that the—”

“—pencil you threw in the stream when we were younger?” she finished, seeing the direction of his gaze. “The one my mother gave me? Yes. It is.”

She picked it up and stroked her thumb over her own inscribed initials.

Morgan feigned shock. “How did you get it back?”

He waited for her to tell him how it had been miraculously caught in Tom Evans’s fishing net, but instead she sent him an odd, sideways smile. Her lips twitched in the way they always did when she was about to do something to annoy him, and a flash of heat washed over him.

“You know how I got it back,” she said softly.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Morgan’s heart stuttered. “What?”

“You waded into the stream the morning after you’d thrown it in, and got it.” Harriet said.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar. Iknowthat’s what you did, because I went there myself, with exactly the same idea.” She lifted her brows. “But you were already in the water. I hid in the bushes and watched you dive down to get it.”

Morgan felt an unaccustomed heat stain his cheeks. God, heneverblushed. But she’d caught him out in a lie, and—even worse—she must have guessed that his studied indifference toward her then had been little more than an act.

Shit.He thought he’d hidden it so well.

Flustered, for possibly the first time in his life, he tried to deflect the conversation.

“You saw me in the stream? I was probably going for an early-morning swim. You should be ashamed of yourself, spying on innocent bathers.” He sent her a sly, sideways smile. “Was I naked?”

“You were shirtless.”

“Did you like what you saw?”

He’d been a scrawny lad of sixteen back then. Now hewas a man, muscled and toned from years of strenuous physical activity. He’d give anything to have her look on his naked body now.

Her cheeks had become a little pink. “I barely saw you before you dived beneath the surface.”

He was sure she was lying; the thought cheered him immensely. “You should have joined me.”

“You’d have tried to drown me.”

“I wouldn’t have bothered. Davies tradition says Montgomery women are impossible to drown. Plenty have tried, over the years, but witches always bob back up to the surface. Water, being a sacred element, rejects them, apparently.”

“Are you saying I’m a witch?”

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