Page 26 of A Wicked Game

Morgan swayed sideways to look through the open doorway. Sure enough, the elder Montgomery was sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair, a woolen rug tucked over his knees. His face was turned upward in the shaft of sunlight that filtered through the window, as if he was enjoying the warmth on his face.

Morgan glanced back down at Harriet. Her breathing had deepened at his proximity; he could see the frantic pulse beating against the thin skin at the side of her throat. To tease her even more, he glanced down at her lips. She moistened them in unconscious preparation for a kiss, but he simply raised his brows and sent her a wicked, taunting smile.

“Oh, no, Harriet. Kiss number two won’t be on your mouth.”

Chapter Eleven

Morgan turned back to the maps on the desk before Harriet could say anything. He located a bay on the island of Martinique.

“That’s where De Caen kept us prisoner for six long weeks.”

“You were lucky it wasn’t longer.”

“True,” he said drily. “Bonaparte’s exile to Elba secured our release. But I didn’t feel lucky at the time. I felt hungry and miserable. Convinced I was going to die far from those who loved me. Far from those I loved.”

Far from you, you infuriating woman, he added silently.

“At least you got to have an adventure. I’ve never been much farther than Wales.” She traced her finger longingly over the paper, smoothing it over the lines. Morgan wished it were his skin.

“Last night you said something about me craving adventure,” she said wistfully. “And it’s true. I’ve always dreamed of seeing the world, of visiting the places I’ve drawn on maps. But as a woman that’s nearly impossible. I’m stuck here, expected to be content with my lot, while the charts I’ve drawn enable men likeyouto go out and have amazing experiences.”

“Married women have more freedom,” Morgan said.“I know several ladies who’ve taken a Grand Tour alongside their husbands. Perhaps you should consider chaining yourself to someone rich and adventurous?”

She gave an inelegant snort. “How can I marry? Father can’t live alone, with his eyesight as it is, and I refuse to leave him to the care of servants. And what man would want their near-blind father-in-law living with them?” She cast another guilty glance backward. “Don’t get me wrong, Ido notmind caring for him. It’s just frustrating, when there’s a chance he might be able to regain some of his sight—and live a little more independently—and he refuses to even discuss it.”

Morgen sent her a sympathetic look. “Can’t he go and live with your uncle, over at Newstead Park?”

“He likes to visit, but he loves the bustle of London too much to ever move there permanently. Plus, the Aunts would drive him mad.”

They both started when Henry Montgomery’s voice echoed from the back room.

“Harriet, who’s that with you? Is it the attorney’s clerk, come about the case?”

“No, Father!” Harriet called back. “It’s just a customer!”

Morgan sent her a mock scowl for relegating him to a mere client. “Embarrassed to be associated with a dastardly Davies?” he teased softly.

“Saving my father from unnecessary agitation,” she amended. “He’s already cross enough.”

“Because of that court case he just mentioned?” Morgan hazarded. “What’s all that about?”

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you with our problems. You probably have a hundred things you have to get done today. Don’t let me keep you.”

Morgan laughed at her blatant attempt to get rid ofhim. “The only thing I had penciled in my social calendar for today was ‘annoy Harriet,’ so you might as well tell me. We Davieses have an innate nose for intrigue. Especially where Montgomerys are concerned. So—why would you need a lawyer?”

Harriet let out a resigned sigh. “Because someone—a fellow mapmaker here in London—has been copying our maps and passing them off as their own.”

“That’s stealing!” Morgan said, outraged on her behalf.

“Exactly.”

“But how can you be sure that it’s your maps he’s copying? Surely all maps, if they show the same place, are identical?”

“Not at all. Every mapmaker worth their salt hides a series of safeguards in their own map to prevent copying.” Harriet bustled to a large set of drawers placed against the wall, extracted a map, and smoothed it out on the table in front of him. He stared down at the city of London, with the river Thames winding, snakelike, through the middle. It looked almost anatomical, like a giant heart, with roads like arteries branching out in all directions.

“What safeguards?”

“The most widely used are trap streets or paper towns. They’re fictitious roads, or even entire villages, put there with the express purpose of trapping a plagiarizer. How can they explain the inclusion of a place that doesn’t exist if they haven’t copied the original artist’s work?”

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