Page 8 of A Wicked Game

Harriet gave a small laugh as she, too, rose to her feet. “Oh, I’m quite happy to remain anonymous, my lord. I’mjust glad I had a chance to do my small bit for my country.” She sent Morgan a droll look of her own. “Especially since we women can’t show our patriotism by joining the navy and sailing about getting suntanned.”

“Getting shot at, shipwrecked, and unjustly imprisoned,” Morgan amended tersely. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rum.”

Melville chuckled. “Quite so.”

Morgan placed his hat back on his head and offered his arm to Harriet, maintaining a polite façade for the benefit of their audience.

“Miss Montgomery, may I escort you out? I trust you have no other secret matters to discuss with Lord Melville this afternoon?”

Her eyes widened at the edge in his voice and Morgan cursed himself for showing the flash of jealousy. Harriet must have heard it too, because she sent him an amused glance.

“I donothave more business with His Lordship today. So yes, you may show me out.” She nodded in a familiar way to Melville. “Goodbye, sir. Please tell Anne that I’ll have finished the map she asked for in about a week. I shall send her a note when it’s done.”

“Thank you.”

Morgan sucked in a breath as Harriet placed her ungloved fingers on his forearm and allowed him to escort her from the room.

They hadn’t been this physically close for weeks, not since they’d danced together back at Trellech, and his blood surged as he caught a waft of her floral fragrance. She always smelled of roses and something deeper, something uniquely her that made his stomach twist into knots.

The moment the door to the briefing room closed behind them she dropped his arm as if it were made of burning coals and took a step away from him.

Morgan suppressed a smile.

They walked in silence down the long, echoing marble hallway, the sound of his top boots combining with the faster staccato click of her ankle boots. He sneaked a glance sideways at her. Her pelisse and gown were a lilac silk that complemented her pale skin and brought out the lavender gray of her eyes.

She must have been aware of his gaze, but she kept her face stubbornly in profile until they reached the front door.

The same midshipman as before opened it and sent them a jaunty salute. “Good day, miss, Captain, sir.”

A carriage was waiting at the bottom of the steps. Morgan turned to Harriet more fully, forcing her to stop.

“Is that yours?” he asked.

“It is.”

“Would you give me a lift?”

Her brows rose in surprise and she finally looked at him directly. “You didn’t ride here?”

“I walked, since the day was so fine. But the shock of discovering Mister Crusoe’s identity has left me too exhausted to repeat the task.”

She rolled her eyes at his mockery. “Oh, very well. Although Hanover Square is in the opposite direction to Bloomsbury. Youdostill reside in Hanover Square, I assume?”

Morgan hid another grin. He’d bet every penny he owned that Harriet knew the exact details of his living arrangements. Just as he knew hers.

Know Thine Enemy, and all that.

He only wished he knew the color of her bedroom.

“With Rhys? Yes, I do.” Carys, his sister, had moved out after her wedding to Harriet’s cousin Tristan just a few weeks ago.

Harriet glanced up at her driver, perched on the seat above, to confirm that he’d heard the change of route. He nodded in acknowledgment.

Morgan swung open the carriage door, let down the step, and handed her up into the interior. He followed, settling himself on the bench opposite her with a lusty sigh.

She sat up very straight, fussing with her skirts so they didn’t touch his boots.

It was vastly improper for them to be together like this, unchaperoned, in a closed conveyance. Anyone who chanced to see them would be amazed.

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