Page 90 of A Wicked Game

“You’ve only got one shot,” Morgan said softly. He sidestepped, positioning himself squarely in front of Harriet. “And you’ll have to kill me before you get near her again.”

De Caen’s lips curved in a mocking smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain Davies. Killing you will be a pleasure.”

Morgan lunged without warning. He swept his leg out and his boot connected with De Caen’s knee with a horrible cracking sound. The Frenchman let out a scream of agony as his leg buckled beneath him.

“Bâtard! Non!” He collapsed on the floor, clutching his leg, as Morgan reached down and twisted the pistol from his grip with ruthless efficiency.

“Oh dear, not that knee again. How clumsy of me.”

De Caen was screaming a litany of invectives at him now. His face was mottled with fury. He reached out and tried to grab Morgan’s ankle, to pull him down, then tried to bite Morgan’s calf, but Morgan evaded him with ease.

“That was for the flogging.” Morgan caught his collar in his fist and hauled him partly off the floor. “Andthisis for threatening Harriet.” He pulled back his fist and punched the Frenchman squarely in the jaw. De Caen’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Harriet let out a squeal of dismay, but Morgan just made a disgusted sound as he released the other man’s collar. De Caen slumped to the carpet, clearly unconscious.

“He’s not dead, more’s the pity. The bastard deserves it, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be court-martialed and hanged for murder.” He glanced over at Harriet. “Do youhave any rope? We’ll tie him up and send for Melville. The Admiralty can deal with him.”

“Here.” Father untied the sash from his banyan robe and held it out.

“Thank you.” Morgan rolled De Caen’s limp body over none too gently, and made quick work of binding his hands and his feet behind him. Harriet couldn’t help but be impressed at the speed with which he achieved it.

“I expect you learned all those complicated knots in the navy,” she said faintly.

Morgan smiled. “Always comes in useful.”

He stood, smoothing down his jacket, and Harriet reached over and brushed some broken glass from his shoulder. The urge to throw herself into his arms was almost overwhelming, but she bit her lip and forced herself to take a step backward instead.

“That was a very welcome rescue, Davies,” Father said. He put his hands on his hips and gazed around the shop, taking in the chaos. The front door swung drunkenly on its hinges, the central pane of glass in ruins.

“Sorry about the door,” Morgan said belatedly. “I’ll pay for it, of course.”

Father waved the offer away with a hearty chuckle. “Dear Lord. If you hadn’t arrived, I dread to think what that scoundrel would have done. Shot us both, most likely. You saved our lives.”

He turned in a full circle, his eyes scanning the proliferation of prints on the walls. “And as if that wasn’t miracle enough for one night, I canseeagain.” He let out an amazed sigh and turned back to Harriet. “What a gift! I never thought it would be possible.” His voice quavered with emotion and Harriet felt tears gather in her own eyes.

Now that the danger was truly past, she felt sick andshaky. The thought of whatcouldhave happened was terrifying.

Luckily, Morgan seemed quite accustomed to such stressful situations. He crossed to her worktable, picked up her silver pencil—the one he’d rescued all those years ago—and scrawled a hasty note. He stepped through the remnants of the front door and hailed his carriage, which must have been driving slowly around so as not to keep the horses waiting.

“This needs to go to Lord Melville immediately.” He handed the folded note to his coachman. “Deliver it and come back here for me.”

The man tipped his hat. “Aye, sir.”

When the carriage had left, Morgan turned. “Harriet, why don’t you get your father settled and make a cup of tea? I’ll make sure this door is secure so you’re not robbed in the night.”

“I think we all need something a little stronger than tea after tonight’s adventure.” Father beamed. “You might as well go get the brandy, Harriet, and we’ll toast our victory in style.”

Harriet flicked a glance at Morgan, remembering the last time they’d drunk brandy together, and just knew her cheeks were coloring. The mischievous heat in his eyes convinced her he was recalling it, too, and her stomach somersaulted.

“Yes, of course.” She glanced down as De Caen groaned and stirred. “What about him?”

Morgan’s lips quirked. “Oh, he doesnotget any brandy. He’s been a naughty boy.”

Chapter Forty

It took less than an hour for Lord Melville to arrive with two uniformed sailors. De Caen had regained consciousness and was busy shouting his displeasure to anyone who would listen, and Harriet watched in satisfaction as he was bundled roughly into Melville’s carriage.

“Did you find the man he used for information?” she asked, dreading the answer.

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