Morgan sent her a congratulatory grin and Harriet tried to ignore the warm flush of pride that impressing him provoked.
“You could be right,” he said. “I bet he went looking for the gold as soon as he heard Bonaparte had surrendered, but failed to find it.” His brow furrowed in thought; then he let out a huff of amusement. “Hecouldhave beenusing a Crusoe map too. When I ran aground in theBriseishe confiscated everything on board—including the maps I’d taken from theBrilliant.”
“That would be rather poetic justice, wouldn’t it?” Melville chuckled. “Hoist with his own petard, so to speak. But if that’s true, why wouldn’t he use that same map to relocate the treasure?”
“Maybe it got destroyed?” Morgan shrugged. “Or maybe he thought any map would do, and used another.”
“He probably thinks Crusoe’s version is more accurate than the one he was using.” Harriet chuckled.
“And since he couldn’t return to Martinique or to France without being arrested,” Morgan said, effortlessly catching her line of reasoning, “and since he thinks our navy uses Crusoe’s maps, he must have decided to come here to London and get one for himself.”
He shot Harriet another smile at their joint deductions and her heart gave a funny little twist in her chest. Working with Morgan, instead of against him, was a heady, unfamiliar sensation.
“That would certainly explain why he went after the maps at the Admiralty last night,” Melville murmured.
“Was a map of the Caribbean among those he stole?” Harriet asked.
“Couldn’t say.” Melville shrugged. “I’ll have to go back and look at the list of what was taken.” He nodded briskly, clearly glad to have a plan. “I’ll keep you both updated. Meanwhile, Captain Davies, you should be on your guard. If De Caen’s here in London he may well create some unpleasantness for you. Men like him can always find time for revenge.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep an eye out.”
Melville inclined his head. “Well, I’d better get back to the ballroom. Anne will be wondering where I am.”He patted his pockets absentmindedly. “Probably thinks I’ve sneaked outside for a cheroot—even though she made me stop six months ago.” He snorted in wry amusement. “She refuses to believe I’ve done it. There’s love for you, eh?”
Harriet sent him a fond smile. “Good evening, sir.”
Melville peered out of the arched tunnel, scanning left and right to be sure there was nobody there, then strode back across the shadowed garden. Harriet let out a long, incredulous exhale.
“Well, what an adventure! This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me inyears.”
Morgan shook his head. “You seem delighted at the prospect that a murderous Frenchman with a grudge might be looking for me.”
“Pfft. You’re more than capable of looking after yourself, Morgan Davies.” She stepped forward, ready to follow Melville back to the house, but Morgan caught her wrist.
“A moment more of your time, Miss Montgomery,” he purred. “I have a question. About… cartography.”
Chapter Eight
Harriet’s pulse began to pound with the sudden, belated realization that she was alone with Morgan. Pale purple wisteria fronds dripped from the arches above, swaying slightly in the breeze, while the twisted trunks writhed like sea serpents in the flickering light cast from the house.
“I’m sure you’re the only person who can give me a satisfactory answer,” he said.
His face was indistinct in the dappled shadows, but there was no missing the laughter in his voice. He knew just how unacceptable such behavior was, detaining her like this, and he did it anyway.
Typical Davies.
She turned with what she hoped was an exasperated sigh. “You do not have a question about maps.”
“I might.”
“You don’t.”
“I never know which way to hold them. Is north up or down?”
She sent him a withering glare.
“Very well, you’ve caught me,” he admitted, utterly unrepentant. “I just wanted to get you alone.”
Her heart gave a panicked little thud against her ribs.
