The proprietor frowned. “Would they be for your wife, or a friend?”

“She is both.” It surprised him, but there was the truth of it. Anne was more to him than could be conveyed in the simple term wife. She accepted him as he was, and did not look for weaknesses to exploit. What she admired in him was ... him.

“Beg pardon, sir, but you mean to say, you would give maps to your wife?”

Leo looked at the shopkeeper, and the man shrank beneath the coldness of his expression. “That is exactly what I intend to do. I’ll take my coin elsewhere.”

“Oh, no, sir. No, no.” Seeing the fineness of Leo’s clothing, the rings upon his fingers, the proprietor was all solicitousness. “I think ’tis a wonderful thing for a man to dote on his wife, indulge her every fancy.”

It was more than a fancy for Anne, her love of maps. She considered not just the things themselves, something pretty or curious to be idly looked up, but what they signified, what they meant. It troubled him how little he had credited her when first he began to pay court. She had been merely an instrument to aid in his objectives. And he had been a fool to think her so easily rendered into a discrete, uncomplicated category.

All this, before he had known the sweet pleasures of her body. Now he had, and the world was new.

The proprietor gestured to a small chamber, separated by a curtain. “The best merchandise lays within, sir.”

Leo nodded and entered the chamber. He would give Anne the best. Anything she wanted, she would have.

The scent of paper enriched the air. Stacks of charts and maps lay atop tables and collected in V-shaped stands. Neat scrolls of parchment rested in cubbies built into the walls. Every sheet of paper represented a part of the globe, whole civilizations, and lives lost to the cause of exploration. But the world needed to be known, and in so knowing, owned. Leo understood this impulse, this covetousness. Always, it had been centered on his demands and what he could attain for himself. Now, he wanted everything for Anne.

“Here, sir.” The shop owner pulled a map of South America from one of the stands. “Taken from the most recent voyage. Mark the profusion of rivers. Most prodigious.”

Leo did not know much of cartography, but he trusted his own judgment. “I will find what I need. On my own.”

With a bow, the proprietor backed from the chamber. As he did, he drew the curtain, affording Leo privacy.

Leo made a thorough, careful survey of the contents of the room. He knew many of the places on the maps, for England served as the heart to the beast of commerce, pumping blood in the form of money and merchandise through the veins of global enterprise. Bending to study a map of the West Indies, he examined the multitude of islands dotting the Caribbean Sea. Barbados, Saint-Domingue, Hispañola. Growing the cane that sweetened the world’s tea, and distilling the rum that spun the world’s head.

“A marvelous place, the West Indies.”

Leo glanced up. The geminus leaned against a table. It had its arms folded across its chest, its legs crossed in a posture of perfect, gentlemanly leisure. Having gained Leo’s attention, it pushed away from the table and joined him in the perusal of the Caribbean map.

“I’ve never been,” Leo answered.

“Some call it a paradise.” The geminus chuckled. “My master particularly enjoys it.”

“The sultry climate.”

“The atmosphere is in all ways pleasing to him. Particularly that of the plantations.”

Leo replaced the map and selected another, this one of the Barbary Coast. Tiny ships sailed atop a painted sea, their sails billowing. Pirates, maybe, preying upon the hordes of merchant ships and their holds laden with wealth.

“I am surprised to see you at this place,” said the geminus. “Trading is ongoing at the Exchange, and yet you are here.”

Without looking up from the map, Leo replied, “My time is my own. How I spend it is my choice.”

The geminus gave another indulgent chuckle. “Of course. One cannot engage in business every waking moment. Yet ...”

“Yet?”

“Now that you possess knowledge of Lord Overbury’s imminent disaster, would you not be better served putting that knowledge to use?”

“Counterinvest.” Leo straightened and pulled the map of the Caribbean out of the stand once more. He had seen Overbury’s plantation destroyed by storm, a future calamity that could easily be taken advantage of. His ever-present hunger stirred at the thought.

“At the very least,” agreed the geminus. “My master knows how exceedingly clever you are at exploiting weakness.” When Leo did not immediately respond, the geminus continued. “It was clear that Overbury had no love for you, nor others of your class. Had it not been for your advantageous marriage to an aristocrat, you would never have been invited into his home. Indeed, I overheard him say to Lord Devere that he wasn’t surprised by your use of sleight of hand, since it is the perfect skill for someone born of the streets. And that you deserved a wife who came to you very nearly a beggar.”

Familiar hot rage poured through Leo, its origin somewhere between his shoulder blades and spreading throughout his body, tight and burning. He looked down to see that he had crushed the map he held. “I did not see you there last night.”

“I am often close.”

The calm that had enveloped Leo all morning singed away. Overbury’s insult could not stand. The slur against Leo was no surprise, but that Overbury dared to slander Anne ... “The beef-fed bastard won’t live out the rest of the day.” He stalked toward the curtain, ready to race to the man’s doorstep and punch him bloody.

“Hold, sir.” The geminus stepped into his path. “There are more effective ways of hurting Lord Overbury. Ways that will keep you out of Tyburn, and ensure the nobleman’s suffering.”

Leo fought for calm. Damn it, the geminus was right. Though Leo craved blood, money might serve the same purpose. He could manipulate the marketplace against Overbury, ensuring that his loss would be even greater. If Leo acted prudently, he could make certain that the nobleman’s losses gutted his estate. Overbury might not be forced to become a mudlark, scavenging in the slime-draped banks of the Thames, but he’d feel his fall, and painfully.

Today’s plan had been to finish at the map shop, then return home to present Anne with an abundance of gifts. He thought to gladly accept her thanks by taking her to bed, and so pass the day in communion with her body. That plan could not stand. Overbury must be crushed, and Anne avenged.

He stepped around the geminus. “I set out for the Exchange now.”

“Sir? Were you speaking to me?” The proprietor held the curtain back and peered into the chamber with a cautious expression.

“I was talking to my—” Leo turned, and frowned. The geminus was gone.

“To ...” The shopkeeper’s gaze slid to the crumpled map, his eyes widening. “Afraid you are going to have to pay for that, sir.”

Leo always carried cash. He unfolded several banknotes and shoved them into the proprietor’s hands, and the man sputtered his surprise.

“This is too much!”

“For the ruined map, and more. I want your finest wares delivered to my home. The globe and any other map you feel would please a devoted scholar of cartography. Anything you believe is the best, I want. And if that cash isn’t enough, bill me for the rest.”

As the shopkeeper babbled in thanks, Leo scribbled his direction on a piece of paper. Then he strode from the shop. He was known as the Demon of the Exchange. Today, he would be the Demon of Vengeance.

Anne accepted the dish of tea from Lady Kirton with a murmured thanks. She and the countess sat in a little parlor, a small table bearing an even smaller plate of biscuits between them. Anne nibbled on one of the biscuits. It was stale.