I Married the Duke by Katharine Ashe

might not quail, if Miles found me in the process of ravishing a drunken woman he would serve notice, and then where would I be? It is remarkably difficult to find an excellent cabin steward, you know.” He pressed the glass toward her mouth, his hand large and warm about her shaking fingers. “Barring a fire, which I am loath to light aboard my ship, this is the only route to warming your blood swiftly. One of two routes, that is, but we have just established that the other is not an option.”
    “Cap—”
    “Now, drink.”
    Her outrage could not compete with her misery or the heat of his hand around hers. Liquor fumes curled up her nostrils. She coughed. “Wh-What is it?”
    “Brandy. I regret that we are all out of champagne. But this will do the trick much quicker in any case.”
    She peered into the glass. “I’ve n-never—”
    “Yes, I know, you’ve never drunk spirits before.” He tilted her hand up, pressing the edge of the glass against her frozen lips. “Tell me another bedtime story, little governess wearing a king’s ransom around your neck.”
    She did not bother correcting him. She drank. The brandy scalded her throat, and the base of her tongue crimped. But when the warmth spread through her chest she understood.
    He released her hand and watched her take another sip. She coughed again and her eyes watered.
    “You needn’t drink it all in one swill,” he murmured.
    “I told you I haven’t drunk b-brandy before.”
    “So you say.”
    “C-Captain, if you—”
    “How do you feel? Any warmer?”
    “Why m-must you always interrupt m-me?”
    “We haven’t spoken enough for an ‘always’ to exist yet. You have done all in your power not to come within twenty feet of me since you boarded my ship and refused my bed.”
    Her gaze shot from the glass to his face.
    He lifted a brow. “True?”
    “N-No.”
    She didn’t think he believed her.
    “Now another,” he said, sliding the bottle across the table toward her.
    “I will b-become intoxicated if I h-have another.” Her head was muddled already. But she was warm. Warmer than she’d been in days. She feared it had less to do with the brandy than with the man’s quietly wolfish gaze upon her.
    He leaned back in the chair, his long legs stretching out to one side of her, trapping her against the table. He folded his arms over his chest. “What are you afraid of, duchess? That under the influence of alcohol you will abandon your haughty airs and do something we will both regret in the morning?”
    Men had attempted to cajole her, to seduce her, to make love to her with words so that she would succumb to them. They had treated her to endless flatteries, and when that had not sufficed they had forced her. No man had ever spoken to her like this, so frankly. And no man had ever made her want to do something she would regret in the morning.
    But his words now were not meant to seduce.
    “You are ch-challenging me, aren’t you?” she said. “T-Testing my m-mettle, like you would test any sailor aboard your ship.”
    “Do you wish to be a sailor now, Miss Caulfield? Trade in the dreary life of a governess for adventure on the high seas? I suppose I could arrange that.”
    She set her glass on the table beside the bottle. “F-Fill it.”
    He chuckled. She liked the sound of it. When he looked at her with amusement, she imagined he actually found her amusing.
    She was not amusing. She was serious, professional, determined, and responsible. Except for boarding a ruffian’s ship and sitting before him wearing a blanket, she’d done nothing especially adventuresome since she could remember.
    She lifted the glass to her lips. “I am n-not afraid of anything. Especially not of m-men.”
    “I begin to believe it.” A smile lurked at the corner of his beautiful mouth. The cabin was a haze of mellow woods and salt-smelling air and heat growing inside her. She could not seem to look away from his mouth. It was not in fact wise to sit before him