“Jade. How is it that you can taunt me so indelicately while soaked and frozen? It is truly remarkable.” He pressed her into a chair.

She clutched her arms about her middle and clamped her eyes against a shudder. “I—I did not in-intend indelicacy.”

“Perhaps. I will for the present reserve judgment.” A blanket came over her back. She opened her eyes but, doubled over, she could only see his feet, quite well shod with silver buckles and trouser hems of a remarkably fine fabric.

“Are y-you certain you are not a s-smuggler?”

“Quite certain. Is there something written upon the floor that suggests I am?”

“The quality of your tr-trousers and sh-shoes. Men earned fortunes sm-smuggling during the war ag—” An agonizing shudder wracked her. “—against Napoleon,” she finished in a whisper.

“Did they? I suppose I chose the wrong profession, then. Ah, Dr. Stewart. You are in time to hear all about the fine quality of my footwear. Duchess, here is the sawbones to see to what ails you.”

“Step aside, Captain, an allow a man o’ science to come to the rescue.”

“You n-needn’t rescue m-me, Doctor.” Arabella raised her head and opened her eyes, but everything was a bit spotty. “I am w-well.”

“I can see yer perfectly hale, lass. But Captain, weel, he’s a hard man. He’ll make me walk the plank if I dinna take a look at ye.” He set a chair facing her and sat. “Nou, be a guid lass an’ give me yer hand.”

She unwound her arm from within the wet cloak and he grasped her wrist between his fingers. The captain had moved across the cabin and turned his back on them, but his shoulders were stiff and she thought he listened. Dr. Stewart grasped her chin and studied her eyes. His touch was impersonal, not like the shipmaster’s.

“Shall I bring another lamp, Gavin?” The captain’s voice was gruff, his back still to them.

“No. I’ve seen enough.” The doctor released her and placed his palms on his knees. “Lass, yer chilled through. Ye’ve got to get out o’ those wet clothes and a dash o’ liquid fire in ye or ye’ll take a fever.”

Arabella pressed her arms to her belly. “I have no other c-clothes.”

“Mr. Miles will find something to suit ye.”

The captain looked over his shoulder. “What on earth inspired you to wander atop in the rain and dark, duchess?”

“D-Don’t call me that.”

“ ’Tis no use, lass. He’ll no’ listen once he’s got an idea in his head. Niver has.”

The captain was looking at her, a frown marring his dramatically destroyed face. “He has the right of it. Now, Miss Caulfield, will you allow my steward to dress you in dry clothing and save you from a far worse fate, or will you foolishly destroy the respect I have developed for your courage and fortitude over the short course of our acquaintance?”

He respected her? Hardly.

She nodded and cradled her arms to her.

Dr. Stewart patted her shoulder. “Good, lass.” He stood. “I’ll fetch Mr. Miles. With a dram o’ whiskey in ye, ye’ll be singing in chapel again come Saubeth.” He went out.

The captain sat back on the edge of his writing table, bracing his feet easily against the sway of the ship. He crossed his arms. He had removed his coat and wore now only a shirt and waistcoat. The clean white fabric pulled at his shoulders and arms. There was muscle beneath, quite a lot of it, the contours of which could not be hidden by mere linen. Looking at it, Arabella got an uncomfortably hot feeling inside her. It seemed to split up her insides, jolting against the cold.

She looked away from the muscles.

“I’ll wager you sing in church on Sundays, don’t you, duchess?”

“I d-don’t believe in G-God any longer.”

“That miserable, are you?”

She did not reply. She mustn’t care what he thought of her. The less he thought of her, the less likely he would be to worry about her and stand around her with his indecently oversized muscles.

The cabin door opened and the captain’s steward entered with an armful of clothing.

“Would the lady prefer to dress herself or to be dressed?” he said primly.

Grabbing the blanket about her, Arabella stood and took the clothing from him and went into the captain’s bedchamber on shaking legs.

Impotent frustration rattled in her while she peeled off all but her shift and wrapped her hair in the dry neck cloth in the pile of clothes. But she could not bring herself to don the sailor’s garb. She left it folded, bundled the blanket about her tightly and returned to the day cabin.

Mr. Miles greeted her on the other side of the door with an eager step. “I will be most happy to see to your garments, miss.”

She clutched her clothing to her. “Th-That will not—”

“Accept gracefully, Miss Caulfield,” the captain said in a low voice. “Or I shan’t be responsible for the pall his foul humor will subsequently cast over this entire ship.”

She offered the steward her wet gown and petticoat, with the stays and stockings tucked inside. “I will return with tea for your guest, Captain.” The steward marched to the day cabin door and closed it behind him, leaving her alone at night wearing only a chemise and blanket with the man she had been avoiding for five days so that she would not feel precisely this: weak and out of control.

She stepped back and bumped into a chair. He tilted his head, then gestured for her to sit.

She sat. Better than falling over.

“I continually disappoint Miles in offering him little of variety in my clothing,” he said. “The opportunity to manage yours has put him in alt.”

“He doesn’t c-care for that g-gown,” she mumbled.

“Did he tell you so? The knave.”

“N-Not in so many words.”

“Nevertheless, for offending you I shall have him strapped to the yardarm for a thorough lashing.”

“Y-You won’t.”

“I won’t, it’s true. How do you know that?”

She did not know how she knew, except that despite his arrogance and teasing, he could be solicitous and generous.

“Where is D-Doctor Stewart?”

“He’ll return.” He seemed to watch her steadily. She had often felt invaded by men’s predatory stares, but never caressed.

Now she felt caressed.

Which was impossible and foolish and proved that she was delirious. A shiver caught her hard and she jammed the blanket closer around her.

He went to a cupboard attached to the rear wall of the cabin, drew a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. Out of it he pulled a bottle shaped like a large onion, with a broad base and a narrow neck, and two small glass tumblers, then moved before her and sat in the chair that Dr. Stewart had vacated. His legs were longer than the Scotsman’s and his knees brushed her thigh, but she could not care. She told herself she did not care.

He set the glasses on the table and uncorked the bottle.

“What are you d-doing?” she said.

With what seemed extraordinary care he filled one glass then the other, took up a tumbler and lifted it high.

“To your imminent comfort, duchess.” He emptied the glass in a swallow. He nodded. “Now it is your turn.”

When she did nothing, he reached forward, his fingertips sliding over her thigh. She flinched.

He grasped her hand and the blanket gaped open. She snatched it back. His brow lifted. But he said nothing about her dishabille, only reached again for her hand and pried her fingers loose from the blanket.

“I am not trying to take advantage of you, if that is what worries you,” he said in a conversational tone, and wrapped her palm around the tumbler. “Dr. Stewart will return shortly with possets and pills and what have you, and Mr. Miles with tea. But while Gavin 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.”