Free Steamlust by Kristina Wright Page A

gotten close to her the once.
    “Hey, yer not supposed to be up here!”
    Miranda slowed, eyeing the shipman and the glint of the moonlight off his pistol, but did not stop her ascent. “Pray, what do you know of where I should or should not be?”
    The thuds of her boots were swallowed up by the strong wind as she stepped fully onto the deck. The shipman on guard opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut and stumble back half a step.
    “Sorry, mum. We didn’t know you were coming.” As an afterthought, he pulled his hat from his head and lifted his goggles to rest on his forehead. “The Ministry usually tells us when one of you dignitary sorts is on the way.”
    The shipman’s left arm had been replaced with a metal prosthetic. Silver fingers curled around the worn woolen cap. Miranda could only imagine what other injuries the man had suffered in his service to the king—and yet he was now regarded as dead to all polite society.
    Lifting her chin, Miranda pushed aside her doubts and fears. “Where is the captain? I must speak to him.”
    “Yes, of course, mum. The captain was on the command deck last time I saw. Wanted to personally check the attack
route calculations and wind currents and such before we launch at dawn, he did. I can let him know yer on your—”
    “Thank you, Shipman. I know the way.”
    The last thing she wanted was to give the captain any reason to avoid her. Miranda needed to do this: say her piece, offer him what few reassurances she could regarding the quality of her assessments. There would be no cause for errors, no chance she’d misread the signs or been fooled by a clever French ploy. Tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, she strode across the deck to the still opened bay door.
    The howling wind outside was silenced as she navigated her way through the narrow corridor to the control room. The crew was all gone, no doubt drinking or whoring before they would have to leave on their mission, and the hum of the engines and the hiss of steam through the piping were the only sounds. Miranda’s stomach flopped as she approached the closed porthole door. On the other side was the captain, her captain, the man she’d wronged more than any other. Flexing her fingers, she quickly rapped on the door before she lost her nerve.
    “Come!”
    The captain was bent over an air chart with a glass on the navigation area, muttering softly. He’d shed his military greatcoat and waist jacket, and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the pale skin and lean muscles of his forearms. The blue wool of his pants was pulled tight across his firm buttocks, leaving nothing to her imagination.
    “Give your report, then leave. I don’t need distractions this evening.”
    Miranda closed her eyes and let his voice wash over her. For the briefest of moments, she could picture things as they had been. The way he’d touch her cheek before pressing a kiss to her lips. How his large hands would cup the swell of her hips,
pulling her closer than was proper. The fullness of his cock as he’d rut against her thigh.
    The steady ticking of his heart jarred her from those pleasant memories, reminding her of all she’d lost because of her carelessness.
    The captain growled as he turned to face her. “Shipman, I said to—”
    “Hello, Frederick.”
    He froze—eyes wide. “Lady Miranda? What in blazes are you doing here?”
    The remnants of her confidence disappeared. Her chin dropped and she found herself unable to look higher than the tops of his boots. “I needed to offer you my personal assurances that the mission data is correct. You have no need to worry for the safety of you or your crew. I don’t care what the Ministry says, I wouldn’t risk any of your lives.”
    When Frederick didn’t speak, Miranda’s nerves ratcheted higher. She forced herself to look up once more, this time stepping closer to where he stood. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing the