Free Under Her Brass Corset by Brenda Williamson

piece of furniture. He snatched up the tidbit in his dish.
    “So, what’s in his candy-coated ball?” She watched the cat make quick, shy appearances to lick at the partially chewed food.
    The captain’s short laugh turned her toward him.
    With one brow arched as if she’d said something unbelievable, he looked back at his papers. “I don’t think you want to know, and Merlin there hates hearing about anything good for him.”
    Abigail rolled her tongue around the inside of her mouth, trying to guess. “You can tell me. I’m not squeamish. If the cat can eat it, I’m sure it can’t hurt me,” she said, unsatisfied by his reply.
    The captain’s grin practically screamed Surprise!
    Irritated by the feeling she was the brunt of some joke, she peeled her gloves off, folded her arms and stared at him with determination not to react to whatever he said. “Well, what is it the cat is eating?”
    “Remember how I said I had to do his job for him?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you really need me to spell it out?” His brows rose.
    Her stomach made a queasy lurch toward expelling its contents as the meaning sunk in. “Ew! Don’t tell me that was the remains of a…a…Oh, I can’t even say it.” She hurried to what appeared to be a tin wastebasket.
    “I said you didn’t want to know.” He picked up a decanter and poured a full measure of liquid in the cup. “Here, this will cleanse the palate.”
    Abigail spit several times into the empty metal receptacle. She tried not to think about dirty little rodents. Worse, she hated how she reacted when she wanted to stay calm and collected in front of the captain. Her trust in him hung on the precarious thread of an instinct she continued to cling to, even though her head reasoned she shouldn’t.
    She took the glass he offered. The rim barely touched her lips as she threw back her head and downed the shot of whiskey. With one gulp, she tried showing her tolerance to liquor. Though she hated she had indulged to the point of passing out the night before.
    “That might work better if you swish it around before swallowing,” the captain advised.
    “That’s what this one’s for,” she said, reaching for the decanter and pouring another healthy dose.
    Without hesitation, she turned the glass on end and dumped the whiskey into her mouth. A few shakes of her head churned the whiskey around the interior. A bit of sloshing between the teeth cleaned her tongue and gums. While she had drunk hard liquor on occasion, it didn’t always agree with her insides. This time the potent liquor warmed her belly. Add to that the captain’s soft laughter, and she had heat spreading all the way up to her flushed cheeks. The pleasant sensation caused her to put a hand to her midsection and pat her belly.
    “Feeling sick?” He touched her arm, brushing lightly up and down her sleeve.
    Neither her wishes nor his consolation successfully soothed the flutter of excitement running through her body. It left her at a loss as to what to do next. Then a shock of static startled her.
    “I’m all right.” She moved away, afraid her expression might show him her desire to have his hands caressing all of her.
    “What’s this?” She paused in front of another contraption she didn’t recognize.
    “A clock,” he answered casually. Yet nothing about the device was ordinary.
    “Certainly not. It has no gears.” She looked around the side and back, and fingered the steel stake in the middle of a metal disk that sat on a brass box.
    “Magnets. They react to the polarity of the North and South Poles. And it’s not for telling time. I just call it a clock. It’s for navigational routing. More like a compass.” He rose out of his chair. “Shall we go above deck and get this ship moving faster?”
    Mindlessly, Abigail seized the captain’s arm. The thrill in touching him continued to baffle her. With her brain turned to mush, she let him escort her to the upper deck.
    “Do you want to help?” He led