Rue considered manning the Gatling gun. However, it was on the port side, which would make for some wonky manoeuvring to get a clear shot. Plus she wasn’t certain they were allowed to fire on native craft while under quarantine.

Instead, she looked at Quesnel with overly bright eyes. “This is rather fun, isn’t it?”

“Feral little beastie, aren’t you?” Quesnel’s tone was affectionate.

Primrose appeared on deck at that juncture. She evaluated Tasherit from under her lashes before becoming quite businesslike. “Right, who’s injured?”

The crew numbered an assortment of scrapes and bruises. On the more serious end of things, one of the greasers had a long cut up his left shoulder and one of the sooties had fallen and broken an arm. Prim did what she could. She stitched the wound neatly. She had a fine hand with the needle, and the man, fortunately for everyone, fainted. She set the arm, such as she could.

“I’m no leech,” she said crossly to Rue. “If you insist on taking us into dangerous territory, you ought to hire someone.”

“That’s fair.”

Primrose blinked. She hadn’t expected such rapid capitulation.

Rue turned to her crew. “Deckhands, I’d like one of you on duty rotation all night long, plus at least two decklings, armed with crossbows. I do apologise. I believed quarantine was an opportunity to relax but apparently not. Walk the railing every half hour, please, and keep an eye below. I’d rather we weren’t boarded again. Man the Gatling gun at any suspicious approach portside; fire a warning shot into their balloon. Hang the restrictions. If the authorities don’t like it, they should protect us better.”

“Hear hear!” said a few voices at that.

Rue continued, smiling her approval. “Thank you all for your defensive work. I hope it goes without saying that hazard pay will be forthcoming.”

As usual with that statement, a rousing cheer went up. The decklings began their Custard Doom war chant.

Primrose said to Rue, under cover of the noise, “You might also consider a small complement of militia. I know we aren’t a military ship, but this is getting absurd. And, frankly, expensive in hazard pay.”

“I’ll think about it.” Rue raised her voice. “Bedtime, the rest of you.” She gestured roundly to the assembled nondeck crew.

Another more half-hearted cheer met that and the defenders dispersed, feeling victorious.

Rue would not have been surprised if Paw posted a guard at her door. However, Quesnel let himself in after only an hour with no impediment. Paw either hadn’t set a watch or Mother had interfered.

“You made it.” Rue let the pleasure colour her voice, still euphoric after their battle.

Quesnel tossed his hat to one corner of the room and charged over, scooping her up like some Lothario from a novel.

“Stop it, you ridiculous creature. You’ll strain something.”

He dropped her onto the bed and she bounced.

“Rue, my deadly darling, I worship that dress.”

“I thought you might. Sometime we must talk about what I’d like to see you wearing.”

“Oh yes?” He began unwrapping his cravat and removing his jacket at the same time. It was not particularly dexterous – he got the long tail of the first caught in the sleeve of the second.

“I was ruminating on your leather apron.”

Quesnel was momentarily arrested by confusion. “Oh, indeed?”

“You know, the one you wear to work the boilers, all smudged and such.”

“Yes?”

“And nothing else.”

Quesnel blushed cherry red and, having nothing much to say in response, tried to extract himself from cravat and jacket, only to get more muddled.

Rue tsked. “Allow me?” She began to detangle him with no little delight. “Did you lock the door behind you?”

“Of course. Wait. Why, do you think it necessary?”

“My father is suspicious.” She removed his outerwear.

Quesnel paused. “Could we not discuss him, perhaps? A most uncomfortable topic.”

Rue grinned and leaned back in the bed, pushing to make her chest press against the outrageously revealing bodice. It seemed to be sufficiently distracting because he pounced on her with a murmur of French.

There was a goodly amount of kissing at that juncture, now daily established as popular with both of them, and then some fumbling while Rue got him out of the rest of his clothing, albeit with greater skill than he had yet displayed.

He rubbed up against the satin of her skirts with a purr of approval and did a deal of petting and stroking all over as if trying to memorise the shape of her body beneath its smooth texture.

Eventually, he began to attack the buttons down the front of the velvet bodice.

“I thought you liked this gown.”

“Rather too much, which is why it is now time for it to come off.”

Come off it did, and Rue’s silk combination. They were both bare but for foolish smiles and rosy cheeks.

Quesnel took great care with her, as if he had ever taken anything less. In fact, he was almost inexcusably gentle. To the point where Rue resorted to frustrated wiggling to get him to move faster.

“I won’t break, I promise.”

“I’ve never actually done this before,” he admitted.

At Rue’s expression of extreme doubt, he corrected any assumption as to his lack of prowess. “I mean to say, I’ve never done this with an unsullied lady. I don’t want to hurt you.”