“Mr. Grey,” he said, moving toward the bunk, handing her a glass, and bowing.
Daphne took the glass from Rafe’s hand and stared at the thing as if she were holding a five-day-old fish. Her nose was still turned up and she sniffed at the contents as if they might make her retch at any moment.
“Never had brandy before?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.
She turned the glass slowly in her hand, still studying the liquid. “Can’t say I have.”
“First time for everything.” He lifted his glass in salute.
She raised hers in the air and smiled at him sweetly. “To adventure!”
“To adventure,” he echoed, his glass still hoisted high.
Daphne tentatively put the snifter to her lips and tipped it slowly. She took a tiny taste, barely enough to wet the tip of her tongue. She scrunched her face into a grimace.
“Come now, that was hardly a sip, let alone a drink,” Rafe said.
She shook her head violently. “How can you stand this vile brew?”
“This isn’t tavern ale. It’s delicious, actually, once you acquire a taste for it.”
She made a gagging noise. “I don’t wish to acquire a taste for it.”
“You’ve barely given it a try. Surely you should hold your opinion until you’ve at least had enough of it to give a good, solid review.”
“Ugh.” She glared at the glass.
He tsked at her. “Not very adventurous of you, Grey.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes at him. Then she glared at the glass again. The best way to do things one wanted to have done with was to do them quickly. She remembered a trick from childhood when her governess had forced her to drink quinine when she was ill. Perhaps it would work with brandy, too. There was only one way to find out.
She pinched her nose, hoisted the glass to her lips, and took a large, quick swallow.
Fire shot down her throat. She released her nose and gasped and gagged, pressing her hand against her chest and desperately trying to draw air into her burning lungs. “Good God, it’s going to kill me,” she choked.
Rafe quickly poured her a bit of water from the pitcher near the washbasin and handed it to her. She tossed it into the back of her throat and coughed even more. “It’s awful, absolutely vile, entirely—”
“It’s only water.” He laughed.
“I was talking about the brandy, not the water. I—”
Daphne stopped, and blinked. Already, a delicious warmth was creeping through her veins and her head began to buzz with a pleasant sensation. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall behind her. “Perhaps I might take one more tiny little sip.”
She tentatively touched the glass to her lips again and tipped it back. The liquid seeped into her throat more slowly this time. It burned again but this time she cared less. The delightful warmth in her limbs was spreading further.
Rafe pulled the glass from her quickly numbing fingers. “Oh no, you don’t. You cannot get drunk as a wheelbarrow. I need you with me tomorrow when we go ashore to meet the Russians, not to mention I’ve no idea how to formulate that concoction your brother makes to cure such things.”
Daphne lay back on the bunk and let the delicious warmth spread through her limbs. “I don’t think I mind brandy after all.”
Rafe laughed. “Don’t you?”
“No, it’s quite… warming and… pleasant, actually.”
Rafe downed the rest of the contents of his own glass and placed the bottle back inside the cabinet. “That’s quite enough for both of us.”
Daphne braced both hands under her head. “I never drank a drop of alcohol before I met you, you know. You’re a horrible influence on me.”
His face was skeptical. “Oh, really? What about Mrs. Pennyhammer and the thimble full of wine?”
