She put her hands up to remedy that, but he batted them away and plucked several stray curls of wood from her rumpled coiffure. He descended the ladder and then braced his arms on either side to steady it for her. When she reached the ground, he didn’t step back, but instead trapped her between his body and hugged her into his chest.

“That was just the beginning, Georgie girl. Lesson one of many. I can’t wait to show you the rest.” He released her and forced himself to step back and return to business. “So. What do you think we should do with this?” He gestured at the submarine. “Disable it? Destroy it?”

“Not it,” she muttered. “Her. All ships are feminine.”

“What shall we do with her, then,” Benedict amended dryly.

She shook her head. “Surely the Admiralty want her back? To destroy her would be a dreadful shame. She’s an amazing feat of engineering.” She patted the unfinished planks. “She isn’t seaworthy yet—she still needs to be tarred to make her waterproof—so you have some time to set a watch and catch this Johnstone fellow in the act.”

Benedict made a quick inspection of the rest of the warehouse and let out a low whistle as he pulled back an oiled sheet and found a neat stack of wooden barrels in one corner.

“What are those?”

He sniffed one to confirm his suspicions. “Gunpowder.” The peppery scent was unmistakable, an old friend. He’d spent years with this smell during the war, could still recall the bitter taste on his tongue from when he’d ripped open the tiny paper twists of powder with his teeth to pour them down the muzzle of his Baker.

“It must be for the floating bombs that Fulton detailed in his plans,” Georgie said.

Benedict searched around until he found a pail full of grey river water, then uncorked the bung on the top of each barrel and trickled a thin stream of liquid into them, soaking the contents. “That scuppers that plan,” he said with satisfaction. “Nothing worse than wet powder.” He replaced the oilskin and nodded toward the window. “Come on, I’ll give you a boost.”

Georgie spent the trip back to Grosvenor Square alternating between amazement, mortification, and shameless anticipation of what was still to come. What Benedict had done to her body inside that submarine had been a revelation. She’d never imagined a man’s touch could affect her in such a way.

She was sensitive in places she’d never even taken note of before, and she felt strangely free and unencumbered. She glanced over at Benedict in the carriage.

He sent her one of those questioning, enigmatic looks, as if she held the answer to something he sought, some riddle he couldn’t solve. Her insides tightened. He’d said there was more, but what more could there possibly be?