“You have got to be kidding me…” Buck breathed as she looked at herself in the mirror in her bedroom. She’d replicated the correct uniform for the alternate reality they’d be traveling to, and most of it made sense, even if it was far more formal than any dress uniform she’d ever worn. 

The pants looked like they were sprayed on and were beige… what kind of colour was that for a uniform? At least the knee-length black boots were sensible. Flat-heeled, they looked hardwearing even if they were polished so much she could see her face in the damn things. There was a shirt and a waistcoat in beige again… or ‘fawn’, whatever the hell that was. 

“Are you okay in there?”

Alec’s voice reached her ears from the main room. 

She glared at her reflection some more, eyeing the high collar of the shirt and the length of fabric in her hand. “No. I am not. This uniform is–”

“Traditional?”

“Bloody stupid! You can come in,” she added. “I’m decent.”

He appeared in the doorway, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. The uniform she felt like a sausage stuffed into a too-small skin, fit him perfectly. Absolutely perfectly. Her gaze swept down him, across the broad shoulders highlighted by his teal jacket, to the narrow waist in the waistcoat, down to the way the pants hugged his powerful thigh–

“My eyes are up here.” 

She yanked her gaze up, feeling the heat flare across her cheeks. Then her eyes narrowed as she noticed his throat. 

“How the devil,” She brandished the piece of fabric in her hand at him. “Did you get this stupid thing to do THAT!” She gestured at his neck, where somehow he’d wrapped the damn thing in some kind of complicated pattern that looked like artwork. Or a waterfall. A waterfall made of fabric. 

He chuckled, crossing the room and taking it from her hand. “It’s called a cravat, darling. And it just takes practise. Here, let me. Chin up.”

She huffed and glared at him some more as he threaded the cravat around her neck and started fussing with it, tying knots or something. His fingers brushed the skin of her throat.

“Darling?” she queried. He was really getting into this being married thing.

His eyebrow quirked up as he looked at her, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “I thought terms of endearment would be appropriate for a married couple. I’ve also selected a cover story for us from the list Mannerton sent over.”

“You did?” She tried to look at him, but he pushed her chin up again, still fussing with the cravat. Hell, was he going to have to do this every day for her?

“I did, indeed. You are Captain, the Lady, Isabella Buchanan, Viscountess of Netherton.” 

Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around to look in the mirror, and she met his gaze. “And you?”

“Commander Buchanan, the Viscount Netherton,” he said, a quirk to the corner of his full lips as he watched her. 

“Why my name? Why not yours?” She tried not to think about how good they looked together, the teal of his jacket the perfect foil for the red of hers. “And wouldn’t you being Viscount make you the captain.”

He shrugged. “I checked the records they have, and there are already Collins here. I couldn’t find any listings for a Buchanan family, not within the listed Ton anyway. And the rank thing. Yes, Viscount ranks higher than Viscountess, but I checked the information and that’s only socially. On the ship and in the fleet, your fleet rank takes precedence.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.” 

He grinned, offering her his arm with a small, formal bow. “Darling, there has been a Collins in high society since the Regency period. Stick with me, and we’ll be just fine. I promise.” 

She looked up at him as she slid her hand onto his arm. 

“I’m not sure what worries me more. That promise, or your ability to tie one of these cravat things…”

“Oh wait, hold on.” He stopped in his tracks, and reached into his inner jacket pocket. “You’ll need these.”

Pulling out a ring box, he snapped it open to reveal a diamond-encrusted band. “A replica, I’m afraid,” he said with a smile.

“A replica?” she asked, as he reached for her hand. The ring felt cold as he slipped it onto her finger. “Of what?”

He smiled. “The Collins platinum wedding band. It’s been in my family for generations. The last person to wear it was my great-grandmother. It’s been in the family safe ever since.”