Alfred recognized his own words being tossed back at him and grinned. "Maybe," he allowed. It wasn't an action he would have thought very in character for himself out of context, kissing her like that, but in this moment nothing in the world seemed more natural. She was adorable, he was drunk, they were alone, and his arms were around her. What else could have happened?

He leaned in to kiss her again and gave himself over to the sensation of her taste in his mouth and the warmth of her body against his — at least until a clumsy noise from across the room roused him from the revery and forced him back to reality. Someone was at the door, he realized. Probably someone who lived here, one of his officers, and the only reason they were still on the other side of the door was that they were evidently too drunk to navigate the complicated mechanism of the doorknob on the first attempt.

"Shit," he swore, trying to sit and forgetting exactly where he was until his head bounced against the bunk above him. They couldn't just sit there — this would look very bad for her, and while it wouldn't exactly ruin him it certainly wouldn't help him cultivate an atmosphere of respect from his officers when they set sail in two days. Merlin, he'd never hear the end of it if one of his men walked in on him necking Zelda Fisk.

"Apparate us to my cabin," he suggested, wrapping his arm securely around her waist. She would be just as keen not to be discovered, he imagined, and she probably at least had a wand on her, which made her infinitely less useless in this situation.