Page 103 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

Alana nodded.

“What happened?”

“Mr. Evans shot him.”

There was no need to share her husband’s final despair-ridden moments with Mrs. Parker. Blaming Mr. Evans was enough to draw Mrs. Parker from the melancholy that had overtaken her.

“I’ll kill him,” she growled, her voice shaking with hatred.

“There are several people aboard who share that sentiment.” Alana released Mrs. Parker’s hand. “Including myself. He is responsible for the wealth of the injuries I have suffered.”

“Do you have a scheme in place to punish the horrible man?”

“Not yet.”

“We shall think of something, Mrs. Dubois. Something that would make both our husbands proud.” She dried Alana’s skin, her soft hands gently pressing on the wounds, then took up the balm.

Alana was silent, her mind churning through possible punishments as Mrs. Parker covered each wound with the healing ointment, then laid bandage strips across the lacerations.

“Would Captain Shaw help us?” Mrs. Parker asked, a furtive smile pulling the corner of her mouth, and wiped her hands on a spare cloth.

“Would Captain Shaw help you do what?” Cedric asked as he opened the door, having unlocked it without either of them noticing.

“Murder Mr. Evans,” she replied, rising from the bed.

“I don’t approve of murder,” he replied, kicking the door closed. “Especially when it’s performed by women.”

Mrs. Parker snorted, her mouth opening, but Alana stopped her before she spoke.

“There’s no purpose in arguing with him, Mrs. Parker. I’ve lost this particular battle.”

“Have you?” The grin splitting Mrs. Parker’s face widened.

“She did.” Cedric set down another tray, which wafted with the mouthwatering scent of warm bread. “Mr. Hayward has ensured a tray is waiting for you as well, Mrs. Parker. I thank you for your assistance, but I can finish tending to Mrs. Dubois.”

Before Mrs. Parker could protest, he added, “And there is another person I must raise from the dead.”

Confusion spreading across her face, she nodded and glanced down at Alana. “I’ll be next door. If you need anything, just yell through the wall. I’ll hear you.”

“Can you hearevery soundin this cabin?” Alana asked, comprehending the unspoken portion of Mrs. Parker’s admission.

“Only if you’re loud.” She grinned, curtsied to Cedric, and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

Cedric locked the door, then turned toward Alana, worry pinching his face. “How are you?”

“I’m still in a fair amount of pain,” she replied, groaning as she shifted on the bed, struggling into a half-reclined position. “However, I’m extremely curious as to how you expect to bring back a man who’s been dead for over two years.”

He chuckled. “Tenacious as always.”

She folded her hands, waiting.

Pacing between the bed and the desk, he made three turns before he stopped and lifted his eyes to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Turning away again, he resumed his pacing as he dragged a hand through his loose hair.

Collecting the tray of unused bandages from the bed, he carried the silver platter to the desk and set the tray beside the bread, then walked to the far side of the room. Turning around, he walked back toward Alana, completing a full circle, and stopped halfway to the bed.

Snapping his heels together, he bowed.

“Mrs. Dubois, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Mr. Charles Ashmore.”