Page 104 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

CHAPTER TWENTY

CEDRIC/CHARLES

“You can’t be!” Alana gasped, her jaw dropping.

“My father would argue differently.” He shuffled toward her, afraid his revelation would cause her to rush from the room and lock herself in Mr. Hayward’s quarters with Mrs. Parker. “I look exactly like him.”

“I’ve never met your father. Patrick refused to allow me to attend your funeral.”

“You didn’t miss anything.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there.” He shrugged.

“You should have told Patrick!” She slammed her fist on the bed. “Your death destroyed him. He retreated to his lighthouse, and we never see him.”

“I did tell him… at the funeral. I’m not the reason your brother is still hiding in that godforsaken lighthouse! If you wish to place blame for his absence, it belongs with Miss Matilda Dowling.”

“You know about her?” Alana’s demeanor changed instantly.

Cedric gestured at the mattress, silently asking if he could sit, and when she nodded, he sank down at the foot of the bed.

“The engagement ring was in my pocket the day he proposed to her.” Exhaling, Cedric leaned forward, rubbing his face, then glanced sideways at Alana. “Miss Dowling was needlessly cruel in her rejection of your brother. And, as you know, I wasn’t the only witness to his embarrassment.”

“I detest her.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Leaning down, he dug beneath the bed and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

“Did you hide those all over this cabin?”

“There’s not much storage aboard this ship. I find places.” He opened the bottle and held it out.

“Will this help?” She stared at his hand, indecision on her face. “My last experience with your whiskey wasn’t amusing.”

“It was a little for me.” He grinned. “The alcohol will help with the pain, and,”—he slapped his hand to his chest—“I swear not to let you drink too much.”

“Because the last time…”

“I may have taken it too far.”

Had he known she was a woman, he never would have considered forcing her to drink that much whiskey. However, and he hated to admit this, not treating her as a woman allowed him to get to know her true personality, not the false version portrayed to society.

Now, all he could think of was her, and Patrick would never approve. Ever.

He shook the bottle.

Raising her eyebrows, she licked her lips, her eyes shifting between the bottle and his mouth.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You’re not well enough to withstand what I want to do to you. Keep your tongue in your mouth.” His eyes blazed.

“I’m not injuredeverywhere.” Tipping back her head, she opened her mouth.

“Alana…” Sighing, he rose onto his knees and crawled toward her.