Page 110 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Why would he do something so foolish?” Mr. Hayward frowned. “He’ll be captured or killed before he can complete the exchanges.”

“Are there any other men unaccounted for?”

“Mr. Johnson has also vanished.”

“I thought you tied him to the bed.”

“I did.”

“Six missing people is unacceptable, Mr. Hayward.” The hard edge in Cedric’s reply caused his first mate to flinch. “If the crew learns the hostages have disappeared, nothing will stop their mutinous actions… We will all die.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ALANA

His dire prediction hanging in the air, Cedric approached the bed, crouched beside the edge, and drew his hand over Alana’s head.

“I must address this matter immediately. Can you survive until I return?”

“Yes,” her muffled voice replied, twisting her head toward him. Her gaze found his face, which reflected the same trepidation coursing through her body.

“I’ll ask Mrs. Parker to finish your bandages,” he said, dropping his arm to his side. “Once she’s completed changing the dressings, I expect you to remain in that bed. Do not move from it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” Alana murmured, her tone dismissive, but Cedric’s hand came down on an uninjured portion of her arm, pinning her wrist to the bed.

“Do. Not. Move,” he repeated.

“Yes…Captain.”

He slammed his other hand on the mattress and leaned down, stopping when his lips were less than a millimeter from her ear, his intimate proximity causing her to shiver.

“You may think your impudence annoys me, but it only increases my desire to bed you again,” he murmured, and his tongue darted out, tracing the shell of her ear.

Mr. Hayward cleared his throat, a subtle reminder that he was waiting by the door.

Glancing back at him, Cedric tilted his head. Mr. Hayward nodded, then exited the room—without Cedric having issued one command—and closed the door.

“How did he know what you wanted?” Alana lifted her gaze to Cedric.

“Any man could tell what I wanted,” he replied, his eyes blazing with hunger as he returned his attention to her.

“I’m not a man.”

“I’m very aware of what you aren’t.” He pressed his mouth to her temple. “You will also not heal correctly if you continue insisting to tempt my resolve.”

“I haven’t done anything but lie here.”

“Apparently, that’s enough.” Groaning, he pushed off the bed and strode toward the door as a knock echoed on the opposite side.

“Captain Shaw?” Mrs. Parker’s voice came from the small corridor.

“Enter,” he said, bending over a small chest hidden beside the door.

Pushing open the lid, he shoved his hand into the center of the trunk, rummaging through various colored cloths, and pulled out two guns—the stolen pistols given to him by Rowland prior to sailing—and tucked them into his waistband.

“Is that necessary?” Mrs. Parker’s shock was evident as he slammed the chest’s lid shut.

“Yes.” His gaze slid to Alana as he rose. “Don’t leave this room until either myself or Mr. Hayward returns.”