Page 125 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“The last face you’re going to see in this life is mine.”

Mr. Evans’ eyes blazed black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CEDRIC/CHARLES

“Move!” Cedric said, his firm command waking Mrs. Parker from her terrified trance.

She bobbed her head and released the wood pile, stepping back. They both held their breath, waiting to see if the stack of debris would fall. The pile teetered, threatening to topple as the ship rolled in the ocean, but the mound remained upright as though taunting him.

“Mrs. Parker, I issued you a direct order,” he ground out. “You’re still under my employ.”

“Yes, Captain,” she replied, adding a curtsey, and darted off in search of Mr. Hayward

It was peculiar, lying on the deck and unable to assist as a battle raged around him. Imagine if the Navy discovered him in position—the great Captain Shaw, undone by his own ship.

“If you’d like to finish your nap in your quarters, I’d be happy to assume command during this little skirmish.” Mr. Hayward’s voice floated over his head.

Cedric twisted, glancing backward.

“Couldn’t get into my cabin,” he replied with a groan. “The door’s blocked.”

“And you thought your Herculean strength could move the mast?”

“You know my mind so well.”

Chuckling, Mr. Hayward gestured to several men, who formed a tight arc around the fallen mast. They grasped the debris, lifting the full section and allowing Cedric to scuttle out from beneath its weight.

The men hefted the end of the mast toward the starboard side of the ship, exposing a portion of the outer door leading to the officer’s corridor, but they couldn’t maintain the weight and dropped the mast, wedging it between the deck and the railing.

Forcing his body to move, Cedric stumbled over to the door and slammed his shoulder into the portion of the mast still blocking the entrance.

The wooden pole didn’t move.

“Stop!” Mr. Hayward placed a restraining hand on Cedric’s arm. “With the Navy almost alongside us, Mrs. Dubois is safer in your quarters than on deck.”

“Evans is in the cabin with her.”

“We’ll break down the door.”

“I thought you were against that practice.”

“Only when I’m responsible for repairing the damage.” Mr. Hayward forced a smile.

Simultaneously, they turned and kicked the outer door squarely in the center. The wood groaned. They kicked again and were met with the sound of splintering wood.

As they lined up for the third kick, a bullet zipped past Cedric’s head and embedded itself in the door. They dropped to the deck, pulled out their guns, and turned toward the origin of the shot.

The first Naval boat had drawn aside them, the sailors lining the portside railing. All their rifles aimed at Cedric’s ship.

“Fire!” The command floated toward them.

Heads covered with one arm, they crawled to the railing, using the fallen mast as a shield.

Cedric glanced sideways, pleased to find most of his men, pistols drawn, were crouched along the starboard side, waiting for his command.

“Return fire!” he yelled and stood, followed by Mr. Hayward, pointing both pistols at the Navy ship. His men copied the brave action, rising and firing at the sailors.