Page 132 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Even more reason to learn.”

She wound the long strip of cloth around his shoulder and torso, creating a rudimentary bandage that held the folded shirt tightly against his wound. Grabbing the last shirt, she pulled the garment over his head, covering the injury.

“If forcing you to sleep facing a wall makes me a gentleman, what does the action of dressing me signify about you?”

“That I’m a fool.”

Cedric grabbed her wrist, dragging her down to the floor until she was forced to kneel beside him. “Are you?”

“Very much.” She leaned forward, her eyes locked on his, and pressed her lips against his mouth.

He groaned, his hand raising and sliding into her hair. Grasping the back of her head, he deepened the kiss, his tongue driving past her lips and sliding along hers.

Two feet above their heads, the wall exploded.

Cedric shoved Alana down, his body on top of hers before she realized what had happened. Peering out from beneath him, she gasped.

The upper half of the wall beside the bed was gone, having exploded when a cannonball struck it. On the opposite side of the cabin, a smaller hole—the entry point of the projectile—marred the ship.

“It’s time to end your voyage aboard this vessel.” Crawling off her, he stood with a groan, wobbling unsteadily.

Alana followed, scurrying to her feet and ducking under Cedric’s injured side. Pulling his arm over her shoulder, she nodded at him.

“It’s been delightful sailing with you, Captain Shaw.”

“Telling falsehoods again, Mrs. Dubois?”

“You’ve caught me,” she replied as they trudged toward the corridor, picking their way around the fallen rafters, “I’d like a refund for my ticket. Not only did I not reach my destination, but my trunk was lost at sea.”

“I suppose Mrs. Parker intends to register the same complaint.”

Neither of them glanced at Mr. Evans as they passed his body.

“She does.”

“I shall advise management.”

Ahead of them, Louisa’s worried face peered through the jagged hole in the outer door. She broke into a giant smile when she saw Alana and Cedric limp through the demolished doorway.

“Hurry!” She gestured to them, waving her hand as debris flew behind her, scattering across the ravaged deck.

“Where’s Mr. Hayward?” Alana asked, a small tendril of relief curling through her.

Cedric stumbled, leaning heavily on Alana’s shoulders, his labored breathing hitching.

“If he listened to me, he’s abandoned the ship,”

Mr. Hayward’s scarred visage floated into view.

“What do you do to men who don’t follow your orders?” Alana asked with a chuckle.

An explosion rocked the ship, sending Alana and Cedric crashing into the wall. Before they could regain their footing, a horrific creaking sound echoed through the ship.

Cedric’s eyes rounded. Face paling, he yelled to Alana, “Run!”

They turned and raced back down the corridor toward his cabin, hopping over the piles of broken wood and rigging as the doorway to the main deck was pulverized beneath the falling mizzenmast.

The mast crushed the hallway, destroying both Mr. Hayward’s and Mr. Johnson’s cabins.