Page 133 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

Wrapping his arms around Alana’s waist, Cedric dove at the desk, rolling them both over the top and crashing to the floor. He jerked her beneath the desk, covering her as the mast smashed into his quarters, clogging the air with bits of wood and hemp fibers.

“Alana? Are you alive?” Cedric’s frantic voice broke through the dim cloud.

“Yes,” she replied, coughing. “But I’m wet.”

“The ship is leaking.” He crawled from the desk, dragging her with him. “There isn’t much time before they sink this vessel.”

“How are we going to get out?” She pointed at the mizzenmast, which stretched from the doorway to the roof, having crushed the corridor and destroyed steering, piercing the ship’s wheel and dragging it from the deck during its fall.

“When you work aboard a ship, one of the things you learn how to do is climb.” He indicated the long pole.

Alana’s heart constricted, thrumming wildly in her chest as she followed the path of the wood, which led through the roof to the upper deck.

“I can’t do that,” she said, shaking her head.

“Yes, you can. You walked a plank. You worked on a pirate ship. You survived a keelhauling. You can do this.” Grabbing her, he pressed a rough kiss to her mouth.

When he released her, he pulled a ring from his pinkie and passed the gold band to her.

Lifting it, she peered at the inscription. “Charles Ashmore?”

“If we get separated, find Mr. Hayward… he will get you off the ship. When you return to Wiltshire, find my sister, and give this ring to her. Tell her… tell her I tried.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the earnest expression on Cedric’s face was so heartbreaking, she merely nodded and slipped the ring onto her fourth finger.

Leading her to the base of the mizzenmast, Cedric indicated an opening in the roof of the cabin.

“If you climb through that hole, you’ll reach the upper deck,” he said, helping her onto the unstable post. “I will be directly behind you.”

She swallowed, unable to tamp down the anxious feelings growing in her body. Placing one hand on the mast, she pulled herself up, scooting inch by inch up the post until she was halfway across the floor.

Cedric grunted, attempting to cover his soft cry with a cough, as he climbed onto the mast.

She glanced back at him but again, said nothing, then turned around and continued to crawl toward the roof. When she reached the hole, she slammed the flat of her palm against a broken piece of wood partially covering the opening. Knocking the board out of the way, she popped her head out and looked around.

The Naval ships had surrounded them and were shooting at the pirates from both sides, trapping many of them on the deck.

Behind her, Cedric placed his hands on her butt, causing her to squeal, then shoved, pushing her through the hole onto the top deck. She rolled, keeping her head down, then turned to help Cedric but realized his shoulders were too wide to fit through the opening.

“Find Mr. Hayward,” he said, his melancholy tone belying the strength he forced into the command.

“Did you know?” she yelled, leaning down into the hole. “Did you know you couldn’t escape this way?”

“You wouldn’t have left. You would have wanted to find another way. I couldn’t let you do that.” Smiling, he reached up, cupping her face, and trailed his thumb over her lips. “You’ve sacrificed enough for me. Go find yourself a husband.”

“I hate you for taking this decision from me.”

“Good. Hold on to that.” Beneath him, the mizzenmast cracked, then broke, and the piece he was holding onto crashed to the floor, taking Cedric with it.

“Cedric!” she screamed, leaning forward.

“Cedric!” Her voice echoed.

“Charles!”

There was no answer.

“What are you doing up here?” Mr. Hayward’s face popped up, level with the deck. “Woman or no, you’re going to draw their attention, and we don’t need that.”