Page 17 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Lockhearst.”

“William Lockhearst?” Alana’s voice cracked.

“Yes, why is he not a good match?” A frown creased Mrs. Parker’s forehead. “Tell me honestly, Mrs. Dubois. Have I made a mistake with my sister’s future?”

Alana swallowed, recalling the tales of Mr. Lockhearst’s brutish reputation regarding his servants.

“You have.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CEDRIC

“Crescent Rose on the horizon!”

Cedric glanced up at the closed door, quill tip hovering over the letter he’d been writing to his sister. He didn’t recognize the voice and found it unnerving that he didn’t know most of his crew.

A drop of ink fell onto the page, obscuring the word ‘apologies.’ Grimacing, he stabbed the pen back into the inkwell, snatched up the paper and crumbled the ruined letter into a ball.

How does one apologize for dying?

Shoving back from the desk, he stood and walked to a small iron stove. He bent, opened the grate, and tossed the paper inside. The smoldering embers ignited the page within seconds.

It was best no one aboard, aside from Mr. Hayward, knew of his plan to destroy the ship, as that knowledge itself might lead to a mutiny, especially with the brutish group he’d recruited. Despite Rowland’s warning, he accepted both Wickes and Evans, but requested Mr. Hayward to add tracking their movements to his daily duties.

After four days asea, the only thing his first mate reported was the crew voted to have Wickes replace the current cook. Cedric allowed the change, partially because he wanted to keep his men happy while they waited for the Crescent Rose, which had been delayed due to a storm while crossing the Atlantic, and partially because he couldn’t stomach the slop coming out of the galley.

Opening the door, he stepped into the small corridor which housed the entrances to his cabin, Mr. Hayward’s cabin, and his previous second mate, Mr. Johnson, who agreed to sail one final voyage for an extra five percent of their plunder and a case of whiskey.

Cedric gave up the portion from his share, classifying the additional cost as a guarantee of Mr. Johnson’s loyalty since the amount he would be receiving was greater than anything he’d acquire if he were involved in a mutiny.

Mr. Johnson’s door creaked open as Cedric passed, a gruff voice greeting him with an exhausted groan.

“Couldn’t have given me more than one hour?” he rumbled, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.

“I don’t control the speed of the ships,” Cedric replied, glancing back at him. “You can go back to sleep if you’re too exhausted to fight.”

“Don’t insult me.” Mr. Johnson strode past Cedric and shoved open the door leading to the main deck, bathing them both in the afternoon’s dying sunlight.

Mr. Hayward met them as they emerged, his weathered face pulled into a scowl.

“Captain, she’s faster than we expected.”

“Then we change course and cut them off before they reach the harbor.” Cedric walked toward the ship’s starboard side, avoiding the man that scurried past them carting a coiled rope.

“That will put us extremely close to the coast.” Mr. Johnson’s icy blue gaze flicked between Cedric and Mr. Hayward. “The Navy is already looking for this ship.”

“And they won’t expect us to be as daring as to attack anyone that close to port.” Cedric leaned over the railing, staring at the tiny flags of the Crescent Rose as they whipped in the distance. “It will appear we’ve given up chase, and they may slow once we’re no longer following their course.”

His logic satisfied both men, and the command went out across the main deck to alter their direction. As the ship turned, he noted the Crescent Rose did indeed decrease their speed, and he grinned inwardly.

With a nod, Cedric turned away from the railing and descended to the gun deck, immediately struck by the acrid scent of gunpowder. Cannons lined the floor, and behind each one, a stack of cannonballs waited in the aisle. Interspersed between them, open barrels of black powder glistened.

“Ready to attack, Captain,” said the man to his left as he patted the base of a cannon’s breech, then flashed a mostly toothless grin as rallying cries answered his assertion.

Cedric’s critical gaze swept across the floor. There weren’t enough men to manage the gun deck efficiently.

“Mr. Johnson,” he spoke to his second mate without turning to confirm the man had followed below deck. “We will ambush the Crescent Rose at nightfall.”