Page 21 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

Mrs. Parker turned her wide eyes to her husband. “What do we do?”

“We’re close to shore. The Navy will rescue us.” He squeezed her arm.

“What if the pirates board us before they arrive?” Mrs. Parker’s eyes widened, her hands locking around his wrists. “Hugh, they will kill—”

“Louisa!” His hands clamped onto her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Stop! You and Mrs. Dubois are to hide together. Barricade yourself in the room and stay there until I come for you. Do you understand?”

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Parker’s voice cracked with hysteria.

“To see if I can be of any assistance.”

He flashed a jaunty grin, which Alana knew was to ease his wife’s distress. Fear glowed in his eyes. He embraced her one final time, placing a rough kiss on her mouth, then released her, turned, and ran toward the main deck.

Alana stepped in front of Mrs. Parker, drawing her attention as the deafening echo of cannon fire exploded at the rear of their ship.

“Which room would you prefer?”

Mrs. Parker glanced left and right, the color draining from her face.

“Yours,” she whispered, then darted across the corridor.

Shouts echoed overhead, and another cannon blast reverberated from the stern. The ship shuddered.

Alana followed Mrs. Parker into the cabin and slammed the door, flipping the lock. Darting across the room, she peered out the small window, fear hovering in her chest. Beside the Crescent Rose awaited another ship, the terrifying colors of a pirate flag flying from the top mast.

Mrs. Parker joined her at the window, squishing her head beside Alana’s. She swore, turning her pale face to Alana.

“We need to do more than hide, Mrs. Dubois.”

“Why?” Alana’s stomach flipped over.

“I recognize the pennant from the newspaper. That’s the Pirate Shaw’s ship.”

Alana swallowed.

Captain Shaw, one of the few pirates still patrolling the waters along the coast of America, had escaped capture on numerous accounts. His cruel reputation was frequently highlighted in newspaper articles on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, the descriptions of his attacks bringing terror to even the bravest man.

“We’ll be fine. He doesn’t harm women. He’ll either keep us for ransom if we have wealthy families or force us to swim to shore. We’re not that far out.” Mrs. Parker’s falsely bright tone didn’t ease Alan’s fear.

“I can’t swim,” she admitted, glancing at Mrs. Parker.

“Why can’t you swim?” she asked, her eyes widening with unmistakable fear.

“I never learned.” Alana trembled, turning her gaze back to the window. “There’s a river that flows past my father’s estate, but I only walked through the shallow parts. I never thought I’d need to know how to do the activity.”

“And your family?”

“Unable to pay a ransom,” Alana answered, knowing her family would sell everything they owned to free her.

“If you looked like a man, you could work the ship until it returned to port. I’ve heard male passengers have survived as well.” Mrs. Parker unpinned a section of Alana’s red hair. The heavy tress fell to the center of Alana’s back. “We shall become men together. Do you have a knife?”

“There’s one in my trunk. My brother gave one to me, along with some of his clothing. I saw the handle when I peeked inside.”

Ripping the chain from her neck, Alana dove at the trunk. She jerked the chest from beneath the bed, unlatched the top, and flung the lid open. Grabbing the sack, she rose and dumped the contents on the bed. Rooting through the clothes, Alana extracted a penny knife, which glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window.

“Will this work?”

“That’s perfect.” Taking the knife, Mrs. Parker unfolded the blade. Grabbing hold of Alana’s hair, she placed the knife against the bundle, just above her fist. “Are you ready?”