Page 23 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

She lifted her gaze just as the man swung his fist, his heavy hand knocking her to the ground. Stunned, Alana cupped her face, glaring up at him.

How dare he strike a woman!

She was halfway to her feet when she realized his reaction to her was based on her appearance, which was distinctly unfeminine at this moment.

“What do you want?” she asked, forcing her voice into a—hopefully passable—masculine growl.

“Your trunk, jewelry, money, and anything else you may have of value.” The man tilted his head, amusement in his dark eyes. “However, judging by your clothing, I would assume that was very little.”

“It cost me everything I had to purchase this ticket.” She jutted out her chin.

Mrs. Parker’s cabin door crashed open, another man dragging her from the room. She kicked him in the shin, biting the hand wrapped around her mouth. He doubled over with a groan, releasing her.

Locking eyes with Alana, Mrs. Parker lifted her skirt and slammed her boot heel into the man’s foot. A scream tore from his lips. A fleeting grin lit her face as she spun and raced down the corridor.

“Do you need any help corralling that hostage, Evans?” The man refused to break his gaze with Alana.

“No,” Mr. Evans snarled, his face reddening. Rising, he stomped after Mrs. Parker.

“I’ll take the trunk, Mister…” The man tilted his head, offering a pleasant smile.

“Dubois,” Alana replied, rising with as much dignity as possible. “Sebastian Dubois.”

“Open it.” He gestured at the chest.

With a nod, she knelt beside the trunk, unlatched it, and lifted the lid.

A scream vibrated down the corridor, then a curse word. When the man turned to glance at the doorway, Alana’s hand whipped out, closing around the knife, and jerked it back to her lap. She folded the blade closed and stuffed the knife into her waistband.

Another curse word, louder than the first, exploded in the hallway. Alana smirked, hiding her smile when the man returned his attention to her.

His eyes narrowed. “Does something amuse you?”

“I hope she kills your friend,” Alana replied.

Reaching down, the man’s hand closed around Alana’s shirt, yanking her to her feet. He towered a full head over her.

“You should pray she does not. The punishment for murdering a pirate is worse than you can imagine.”

“You attacked our ship.” She gestured toward the broken door. “Would you consider defending yourself a crime?”

“I would when that action costs me one of my men.”

“You’re Captain Shaw?” Alana gasped, her jaw dropping. She swallowed, her eyes drinking in his hard stature—tall, muscular, and dark, his skin tanned by a life lived in the sun. “You’ve murdered hundreds of people.”

His eyes glinted, cold and cruel as he released her with a chuckle. “That number has been exaggerated.”

“Any death is unforgivable.” Alana folded her arms, matching his glare.

“If I were you, I would not anger my captor, Mr. Dubois. I’m the reason you’re still alive.” Releasing her shirt, he raised his left hand and pointed a pistol at her heart. “Pick up the chest and carry onto the deck.”

Licking her lips, Alana bent, hoisting the chest from the floor. She grunted under the weight, staggering, then dropped the trunk. The chest landed on its side, popping open and spilling clothes onto the floor.

Captain Shaw crouched, rooting through the garments. His fingers hooked around the collar of a chemise, dragging the silky cloth from the pile. He glanced at her, a peculiar expression on his face.

“Women’s clothing?”

“They belonged to my wife,” Alana snapped, snatching the chemise from him. She flipped over the trunk, slammed the chemise into the bottom, and scooped up the rest of the clothes. Dumping them into the trunk, she frowned, her gaze sliding over the material.