Page 29 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

The ladies screamed.

“The next bullet will claim one of your lives.” Cedric gestured with the gun. “Move away from the girl.”

They did, returning to their previous groups. Mrs. Parker looked as though she wished she could murder him with her eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched. If she thought he was cruel now, wait until she witnessed the execution of Harris Cheswick. The reports to the Navy would drive his bounty up to fifty.

Mr. Hayward approached the child, who sniffled, her brown eyes widening into saucers of fear. He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, the girl took his hand, and they exited the dining room without a word.

Sliding a finger down the list of names, he counted the entries, comparing them to the ladies in the room, and frowned. One woman was missing.

Mrs. Dubois.

He’d met a Mr. Dubois earlier this evening, The man stabbed him with a knife, slicing open his shoulder. He’d originally been amused by the audacity of Mr. Dubois, but that faded to annoyance, and he’d left the man in Evans’ care. By now, he was probably dead.

Cedric clucked his tongue. The shipping clerk must have made an error when writing down the name, an easy mistake to make. Mr. Dubois did exude some feminine qualities.

Curse words echoed down the corridor, the deafening phrases pouring into the room growing louder as Mr. Evans opened the door and tossed a bloody man into the room.

“This man has requested an audience with you,” he grumbled as the man rolled across the floor.

Harris Cheswick.

“Evans!” Cedric called out, stopping him from exiting. “Before you go, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

A peculiar expression spread across Mr. Evans’ face, as though he didn’t understand the meaning of this delay but wouldn’t deny his captain’s request.

“Of course.” He stepped forward.

“The man before you is Mr. Harris Cheswick. You may not recognize him, but I do. I’ve met him before.”

“I don’t know you.” Blubbering, Mr. Cheswick rose on his knees, lifting his hands into a defensive position. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Please.”

Cedric strode forward and bent down, resting his arm on his knee. He hooked his finger under Mr. Cheswick’s chin and lifted it.

“Captain Taylor sends his regards.”

He drew his pistol and placed the muzzle against the gray hair coating Mr. Cheswick’s temple.

Mr. Evans stepped forward. “What business does Captain Taylor have with this man?”

Twisting, Cedric glanced over his shoulder and snarled, “He tried to harm Captain’s wife.”

He’d heard Mr. Evans was a fast draw from the crew, but he’d never witnessed the speed, and before he could turn back to Mr. Cheswick, Mr. Evans had drawn his pistol, fired, and killed Mr. Cheswick with a bullet straight through the center of his forehead.

Leaning down, Mr. Evans riffled through Mr. Cheswick’s pockets, taking anything of worth. When he extracted an embroidered handkerchief, he passed the item to Cedric, who cleaned his face, and tucked the bloody cloth into his pocket.

A few minutes later, Mr. Hayward returned. He made no mention of the dead man bleeding on the floor. Pulling out his pistol, he pointed the muzzle at the group of eight women on his right. Jerking his head, he moved aside, and allowed them to march past him into the corridor.

Crossing the ships was by far the most difficult feat these ladies would attempt in their lifetime. Not only were they walking on a board less than two feet wide, but the Crescent Rose was listing, making the plank unstable as the ship rolled with the ocean waves. However, Mr. Hayward was quite capable, and Cedric knew every hostage would complete the crossing.

“Ready to go swimming?” Cedric asked the remaining women.

He holstered his pistol and crossed the room. Holding open the door, he bowed, and swept his arm toward the corridor leading to the main deck.

Smoke rose into the air, obscuring the stars. Men darted about, their actions driven by a symphony of screams, gun shots, and crackling wood, which popped and creaked as the ship split apart. The raging fire consumed the aft of the ship.

Unable to move past the flames, Cedric lined the women up along the railing on the main deck and hoped they were strong enough swimmers to get far enough away from the vessel before the boat sank.

“I suggest jumping away from the ship,” he said, and pointed at the brunette. “You first.”