Page 40 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Captain?” Mr. Hayward glanced nervously at Mr. Dubois.

“Dubois is a better tailor than you. I’m relieving you of your duties. He will be our new doctor.” Cedric crossed the room, removing his shirt.

Nodding, Mr. Hayward inspected the stitched wound, dragging his thumb across the line, his tongue caught in his teeth.

“I didn’t agree…” Mr. Dubois’ voice trailed off as both men’s heads whipped up.

Cedric’s anger rolled through the room.

“I have my rounds,” Mr. Hayward mumbled and rushed from the room, the door slamming behind him.

Cedric stalked forward, stopping centimeters from Mr. Dubois, and growled, “No man counters my direction.”

“You don’t determine my life.” Mr. Dubois planted his hands on his hips.

Cedric raised his arm to strike him, but Mr. Dubois didn’t move. Instead, he jutted out his chin and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain that would accompany the beating.

“Why are you not afraid of me?” Lowering his arm, Cedric stared at Mr. Dubois in confusion.

“I am afraid,” he whispered, peeling one eye open.

“Yet, knowing the ramifications of my anger, you still challenge me. Why?” Cedric stepped closer, dropping his voice. “I can kill you.”

“I don’t agree with your decisions.” Opening his other eye, he jutted out his chin.

“You are aboard myship.”

“Not by choice.”

“It was,” Cedric snarled, jabbing Mr. Dubois in the forehead. “I gave you an option.”

He swayed, refusing to step backward.

“Death or servitude, which would you choose?”

“Death,” Cedric answered without hesitation.

Mr. Dubois froze, his mouth dropping open. “To be certain, you are an unusual man.”

“Thank you.” Cedric bowed, and returned to his chair, flinging his arm at the trunk on his desk. “Stow that in front of the armoire, then carry the tray to the table. I presume you know how to serve someone.”

“Yes, I do.”

“We shall see.” Cedric lifted the bottle, then grimaced. Lowering it, he glowered at Mr. Dubois. “You drank all my whiskey.”

“Youdrank all your whiskey.Iused it to clean your wound,” Mr. Dubois replied, chewing on his lip and staring at his trunk. His gaze slid to Cedric. “Do you enjoy hurting people?”

“Why do you ask?” Cedric leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

“You know I can’t carry that chest,” Mr. Dubois replied, pointing at the trunk. “And I fear your anger will be worse if I fail a second task.”

“It will.” He tilted his head, his face smooth. “I’m curious as to how you will solve that problem.”

Narrowing his eyes, Mr. Dubois placed his hand atop the trunk’s lid. Glaring at Cedric, he pulled the trunk toward him. The chest fell off the side of the desk, crashing to the floor.

Cedric smirked, rising from his chair. Crossing the room, he opened a small cabinet hidden behind the table. Extracting an identical bottle to the one on his desk, he pulled out the cork and set the bottle on the table. Two pewter goblets followed.

“I’ve changed my mind. Bring me the trunk,” he commanded, sinking into one of the chairs beside the table and filling both cups.