Page 41 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“Would you like the tray as well?” Mr. Dubois asked.

“I would.”

Mr. Dubois placed his bare foot on the trunk’s lid and kicked. The chest slid forward, reaching the edge of the desk. Walking around the side, he kicked again, shoving the trunk toward the table. The chest scraped the floor, crashing into a chair leg.

Leaning over, he lifted the tray from the desk, then, taking one step, he froze. The cannonball, stuck in a groove in the wooden floor, refused to budge. He jerked his leg.

Grumbling, he placed the tray on the desk again, then flung his arm at the cannonball. “Is this necessary?”

“No.”

“Are you going to remove it?”

Cedric produced a small key and set the glittering metal piece on the table next to a goblet.

“If you can reach me, you can remove it. You have five minutes before I add a cannonball to the other leg.” A light chuckle echoed around the room. “Do you loathe me, Dubois? Would you like to see me hanged?”

“I have no desire to see any man hanged. However, I’m certain you would deserve the sentence.”

Cedric lifted the bottle, saluting him, a silent confirmation that he, too, believed his actions warranted the gallows.

Muttering indistinguishable words, Mr. Dubois marched to the cannonball. Wrapping his hands around the chain, he yanked, digging his heels into the floor. He’d underestimated his strength, and the cannonball loosened, flying directly at his face.

With a shriek, he dropped to the floor, covering his head.

The cannonball soared over him, bouncing once, then rolled toward the table. The chain stretched, wrenching his leg, the cuff digging into his ankle again. The foulest, most despicable swear word flew from his lips, followed in quick staccato by several other inappropriate curses.

“Where did you learn such language?” Cedric snickered, sipping from his goblet. “You gentlemen continue to surprise me.”

Mr. Dubois ignored him and climbed to his feet. Limping to the desk, he collected the tray, balancing the silver platter carefully in his arms.

He shuffled toward the table, scowling at the cannonball as he passed by it. Setting the tray on the table, he reached for the key, but Cedric’s hand whipped out, closing around his wrist. Mr. Dubois twisted toward him, a question in his eyes.

“Serve me first.”

Pressing his lips together into a tight seam, Mr. Dubois lifted a plate of salted meats from the tray, placing the food directly in front of Cedric, followed by a plate of cheese and a loaf of bread. After setting all the items in front of him, Mr. Dubois stood statue-still, his hands folded together.

“Will there be anything else, Captain?”

Cedric stared at him, drawing out the silence, then waved his hand.

Selecting a piece of meat, he chewed thoughtfully as Mr. Dubois snatched the key from the table and dropped to the floor, his back to Cedric as he wrestled with the cuff. Sighing as the metal released his skin, he rubbed his ankle, blood staining his palm.

“Here.” Cedric leaned over, dangling the bottle of whiskey in Mr. Dubois’ peripheral vision. “Clean yourself.”

Accepting the bottle, Mr. Dubois hesitated a moment, then shrugging, tipped his head and swallowed a mouthful of the burning liquor. Gritting his teeth, he tilted the bottle over his ankle, pain exploding across his face as the drink washed his wound.

After he doused the injury a second time, Mr. Dubois held the bottle over his head.

Taking the bottle, Cedric tossed a piece of meat over Mr. Dubois’ shoulder. The food landed on the floor. Glaring at the chunk, he crossed his arms, refusing to pick it up. Another piece followed, landing next to the first. Still, Mr. Dubois did not move.

“Is my food not good enough for a refined gentleman such as yourself?” Cedric’s growl rolled around the cabin.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Considering we attacked your ship prior to dinner, I suspect you’re quite hungry.” His low reply held a note of warning.

“I’m not a dog.”