Page 56 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

He smiled, and the dark expression sent a tremor of fear slithering down her spine.

A minute later, the ship lurched forward, pushing through the water as though propelled by an invisible wind. Losing her balance, Alana grabbed the ladder and wrapped her arm through the rungs.

“How are you doing this?” she asked, climbing onto the first bar and pulling herself up the ladder until her head was even with Captain Shaw’s boots.

He glanced down at her. “Steam.”

“They won’t catch us, will they?” Despair coated her chest.

“No.” His gaze skimmed the main deck. “Ceresus is nice this time of year.”

A splash drew their attention. Mr. Evans turned away from the portside railing, lowering his arms, a smear of bright red stained his shirt. He pointed a grimy finger at Alana.

“I need another man below.”

Captain Shaw jerked his head. “Take him.”

Mr. Evans appeared at her side, and his crimson-stained hand closed around her arm. Tearing her from the ladder, he dragged her across the deck.

Pain shot through her ankle.

“Don’t bite anyone,” he said, jerking her to his side. Ignoring her soft gasp of agony, he flung her toward the hole in the center of the ship. “You’ll be of better use with a shovel in your hand.”

She rolled several times across the deck and came to a rest at the edge of the opening. Heat billowed up from the center, burning her face. She scuttled backward, crashing into Mr. Evans’ legs.

“Mr. Hayward needs your assistance.” He put his foot on Alana’s back and shoved her into the opening.

As she fell, she grabbed hold of the side of a ladder, which extended down into the darkness, but couldn’t stop her momentum.

Her hands slipped, and her teeth snapped together when her jaw hit a rung. Landing on her back, the oxygen ripped from her lungs, Alana stared up at Mr. Evans’ gleeful face as he landed beside her.

“Brought another man!” he yelled, then turned away, leaving Alana crumpled on the floor.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the steam room, which was simply a room filled with a mound of coal, one furnace, and two soot-covered men shoveling as fast as they could.

“Anything broken?” Mr. Hayward grunted. Before she could finish the word ‘no,’ he thrusted a shovel at her, and pointed at the two other men as they mechanically lifted shovelfuls of coal into the blazing fire. “Help them. Don’t stop until I say so.”

Alana nodded silently, rose, and joined the other two men, neither of who she recognized.

Were they the only men left from the original ship?

Her shovel scraped along the floor, then arms burning, she hoisted the coal toward the fire and shifted her stance, trying to find a comfortable position to stand on her injured ankle.

“Faster,” one of the men muttered.

Digging her shovel into the mound, she glanced up at their sweaty, coal-covered faces. They both wore grim expressions.

“What happened to…”

“Mr. Williams?” the other man asked, flinging his shovelful into the flames.

“Yes.” Alana copied his movement, adding her own scoop of coal.

The first man shook his head, his eyes flicking toward Mr. Hayward, who paused beside them, holding his hand out to the flames. Nodding, he continued walking.

Waiting until Mr. Hayward disappeared, the first man set his shovel end up, and leaned against the handle. He drew in a breath, sweat dripping from his forehead. Extracting a handkerchief, he mopped his face.

“Mr. Williams refused to help.”