Page 87 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“I’m not certain. I think they’re working for the Navy.” He glanced at Mrs. Thornhill. “Your husband’s been killed, too.”

“Did he suffer?” she asked, lowering her hands. “I hope that he did, dreadful man.”

Cedric and Mr. Hayward stared at her, their mouths both hanging slightly open.

“I’m assuming you killed him because he refused to pay you. John always was a miserly man.” She stripped off one long glove, revealing an opulent wedding ring, pulled the piece of jewelry from her finger, and held out the ring. “Will this be enough for my ransom?”

“It will.” Cedric nodded, accepting the gold band. “You’re free to leave.”

Rising, she curtsied to both of them.

“Thank you for an interesting adventure, and for my new status as a widow. I hope to never see you again.” With that final sentiment, she walked away from the table, exited the tavern, and vanished.

“Only four more,” Mr. Hayward said, standing.

“That may be more complicated than we expected,” Cedric replied as they walked through the tavern, following the same path as Mrs. Thornhill. “They had a plan this time.”

“It didn’t work,” Mr. Hayward said, and shoved open the tavern door.

“It will be better next time.” Cedric shook his head, thinking of the men’s conversation. “They’ll fix the mistakes they made tonight.”

“Are you suggesting we should release the other hostages without payment?”

“Is your life worth those four women?”

“Is yours?” Mr. Hayward stuck out his chin, indicating their ship in the distance. “Do you intend to compensate the crew for the money they’ll lose if you set those captives free?”

“No.”

“Then, you best prepare to deal with a mutiny.”

“What would you decide?” Cedric asked, glancing at him. “Release the hostages or risk arrest and certain death?”

“I’d choose not to be Captain,” Mr. Hayward replied, and shifted his attention back to Cedric. “But you don’t have that option.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ALANA

There was nowhere to hide.

Backing away from the door, Alana held up her hands, licking her lips. A tremor raced down her spine, her eyes darting around the small space.

“I didn’t have relations—”

“I hear things,” Mr. Evans replied, the horrific grin returning. “You’re quite loud… when excited.”

Shoving the key into the lock, he moaned. The lock twisted, unlatching the cage.

He pulled open the heavy door, slipped into the small space, and yanked the door closed behind him. Spinning around again, he shoved the key back into the lock and torqued the metal sharply.

“I think you and I can help each other.”

“What do you want?” she asked, knowing the answer, yet hopeful her instinct regarding Mr. Evans’ desires was mistaken.

Crossing the tiny square, he smirked, then reached out, trailing one grimy finger down her arm. “You know what I want.”

“No.” Alana jerked away, her body stiff.