Page 10 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“That I do,” Cedric confirmed as he sat. “But he is referring to relocating, not assuming command.”
“Is this decision due to the most recent attack on the ship?” Mr. Hayward’s gaze slid between both men.
Rowland set down his half-empty glass. “Your captain has an obligation to his sister that must be fulfilled within the next few weeks… and he intends to do so by claiming the reward upon his head.”
Mr. Hayward’s jaw dropped. Whatever explanation he expected to hear, this wasn’t it. Anger blazed across his face. He pushed back from the table, knocking over his chair with a loud clatter.
“In all my time serving alongside you, I’ve never known you to perform such an act of cowardice.”
Cedric held up his arm, stopping Mr. Hayward’s tirade.
“I have no desire to change your good,” —Rowland snorted— “opinion of me, and I do not intend to kill myself. I intend to blow up the ship and claim responsibility for the death of Captain Shaw by returning this.” He slid a ring off his pinkie and held the gleaming, gold circle out to Mr. Hayward.
His first mate placed the ring between his teeth and bit gently, an automatic habit when it came to determining jewelry's worth, then lifted the ring to his good eye, squinting at the word engraved on the inside of the band.
“Ashmore?” Mr. Hayward asked.
“The first man I killed.”
Raising both eyebrows, Mr. Hayward said nothing else and passed the ring back to Cedric.
He’d revealed very few details of his past to Mr. Hayward, ascribing to the notion that less information allowed for more imagination. A theory that provided endless amusement when he learned of feats attributed to his hand.
It also prevented him from having to lie.
“When will you carry out this plan?” Mr. Hayward set his chair aright and sat down.
“At the end of our next crossing.”
“If,”—Rowland slid the news sheet toward Mr. Hayward—“he can increase the bounty on his life to fifty thousand.”
Mr. Hayward grabbed the page, a low whistle escaping his mouth as he read the headline.
“We can get you to fifty,” he said, glancing up and pushing the paper back toward the center of the table. “But we’ll need to ransom—”
“Murder,” Cedric said, his voice somber. “We’ll need to murder someone to get that amount.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Harris Cheswick.” Cedric shifted his gaze to Rowland. “That’s why you told me about his departure from England, isn’t it?”
Rowland nodded but didn’t speak.
“We’ll need a crew who will support the command to kill.” The word stuck in Cedric’s throat.
Charles Ashmore was the only life he’d taken since beginning work aboard Rowland’s ship. Despite his cruel reputation, Cedric had managed to avoid the task… until now.
Mr. Hayward dug a grubby square of paper from his pocket and tossed the folded page to Cedric. “This is the list of volunteers.”
Cedric peeled open the paper and set the page on the table between himself and Rowland, who leaned closer and perused the list, his mouth pulling into a thin line.
Seven names, plus the fifteen that agreed to stay with him. Twenty-two in total.
“There are men on here I wouldn’t sail with.” Rowland gestured to two signatures near the top.
Ernest Wickes and Jack Evans.
“We need every capable body,” Cedric replied. “What is your complaint regarding these two?”
