Page 100 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Why did Captain Shaw rescue me?”
“He thinks you’re innocent of the crime of theft.”
“How did he reach this conclusion?”
“You’ll need to ask him.” He turned around.
“What if…” She choked on the words, fear bubbling in her throat. She forced herself to finish the question. “What if Mr. Evans comes searching for me?”
“He has no reason to.”
“But the thief?”
Mr. Hayward held up his hand.
“There’s only one man who can answer your questions, and he’s occupied at the moment. Once the captain has some time, I suspect he’ll explain everything to you, but he demands that you remain inside his cabin. We’ve both risked our lives to protect you, and I have no intention of dying before we reach Ceresus.”
With a nod, he opened the door a sliver, slipped through the small crack, and closed the door behind him.
A lock clicked.
Staggering to her trunk, she opened the lid. The contents, haphazardly thrown into the chest, indicated someone had searched her belongings after the jewelry and gold had been removed.
She knelt, sucking in a sharp breath as a flash of agony rolled through her body, and dug through the articles until she found the sack of men’s clothing. Pulling out a shirt and a pair of trousers, she picked a strand of red hair from the shirt, sticking the piece back into the sack, then buried the sack in the trunk and slammed the lid.
The boom caused her to jump, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, biting her knuckle as she swallowed the shriek.
Gently, she peeled the ruined shirt from her body, dragging the remaining cloth strips over her head, and hissed as they clung to her injured skin. She repeated the same painful process with her damaged trousers, sitting on the mattress to tug one leg off at a time.
The lock twisted.
She gulped and dropped to the floor at the base of the bed, squishing herself between the mattress and her trunk, her fearful eyes peeking around the side.
“Why are you on the floor?” Cedric asked, closing, then locking the door after he entered the room.
“I didn’t know who you were.” Hauling herself back onto the bed, she reached for her shirt.
“Since you’re already undressed, it would be best to allow me to treat your wounds before you put on fresh clothing.” He strode toward her, carrying a tray.
“This isn’t just an excuse to seduce me?”
Cedric snorted.
“As delighted as I would be with that activity, the injuries you’ve sustained need medical attention, and since the only doctor aboard this ship can’t treat herself, I’m going to handle the task. However, I can’t promise I won’t enjoy it.”
He gestured for her to lay down on her stomach, then sank down on the mattress beside her. After dipping a rag into a bowl of fresh water, he wrung out the cloth and gently drew the material down her back, wiping away the blood.
A renewed bout of agony exploded in her body, and she buried her face in the pillow, screaming as he dragged the cloth across her marred skin again.
“I’m sorry,” he said over and over. One hand found her clenched fist, and he peeled her hand apart, intertwining his fingers with hers, squeezing. “Hurt me as much as you like.”
“There’s only one man aboard this ship who I wish to harm,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“I can’t promise you that opportunity,” he said, daubing her back dry with a clean rag. “This is going to be cold.”
“What is?” her voice spiked on the last word when Cedric placed a glob of balm on her.
“You’ll have scars,” he said, rubbing the ointment across her skin and gingerly pressing the mixture into each laceration carving up her back. “It may damage your chances of finding a suitable husband.”
