Page 101 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“If my fiancé dismisses me for surviving a pirate attack, he’s not a man I wish to marry,” she replied, crushing his hand with a hiss as a flash of pain rippled through her body.
Cedric didn’t complain.
Lifting a bandage strip from the tray, he leaned over and laid the piece across her skin, continuing the process until the whole of her back was covered.
“Do you want me to turn over?” she asked, releasing his hand as the fire scorching her torso faded.
“I need to inspect the cuts on your legs first,” he replied, his fingers lightly trailing down her skin. His thumb brushed over a bruise, and she flinched, jerking her leg away from him. Grasping her ankle with one hand, he firmly pulled her leg straight, then used the other to clean off the blood.
“How did you escape—” She smashed her face into the pillow again, screeching as the rag passed over a deep scrap stretching several inches down her calf.
“My quarters?” Cedric paused, the cloth hovering over her skin. “How did you know I was trapped?”
“Mr. Evans told me.” Pushing up on her elbows, she twisted around and stared at Cedric. “He admitted he stole your keys.”
“I suspect Mr. Evans encouraged the crew’s desire for that harsh punishment and that he was responsible for trapping myself and Mr. Hayward in this cabin.” Dropping his gaze to her leg, Cedric gently dried her skin. “However, I can’t prove he was involved, and without evidence…”
The relieving chill of the balm spread through her leg, and her hands, unconsciously clenched, relaxed. She exhaled a long sigh.
“Then, what is your plan? I cannot return to the brig.”
“You cannot leave this cabin,” he replied, layering bandage strips across her leg. “The crew thinks you’re dead. You must remain in this room until we reach Ceresus, or we’ll both be in unfathomable danger.”
“But how will I debark?”
Without replying, Cedric rose and strode to the door. He unlocked and opened it, peered into the corridor, then closed the door again, locked it again, and turned, his face devoid of emotion.
“We’re not actually going to dock in Ceresus.”
“Where are we going?”
He shook his head. “You misunderstand. We’re not going to dock anywhere. I’m going to blow up the ship.”
“Why?” She pushed herself up, wincing as her back bent, and dropped to the mattress again with a low curse.
“Because Captain Cedric Shaw has served his purpose.”
“Are you going to kill yourself?”
“In a sense.” He strode toward her, reclaimed his position beside her on the bed, and took up the wet cloth, wringing the excess liquid into a bowl of red-tinted water. “Would it upset you to know I was dead?”
“I haven’t decided,” she replied, her mind and heart warring with each other.
“I suppose I should have expected that.” He gestured for her to turn over. “What can I do to sway your mind?”
“Could you raise the dead?” She groaned as she rotated onto her side, closing her eyes as pain shot through her shoulder.
“Roll toward me,” he commanded, his voice breaking through the agony.
Nodding, she forced herself to move in the opposite direction, cursing, and revealed a long gash on her arm.
“I’m pleased to hear your vocabulary hasn’t changed with your gender.” He touched the wet cloth to her arm, dabbing around the wound’s edges. “But now I must know, who taught you such blasphemies?”
“My brother,” she snapped.
“Which one?”
“Patrick.” Anger hung in the air.
