Page 113 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Greed.”
“If he’s not aboard the ship, then I should be able to sneak into Mr. Hayward’s cabin and grab a few sheets of paper to write my letters.” Louisa’s gaze skipped to the door. “I don’t think he locked the door.”
“I’ll be alright for a few moments if you want to hurry,” said Alana, shifting her body to find a comfortable position. “We can write them together.”
“Excellent.”
Opening the door an inch, Louisa peered into the corridor, ensuring the small hallway was empty. She glanced back at Alana, winked, and darted out of the cabin, closing the door behind her. A few moments later, Mr. Hayward’s door opened and closed.
Alana could hear Louisa moving about the cabin, searching for the sheets of paper. She blushed, her face heating as she remembered how vocal she’d been when Cedric was coaxing orgasms from her body.
Pushing off the blanket, she crawled to the end of the bed, collected the clothing Cedric had left—clothing, she noted, he never put on her—and carefully tugged the new shirt over her head, avoiding the bandages sticking to her wounds.
She rose with a grimace, the hem skimming the top of her thighs, and reached for the trousers, expelling a small gasp.
The door creaked open, and she froze, her head whipping up. She could still hear sounds from the other cabin and knew the person entering the room wasn’t Louisa.
Had Mr. Hayward returned that quickly?
Her stomach rumbling at the thought of food, she debated whether to dive back under the blanket or greet Mr. Hayward in just a shirt when Mr. Evans slipped into the room.
Her breath catching, she dropped the trousers and dove underneath the bed, scratching her bare legs on the floorboards. Agony pulsed through her body. Digging her teeth into her lower lip, she scuttled to the far corner beneath the bed, pressing herself flat, then laid her ear on the floor and watched Mr. Evans’ boots move through the room.
He closed the door, then strode across the floor, stopping in front of the window. After spinning around, he pulled out the chair and sat, kicking his boots up on top of the desk as though he was in his own cabin, not Cedric’s, and leaned back in the chair.
His gaze fell on the ledger.
Dropping his relaxed pose, he slammed his feet on the floor, leaned forward, and dragged the book toward him. Pages flicked slowly. After a minute, he snapped the book shut again and rose, spinning in a slow circle as he drank in the room. Strolling over to the armoire, he glanced back at the cabin door to ensure his privacy, then leaned over and lifted the lid to Alana’s trunk.
Sifting through the clothing, he grumbled aloud. “Where did he hide it?”
What was Mr. Evans searching for?
Alana held her breath, her eyes following Mr. Evans’ boots as he paced the small cabin, crossing to the table and chairs. Bending, he rooted through the trunk beside the table, his mouth pulling into a thin line. Glancing up, his gaze slid across the room again and stopped on the bed.
She gulped, pressing herself against the wall.
Had he seen her?
Rising, Mr. Evans walked past the desk, trailing his fingers over the carved wooden edge. Rounding the corner, he strolled directly to the bed and sat on the mattress.
Suddenly his feet vanished, and his dark face appeared, floating upside down. His eyes locked on Alana, a horrid grin splitting his mouth.
“Mrs. Dubois, what apleasureto find you here.”
Climbing from the bed, he dropped to the floor, and reached out.
She scooted away from him, but his invading hand closed around her ankle and jerked. She screamed, her fingers clawing at anything within reach to stop him from dragging her out from underneath the bed, but his iron grip was too strong, and he ripped her skin open as he yanked her backward.
“Captain Shaw—”
“Will do whatever I say once I reveal he falsified your death. The crew will see him hanged.” Mr. Evans face stretched into an evil sneer.
“When the crew learns you released the hostages, it will be you who hangs,” she replied, lifting her chin in defiance.
“That was Captain Shaw. I saw him release the ladies in the early morning hours.” He backhanded her, causing an explosion of stars behind her eyes, then crawled forward and pinned her body to the floor. “And the crew will accept my word over his because he’s already lied to them. I haven’t.”
He forced her legs apart, kneeling between them, and his hands went to his pants, unfastening them. “But since we have some time before that occurs…”
