Page 138 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Chuckling, Mr. Evans rose and swung one leg over the window frame. However, before he could duck his head under, Cedric shoved off the floor and crashed into Mr. Evans, ripping him from the window and shoving him toward the armoire.
Tumbling to the floor, they rolled, and Mr. Evans ended up on top of Cedric. Knife clenched, he brought the steel tip down, aiming for Cedric’s face.
Cedric twisted his head aside at the last moment, and Mr. Evans stabbed the knife through one of the floorboards, hopelessly embedding the blade.
Cursing, Mr. Evans released the knife’s handle, his fingers balling into fists.
As he swung, Cedric jerked his body, throwing Mr. Evans off balance, then counter-punched and struck Mr. Evans in the jaw, knocking him to the side. Flipping them over, Cedric pinned Mr. Evans to the floor and pummeled him, beating the man until he could no longer raise his arms.
Leaving Mr. Evans moaning on the floor, Cedric climbed to his feet, stumbling as he rose. He staggered over to one of the broken rafters, which obscured the chained cannonball Alana had dropped when Mr. Evans attacked her.
With a groan, Cedric bent over, collected the cuff, and turned, dragging the cannonball behind him as he slogged toward Mr. Evans, each step agony. He didn’t look forward to the pain that would accompany his leapt into the ocean. However, the alternative was death… and never seeing Alana again.
When he reached Mr. Evans, Cedric knelt by the man’s leg and glanced at him as he continued to moan through the bloodied mess that used to be his face.
“I told you the rules when you first joined my crew,” Cedric said, his voice cold.
Wrapping his fingers around Mr. Evans’ leg, Cedric jerked his leg toward him and clasped the cold metal cuff around Mr. Evans’ ankle.
“I can’t fathom a punishment great enough for what you’ve done. However, this should suffice. Consider it a gift from Mrs. Dubois, Captain Taylor, and myself.” He patted the cannonball. “If you climb through the window, you’ll drown. If you stay on the ship, you’ll burn. You choose.”
Cedric rose and limped to what remained of the armoire. He leaned into the space and grabbed the cleanest shirt he could find, then hobbled to the window.
As he ripped the shirt into strips, he stared out at the ocean, methodically tearing the pieces and tying them end-to-end until he created a bandage that he wrapped around his torso, covering the knife wound in his side.
Dropping his gaze, he studied the water eddying around the damaged rudder. He needed to jump as far away from the ship as possible.
Inhaling a slow breath, Cedric grasped the upper portion of the window and ducked his head under the glass.
“Wait!”
The faint sound barely reached him. He froze, wondering if he’d actually heard the word or imagined it.
“Please.”
Cedric pulled his head back into the cabin and looked around the room, his gaze landing on Mr. Evans, who hadn’t moved from his supine position on the floor.
“What do you want, Mr. Evans?”
“I want to trade.” Mr. Evans coughed, spraying a fine mist of blood into the air, which rained back down on his face.
“I’m listening.”
“The sack of gold for the key to the cuff.” His voice cracked with the effort of speaking,
“You’ll return the gold you stole from me?” Cedric stroked his chin. “I could just take it.”
“True, but you always give prisoners a chance, do you not?”
It was Mr. Evans who’d seen Cedric release the longboat after he forced the ladies to jump from the Crescent Rose!
“I will accept the exchange,” Cedric said after a long minute of silence. “Toss the sack of gold over to me, and I’ll do the same with the key.”
Mr. Evans struggled to untie the gold from his waist, his bloody fingers slipping the rope. He managed to succeed in the task after several attempts, then chucked the bag in Cedric’s direction.
The sack opened when it landed and scattered gold coins across the floor, catching the mid-morning sunlight. Kneeling, Cedric collected the pieces, dropped them into the bag, tied the sack again, and attached it to his waist. Then he stood, walked to the desk, and pulled out the top drawer.
He rummaged around and after another minute, extracted a small silver key, which he held up. “Your freedom, Mr. Evans.”
