Page 142 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“I need to see him,” Alana replied with a shudder.
She lifted her face, staring into Cedric’s eyes, urging him to understand.
“If you think it will help,” he replied, then glanced at Wallace and nodded once.
Wallace seemed reluctant to concede but had no reason to decline, so he led them around the corner where several officers clustered around a blanket spread out on the deck. As they moved aside, the outline of a man’s body took shape.
Leaning down, Wallace grabbed hold of the edge of the blanket. He looked at the officers, then at Cedric, and finally at Alana. He whipped the side up, revealing the scorched face of Mr. Evans.
Alana screamed. Spinning her around, Cedric crushed her to his chest. She trembled, shaking so badly, she could barely feel Cedric’s arms around her.
“It’s him,” Cedric said over her head. “That’s Captain Shaw.”
“Thank you for your assistance.” A flutter followed Wallace’s words, indicating he’d dropped the blanket. “As the sole surviving passengers—”
“No one else lived?” Cedric interrupted, shock in his voice.
Wallace shook his head and continued speaking in his cold manner. “The reward for the capture of Captain Shaw will be presented to you when we dock in Boston. Mrs. Parker has stated she wants no part of the money.”
“My husband handles our finances,” Alana said, faintly waving her hand.
“I realize this must have been quite a horrific ordeal for you,” Wallace replied, offering her a modicum of sympathy. “However, you needn’t fear this man. He will never harm you again.”
Alana lifted her head from Cedric’s chest and turned toward Wallace.
“How do we thank you?”
“Name a child after me.” He shrugged and flashed a rare smile.
“The very first one.” Cedric clapped him on the shoulder.
As soon as they returned to their cabin, the doctor appeared at the door. He treated Cedric first, taking his time stitching up the knife wound before moving to the bullet wound.
“No bullet?” the doctor asked.
“I dug it out,” Alana said, thumbing to herself.
Sitting on the bed, her legs dangling off the side, she watched the man fuss over Cedric’s injuries and found the whole sight comical. Cedric looked like a petulant child being scolded for scraping his knees climbing a tree.
Before the doctor could turn his methodical attention to Alana, Cedric stopped him with a hard glare.
“My wife will not be removing her clothes in your presence.”
“He’s a doctor.”
“He’s a sailor,” Cedric countered in a tone that meant he had no intention of allowing her to argue. “I will apply the necessary bandages.”
“As you wish,” the doctor replied, indicating a tray that he’d brought into the cabin. “Everything you need is there.”
“Tha—” Cedric closed the door before Alana could finish. She frowned, confused by his urgency. “Are you in a rush to treat my injuries?”
“I am. Trousers off.”
“Always so controlling,” she murmured, sliding off her pants and flinging them at him.
He caught the ball of cloth, plucking it out of the air, and offered her a placating smile, draping the trousers over the back of a chair. After collecting the tray, he walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and set the tray down beside him.
“Where are your injuries?”
