Page 38 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Pardon?” Cedric cupped his hand around his ear.
“No!” He pushed himself into a sitting position.
“Your skills aren’t necessary this evening.” Cedric’s gaze returned to Mr. Hayward. “As Dubois will be occupied, send my dinner with Wickes.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Saluting, Mr. Hayward spun stiffly, marching to the door. He paused, his hand wrapping around the door handle, his body vibrating with indecision. “Should I send anything for Dubois?”
“Concerned for another man’s welfare?”
“Even a dog deserves a meal,” Mr. Hayward replied, speaking to the door.
Cedric snorted, his gaze sliding to Mr. Dubois, raking over his unblemished skin and soft hands. He supposed he shouldn’t let the man starve.
“The dog can have my scraps.”
Mr. Hayward opened the door and exited.
Cedric jerked his head, indicating Mr. Dubois rise and approach him.
Climbing to his feet, Mr. Dubois winced and sank his teeth into his lip to prevent a moan from escaping. He leaned over slowly and collected the box and needle, which he placed inside the box, next to a spool of thread. Taking a deep breath, he straightened, rolling back his shoulders, then crossed the room.
Resting his arm on the chair, Cedric pointed to the floor, and Mr. Dubois knelt as Cedric lifted the bottle to his mouth.
“I need that,” Mr. Dubois said, reaching for the bottle, his fingers closing around the base.
“I thought my alcohol was too strong for you.”
“It is. However, I have no intention of doing this sober.”
“You surprise me, Dubois,” Cedric said as he released the bottle.
“I surprise many people.”
Tipping the bottle, Mr. Dubois swallowed a mouthful of the strong liquor and coughed, his eyes watering. Rubbing his hand over Cedric’s arm, he stretched out the skin, then poured the liquid over the wound.
Cedric twisted away with a hiss, his teeth grinding together.
“That was necessary.” Mr. Dubois flicked his nervous gaze to Cedric’s face.
“I know.” Cedric hissed again as the man poured more liquor over his wound. “Must you waste it?”
“I’m not wastingit.” Mr. Dubois paused, and took another drink, swallowing this one without choking. “I’m cleaning your wound.”
Cedric grabbed the bottle with a snarl. “For a man who isn’t used to strong drink, you certainly developed a taste for alcohol in the past few minutes.”
Mr. Dubois shrugged, visually emboldened by the liquor. “What is it?”
“Whiskey. It comes from a distillery I own.” He took a long drink, enjoying the light cherry flavor that chased the burn down his throat.
“You make this?” Mr. Dubois rose on his knees and held out his hand. Cedric returned the bottle with a grin. “Then why do you…”
He gestured around the room and took another drink, not quite as large as Cedric’s, but enough to inebriate an inexperienced man.
“Plunder?”
Cedric held out his hand, expecting the bottle to be returned, but Mr. Dubois shook his head, and lifted the bottle to his lips again.
