Page 54 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“A cat,” Cedric replied and smacked Mr. Dubois’ hand away. “Mr. Hayward hates mice.”
That was a partial truth since Mr. Hayward did indeed own a cat for that very reason, but Cedric suspected the origin of the sound was Mrs. Parker, who seemed to have trouble navigating her duties while chained to a cannonball.
“Sit.” Cedric pointed at one of the chairs near the table.
Mr. Dubois complied, his face stretching from curious to horrified when Cedric knelt and clamped the cannonball cuff around Mr. Dubois’ raw ankle.
“Why?” he whispered. “I did everything you asked.”
“I know,” Cedric replied and rose, then walked to his desk. As he sat in his chair, a sharp knock rapped on his door.
“Enter.”
Mr. Wickes opened the door holding a tray. “Some food for you, Captain.”
“Take it.”
Hesitation appeared on Mr. Wickes’ face, and his confused gaze shifted between Cedric and Mr. Dubois.
“Dubois, I gave you a command.”
Shooting a glare at Cedric, Mr. Dubois stood, placed his bare foot on the cannonball, and kicked the iron sphere toward the door, hopping after the ball as it rolled.
Mr. Wickes made no comment, his face expressionless as Mr. Dubois hobbled toward him. Once Mr. Dubois took possession of the tray, Mr. Wickes closed the door and left.
“Drop anything and I’ll beat you unconscious.” Folding his hands together, Cedric touched the tips of his pointer fingers to his mouth.
“Do you enjoy being cruel?” Mr. Dubois tightened his grip on the tray, then kicked the cannonball at the desk, wincing as the cuff dug into his ankle.
“Yes.” He waited until Mr. Dubois was standing in front of him before adding, “Put that on the table.”
“As you wish,” he ground out.
Turning, he sent the cannonball rolling toward the table. Blood dripped down his ankle, creating a small trail of crimson dots on the floor. As soon as the tray touched the table, Cedric cleared his throat.
“I’ve changed my mind. Bring the tray to me.”
Cedric intended to force Mr. Dubois to walk back and forth until he agreed to the ransom, thinking Mr. Dubois would give in once his ankle began significantly bleeding. He didn’t, and the path of blood between the table and desk darkened, glistening in the afternoon sunlight.
“Stop. Leave the tray there.”
Nodding, Mr. Dubois released the tray, leaving it balanced precariously on the edge of the desk, then stepped back, his eyes rolling in his head, and fell forward, crashing into the tray, which soared into the air, flinging food across the desk.
Collapsing, he curled into a tiny ball, his arms wrapping around his head.
“Kill me quickly,” he whispered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALANA
“Why are you so stubborn?” Captain Shaw knelt beside her, wrapped his fingers through her short hair, and lifted her head from the floor.
“My brothers would like to know the same thing,” Alana replied, swallowing a groan as she stared into his cold, brown eyes.
“My cabin is disgusting,” he said and released her head, flinging her away. “Clean the floor.”
“I can’t.” She gestured to the cuff. “I need to stop the bleeding, or I’ll just have to keep starting over.”
