Page 59 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Are you attacking another ship?” She shoved a hunk of the bread in her mouth, barely chewing before she swallowed.
“We’re sending out the ransom letters at the next port.” He handed her the bottle. “Once the hostages have been exchanged, we’ll sail to Ceresus.”
“Then you’ll release me?” She took another—much smaller—sip of whiskey.
“Are you not enjoying your service aboard my ship?”
He had to be teasing.
“I have other plans in life, Captain Shaw, and you, yourself, admitted this life is not conducive to developing an attachment.”
“Ah, yes. Marriage. Your true aim.” He reclaimed the bottle, drinking a quarter of its contents in one gulp. “If you survive another few weeks, yes, you’ll be released in Ceresus.”
“Few weeks?” She frowned.
“However long it takes the hostages to be claimed. There are eight women aboard this ship, Dubois, they all have homes, families who will pay for their safe return.”
Actually, there were nine women aboard, but he didn’t need to know that.
A knock echoed in the cabin.
“Enter!” Captain Shaw yelled, setting down the bottle.
Mr. Hayward’s scarred face peeked around the door. If he was surprised to find Captain Shaw seated at the table with Alana, he didn’t show it. After closing the door, he strode over and cleared his throat.
“Captain, the longboat is ready to go ashore. Do you have the letters?”
Nodding, Captain Shaw stood and walked to his desk. On the corner was a stack of folded papers, each one bearing a red seal. He lifted them and thumbed through them, silently counting the missives.
“Make sure all nine are delivered.”
He passed them to Mr. Hayward, who spun and exited without acknowledging Alana.
“Nine?” She twisted around, glaring at Captain Shaw. “You said there were eight hostages.”
“That I did.”
“Why are there nine letters?” She stood and hobbled over to him, weighted down by the heavy cannonball.
“Because I wrote nine letters.”
“Is one of them for my family?”
He didn’t reply, dragging out the silence. “No.”
“Thank you.” She exhaled a deep sigh.
“Don’t thank me,” he replied, his voice vibrating with anger. “The only reason no letter was sent was I don’t know how to find your family and neither did any other man aboard this ship. You sound like an Englishman, but your last name isn’t.”
“How peculiar,” she replied, clasping her hands together in front of her waist and rocking back on her heels.
“You’re not going to explain it, are you?”
She shook her head.
“I can think of two ways to extract the truth from you.” Captain Shaw rounded the desk, stopping less than an inch from her face.
Alana gulped. “Are they painful?”
