Page 6 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Glancing down at her trunk, Alana blushed. “Does that mean you’d like me to return the ones I took the last time I visited?”
Patrick laughed, the deep booming sound reverberating through Alana’s bones.
She would miss that.
“Keep them. Give them back to me when you return from America.”
Unlatching her trunk, Alana lifted the lid, dropped the sack of clothes on top, then closed and relocked the trunk. Hanging the key from a chain around her neck, she stood, then rethreaded her arm through her father’s and walked toward the docks.
“I shall write to you every week, Da.”
“Noreen had a terrible dream.” Grabbing her wrist, her father squeezed tightly and stopped their progress.
Sighing, Alana glanced over at Aidan, catching his eye. He frowned, shaking his head, then set her trunk end-up next to the quartermaster and turned to speak with the man regarding Alana’s accommodations.
“What did she say, Da?” Alana struggled to prevent her reply from revealing the frustration that spiked when he slipped into the fantasy that her mother was still alive.
“Don’t go to America.” The hand holding her arm shook fiercely. “She’s worried for you.”
“I promise I’ll be safe.” Alana leaned forward, embracing him, and placed a light kiss on her forehead.
“What about sharks?” her father asked, refusing to release her.
“I don’t plan to go swimming.”
“Storms?”
“At least there will be no sharks.” Alana smiled and peeled his fingers from her arm. Turning around, she hugged Patrick and Aidan simultaneously.
“Pirates?” Her father’s fear surrounded them, sending a shiver rippling down her spine.
Patrick released Alana and gave her a gentle shove toward the ramp, then clapped his father on the back.
“The pirates should be terrified of her.”
The three men waited on the dock as she trudged up the gangplank. When she reached the top, she spun around and offered them a small wave before vanishing into the ship’s depths.
She never reached America.
CHAPTER TWO
CEDRIC
“Thirty thousand for your capture.” Rowland tossed a crumpled news sheet at the table. The paper landed on top of a small bowl of bloody bandages. “Are you satisfied?”
Cedric glanced over, wincing as Rowland’s wife dug a long splinter from his shoulder.
To be fair, ‘splinter’ was an incorrect description of the object protruding from his arm, but ‘spear’ seemed far more dramatic than the injury appeared, despite the somber expression on Mrs. Taylor’s face.
“No.” Cedric chewed on the word. “I want fifty. I can’t convince them I’m a gentleman with less than that.”
“You can’t convince anyone if you’re dead.” Rowland pulled out the chair beside Cedric, spun it around, and straddled the seat, leaning his tanned forearms against the chair’s top rung. “Their ships are getting faster. I’ve heard talk in the tavern.”
“I heard the same rumors.” Cedric restrained from rolling his eyes, hissing as Mrs. Taylor’s sewing needle pierced his skin again.
“Don’t dismiss me.” Rowland’s hand whipped out and closed around Cedric’s wrist, pinning Cedric’s arm to the table. “I may not be your captain anymore, but I will still whip you for insolence.”
“Yes, sir.” Cedric ducked his head, hiding a grin.
