Page 8 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“If you wish to give accolades to someone for nearly taking the life of the infamous Pirate Shaw, then credit the ship’s aft railing, not the blackguard who lit the cannon’s fuse.”
Rowland’s observation rankled him. He hadn’t expected the crew to abandon the ship when they reached port, but this latest incident with the Navy frightened many of them. He was left with a handful of men still willing to sail with him.
That was the second reason he’d come to Rowland. He needed his former captain’s assistance with recruiting.
“A few centimeters to the left, and you wouldn’t be seated in front of me.” Rowland gestured at the wood fragment his wife had removed from Cedric’s shoulder.
“If it had been to the right, I’d be staying at the tavern.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Rowland snarled, leaning forward, his eyes darkening to umber. “And stop pretending this injury wasn’t an indication that you’ve grown reckless. If you continue on this path, you’ll hang long before you return to England, then how will you help your sister?”
Sighing, Cedric leaned back and dragged a hand through his hair, loosening the long strands from the leather fastening securing them at the base of his neck.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, toying with the weathered tie.
“What does Hayward say?” asked Rowland, his voice adopting a nonchalant tone.
“Same as you. I’m a fool chasing glory.”
“I didn’t call you a fool. I cautioned your behavior.”
“He did as well, but his words weren’t as pretty.”
“I doubt they were.” Rowland chuckled and filled a second glass half-full of whiskey.
Mr. Hayward had served under both men, beginning as second mate under Rowland, then being promoted to first mate when Cedric assumed captaincy. Apart from Rowland, Mr. Hayward was the only man Cedric trusted, a sentiment confirmed numerous times since he’d assumed control of the ship.
If he hadn’t been standing beside Mr. Hayward when the cannonball struck the railing, Cedric would have bled out on the deck long before they reached Ceresus, but he had no intention of revealing that piece of information to Rowland.
“Are you going to tell me the true reason you’ve descended upon my house? Whiskey and conversation may be a gentleman’s activity, but that isn’t why you’ve come.” Rowland’s eyes flicked to the bandage around Cedric’s shoulder. “That injury could’ve been repaired by a doctor.”
“I’d match your wife’s skill against any man in this town who claims to be a ‘doctor.’”
“Thank you, Captain Shaw,” Mrs. Taylor said, adding a quick curtsey as she entered the room, carrying two pistols.
Cedric frowned, shifting into a defensive position as she approached the table. His eyes flicked to Rowland.
“Are we dueling?”
“The weapons belonged to Mr. Harris Cheswick,” he replied as Mrs. Taylor set them in front of him with a thud. “Do you remember the man?”
“I do,” Cedric replied, his throat tight.
They’d robbed Cheswick and rescued Mrs. Taylor from an arranged marriage to the brute, then sailed for Ceresus less than a week later. That was the last time any of them had walked on English soil.
Mrs. Taylor fixed her mesmeric gaze on Cedric. “There are far too few women on this island, and, with the exception of Miss Appleton, I care for none of them, and I miss my home.”
Rowland took her hand. “We’ve learned Cheswick purchased a ticket for Boston. His ship left port yesterday. He’s the only person who could recognize either of us, but with him gone…” his voice trailed off, replaced by a dark smile.
“Rowland swore we could return to England,” Mrs. Taylor said.
“I did swear,” he murmured, glancing up at her.
“A lot,” she replied, giggling as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap.
“Any person discovered with these pistols will be charged with theft and hung,” Rowland said, his gaze returning to Cedric. “We ask that you hide them on the ship.”
“Hung?” Cedric reached out and picked up the nearest gun. “That seems like a harsh penalty.”
