Page 84 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Miss Appleton is aware of your occupation.”
Mr. Hayward raised his eyebrows, indicating Mrs. Dubois was also aware that Cedric worked in the same profession.
“It doesn’t bother Miss Appleton,” Cedric retorted. “It bothers Alana.”
“Alana?” Glee exploded on Mr. Hayward’s face. “That’s a beautiful name.”
“Shut your mouth.”
Mr. Hayward was silent for one whole minute.
“Did you inform her that you’re retiring?”
“I did.”
“Then, there’s no issue.”
“There’s one issue.” Cedric grimaced, glancing at the reflection of the moon shining off the water, absently twisting his pinkie ring. “Charles Ashmore was her brother’s close friend.”
“The first man you killed?” Mr. Hayward’s gaze dropped to Cedric’s hand.
“The very same.”
“That’s quite a difficulty.” Mr. Hayward’s face pulled into a frown. “I understand your reluctance to let her go. However, wouldn’t you prefer to know?”
“She won’t stay with me.”
“Then, you already have your answer.” Mr. Hayward clapped his hand on Cedric’s shoulder and leapt from the boat, splashing into the thigh-high water.
Placing his hands on the rear of the boat, he shoved as Northcott pulled. They dragged the boat ashore, stopping when the bow dug into the beach’s soft sand.
Cedric climbed from the boat, waded through the waves, and stopped beside the first row of women, holding out his arm.
“Ladies, your stay with us has ended. If you would follow Mr. Hayward up the beach, we’ll reunite you with your families in a few minutes.”
It always shocked him at how aggressively these dainty, delicate women would clammer over each other to jump from the boat.
A woman with light-brown hair grabbed the lady in front of her and flung her toward Cedric as she leapt off the bench. She didn’t look back as she crashed through the waves and darted up the sand.
Mr. Northcott stayed with the longboat, setting the oars inside before he shoved a stake into the beach, anchoring the skiff ashore.
The hostage exchange was scheduled to occur at a local inn, where the hostages’ families were residing, but Cedric, not trusting the arrangement, led the group to a nearby tavern, ushering them toward the rear of the dim establishment.
“Miller, with me,” he said, leaving the ladies with Mr. Hayward.
Cedric and Mr. Miller crept to the inn, hugging the shadows, and peered inside the windows. Muttering aloud, Cedric’s gaze slid across the patrons as he counted them.
“Too many people,” he said, his eyes flicking to Miller, who nodded in agreement.
“What do you want to do, Captain?”
Cedric studied the faces, then pointed at an older man with thinning brown hair nursing a tankard. “That one. He’s here for the brunette. They look similar to each other. Send him out.”
Mr. Miller slunk around to the rear of the inn and entered through a back door. His black hair visible as he wound through the room, he moved unobtrusively around the patrons. When he reached the older man, he clasped the man on the shoulder, leaned down, and muttered in his ear.
The man glanced up, his face paling, then nodded. Standing, he set his tankard down and walked with forced casualty toward the front door.
Turning, Mr. Miller melted into the crowd and vanished. A moment later, he reappeared beside Cedric.
