An Imperfect Scoundrel, page 1
AN IMPERFECT SCOUNDREL
WILTSHIRE CHRONICLES, #4
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR ALYSSA DRAKE
COPYRIGHT
An Imperfect Scoundrel © copyright 2023 Alyssa Drake
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
This book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for adults as defined by the laws of the country where the purchase was made.
For more information on Alyssa, please visit her website Alyssa Drake Novels or sign up for her newsletter, Love Notes, delivered directly to your inbox.
Summary: Falling in love with a pirate wasn't part of her plan, especially one as ruthless as Captain Shaw.
Cover design by Tina Adams
Editing by Personal Touch Editing
www.alyssadrakenovels.com
WARNING
This is not a clean romance. Please remember that this is strictly a work of fiction for your reading pleasure only. I do not condone any situations or actions that take place between these characters. While I have a strong moral sense, many of these characters do not, because, well, they’re pirates. This is an adult, historical romance, not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen.
If you don’t have any triggers, feel free to skip to Chapter One and begin your high-seas adventure. If you do have triggers, please read the below before continuing your journey.
The following triggers appear in An Imperfect Scoundrel:
Graphic violence, torture, murder, alcoholism, attempted SA
You have been warned. There be rough waters ahead…
CONTENTS
Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
About the Author
Mistletoe Hopes
CHAPTER ONE
ALANA
“We’ve abandoned them.” Alana flung her hands in the air, nearly hitting the top of the coach, her stomach twisting into knots.
She’d told Mr. Thomas Reid that very afternoon that she was sailing for America. He’d seemed unsurprised by her announcement, and a small part of her suspected he approved of her brother’s insistence on sending her as far away from Wiltshire, and the murders, as possible.
“They’re our cousins, Aidan.” Alana glowered at her brother. “They could die.”
“They will survive without our assistance for a few hours while I convey you to the docks and meet with Patrick.” Aidan’s tight voice belied his sentiment, his eyes glowing fiercely in the dim cabin. “Both Samantha and Edward know how to use a pistol, and Benjamin and Thomas are with them.”
“What about Da?” Alana’s gaze flicked to her left.
The white-haired man scrunched in the corner snored lightly, his head drooping on his chest. He shifted, mumbling in his sleep, his thick brogue coating the small coach, then fell silent.
“Are you suggesting I should have left him alone on the estate with the knowledge there is a killer threatening our family?” Aidan arched his eyebrows, his hand curling around the rifle stretched across his lap, the same one he’d extracted from their father before shoving him into the coach. “He would have shot any person who wandered onto our property, friend or enemy.”
She pursed her lips, a growl of frustration emanating from her throat. Leaning forward, she hissed, “I meant about sending me to America.”
“You agreed.” Aidan shrugged, unperturbed by her attempt at intimidation.
“You tricked me!”
A smirk crossed his face—acknowledgment of her accusation.
“I’m quite capable of caring for Da while assisting our cousins in capturing that vile man who murdered our uncle. You—”
“If you say, ‘I’m a woman,’ I will strike you.”
Another smirk.
“Actually, I was going to say you’re a woman.”
She flew off the bench, a ball of anger and irritation, and swiped at his face.
Aidan captured her arms and forced her down next to him. Collecting both her wrists in one hand, he placed a finger over her mouth, his eyes flicking to their father. She snapped her teeth, nearly biting his fingertip.
“How do you think your death would affect Da?” He grimaced, releasing her.
The hand raised to smack his face, paused, her brother’s melancholy question floating around her. She stared into his blue eyes, a mirror of her own, then slowly lowered her arm.
“That’s unfair.”
“With you safe in America, we can focus on the task of capturing Uncle Hastings’ assailant.” Aidan reached over, placing his hand on top of hers, and squeezed. “Once he’s arrested, you can return. Perhaps you’ll meet someone on your trip.”
“Matchmaking?” Alana narrowed her eyes. “You hardly seem the type to meddle.”
“Something to occupy my time.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Pray tell, who did you have in mind for me?”
Stroking his dark beard, Aidan dragged out the silence.
“To be honest, there’s not one man in Wiltshire I’d subject to your fiery temperament.”
She punched him in the shoulder and moved to the opposite bench, folding her arms across her chest.
“When are you going to tell Da about sending me to America… after the year has passed?”
“I’m not banishing you forever.” Rolling his eyes, Aidan rubbed his arm. “I swear to send for you as soon as possible.”
Her mouth crooked. She’d hit him harder than he expected.
“And you?” she pressed. “What plans have you for your own happiness?”
He paled, a brief flash of terror washing over his face.
“I have no plans.”
“It seems only fair, dear brother, if I’m subjected to the marriage mart a second time, you must experience it at least once.”
“I’ve been dealing with meddling mamas for the whole of my adult life,” he grumbled, one hand tightening around the barrel of the rifle.
“Are you not tired of being pursued by females?”
“No proper lady wants an Irish husband caring for an addled father, no matter how much property he owns.” Aidan snorted, leveling his gaze on her. There was bitterness in his reply, as if he’d hoped, just once, someone would look past their family lineage and see him.
She understood his pain, she and Patrick having been scorned due to their family connections. Neither of them dealt with the rejections well. Alana left for France, and Patrick for the coast and the solitary life of a lighthouse keeper.
They’d both deserted Aidan.
Guilt flared in her chest. She reached out, laying her hand atop his.
“When I return from America, I will find you a suitable wife.”
Swallowing, his skin was almost translucent. “I have no need of your assistance.”
“I think you do.” She smirked, watching him tug at his collar, squirming like one of the worms Mr. Reid loved to use for fishing. “First, we will find a custodian for Da, then we will find you a wife.”
“What of Patrick? He’s the eldest.”
“Patrick is against marriage.” Alana waved her hand, dismissing the notion.
In truth, Patrick was against all forms of social interaction. The eldest Flannery refused to leave the lighthouse, only returning to Wiltshire once for his mother’s funeral, his demeanor withdrawn and haunted. She’d visited him at the coast on several occasions, staying at a nearby tavern, but she’d never been able to convince her brother to return to his childhood home.
“I am, too,” Aidan grumbled, his mouth folding into a thin line. “You’re the girl. Marriage is expected of you.”
“I was married. He died.” She hiccupped, swallowing the sob that seemed to hover in her throat whenever she mentioned Sebastian. Twisting away toward the window, she wiped the moisture that gathered on her cheeks.
“Thus, we start over.” He nudged her foot with his boot, drawing her attention back to his face. “And it
Alana tapped her gloved fingers together as she studied her brother, her eyes narrowing. He only made this suggestion because he believed her resigned to her station as a widow.
“I have a proposal for you,” she said after several minutes of silence.
“Do continue.” He folded his hands, setting them on top of the rifle, and offered her a patronizing smile.
“After I’ve secured a husband for myself—do not laugh, dear brother, I have turned down several proposals since Sebastian’s death—you will allow me to match you with a suitable woman.”
“What of Patrick? Are you going to leave him to his solitude?”
“Certainly not.” Alana laughed at Aidan’s petulant expression. “However, I will need your support for that particular undertaking, and it would be much easier with your wife’s assistance.” She leaned forward and stretched out her arm. “Do we have an agreement?”
Aidan’s eyes flicked to her hand. “After the heartache you have suffered, the premature death of your husband, the rejection of your previous fiancé—”
“Thomas and I were not well-suited, and fate saw fit to separate us.” Sliding forward on the bench, she jabbed a finger into Aidan’s chest. “And I will not hear you speak one disparaging word about him.”
“Thomas is one of my dearest friends. It is my right to speak ill of him.” Aidan leaned back against the seat, moving out of her reach, and stared at her for a long moment. “Are you certain you want to take on another husband?”
“It’s been over two years.” She kept her arm stretched out and wiggled her fingers. “I will always love Sebastian, just as I will always love Thomas, but I’m lonely, Aidan. I want someone to talk to. Do you not understand that feeling?”
“I do,” he sighed, his voice heavy with unspoken heartache. Then he whipped his arm up, clasped her hand in his, and pumped once. “We have an accord. However, I don’t recommend informing Patrick of your plans to meddle. He’ll vanish before you finish the word matrimony.”
Snickering, Alana glanced at the window behind her father, and the smile faded from her face. The journey had been much quicker than anticipated. She gulped, retracting her hand.
“Have we arrived already?”
Aidan craned his head, staring out the glass as they passed into the small town. He nodded, looking over at her.
“You seem nervous. You shouldn’t be. You’ve sailed before.”
“Not this far,” Alana whispered, winding her fingers together.
Aidan grabbed her wrist and before she could react, yanked her to his bench. Bumping his forehead against hers, he grinned, keeping his voice low.
“That doesn’t sound like something my sister would say.”
“What would she say?” Alana blinked her eyelids, attempting to clear the tears that threatened to fall.
“She would tell me to worry about myself and stop focusing my attention on her, as she is more than capable of caring for herself.”
“But you do, anyway.”
“Yes, I do.” He embraced her, squeezing tightly. “I shall miss you, dear sister.”
Alana sniffed and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his collar.
“Where are you going, m’girl?” a gruff voice asked. Their father peeled one eye open, the faded blue glaring at them. “You said we were here to meet Patrick.”
“We are,” said Alana, sliding across the aisle. She patted his hand.
“I’m disappointed in you, lying to your father.” Their father sat up, staring at her, his mouth pinched into a thin line. His gaze flicked to Aidan. “You as well.”
Aidan stumbled over his reply. “It’s what is best—”
Their father slammed his fist against the side of the carriage. “I decide what is best for this family. If your mother knew… the treachery, the sneaking around behind my back.” He lunged for the rifle, but Aidan reacted quicker, snatching the barrel out of the older man’s hands.
“Tell him, Aidan,” Alana said, her soft voice interrupting the impending scuffle. “He’ll find out shortly.”
“Tell me what?” The old man’s suspicious gaze shifted between the two of them.
Aidan cleared his throat.
“With the continued threat against the family, we,”—he gestured between Alana and himself—“decided Alana would be safer in America until the killer is captured.”
“We?” Their father arched a bushy white eyebrow, turning his attention to Alana. “Is this really what you want?”
Alana glanced at Aidan, questioning. Aidan tilted his head, but didn’t reply, waiting for her to follow through with their agreed-upon plan. She turned back to her father, holding his gaze, and spoke clearly.
“We,” she said.
Her father’s wrinkled face crumpled, tears leaking from his eyes. “Do you not trust your Da to protect you?”
Alana flung her arms around his neck, squeezing him, and he wept on her shoulder, his frail body shaking. “I do, but…”
Her eyes jumped to Aidan, begging for assistance.
“She has decided to remarry, Da.” Aidan placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “She’ll return with her husband after the danger has passed.”
“Have you?” Releasing Alana, their father extracted a handkerchief and mopped his face. He tucked the cloth carefully back into his pocket before lifting his gaze, the anger in his eyes dying.
“Perhaps you will give us grandchildren this time. Your mother always wanted grandchildren.” He turned toward the window as the coach slowed, murmuring about the town’s lack of greenery, then did not speak again.
When the vehicle stopped, the driver leapt down, opened the door, and offered Alana his hand as she exited the cabin. Aidan followed, turning to help his father step down, but his father slapped his hand away, grumbling he was more than capable of climbing from a coach.
Shaking her head, Alana turned, searching the people traversing the unpaved street for a red shock of Patrick’s hair. Like her and their father, Patrick had inherited the vibrant Flannery characteristic, quite the opposite of Aidan, whose black hair took after their deceased mother. The only shared trait between them was their brilliant blue eyes.
“Patrick!” she yelled.
Waving her hand, Alana jumped up and down when she spied him walking toward them from a tavern at the far end of the road. She ran through the crowd and launched herself at her brother.
His large hands closed around her waist, swinging her in a circle, a smile cracking his lips. Setting her back on her feet, he draped a heavy arm over her shoulders, and leaned his weight on her, his warm brogue encircling her.
“A pleasure to see you again.”
Grunting, Alana shoved him off.
“We brought Da,” she murmured, indicating the coach with a subtle gesture.
“How is he?”
“Better, worse, the same.”
“I see.” Heaving a sack over his shoulder, Patrick lumbered toward the coach, then called out to their father, forced happiness in his tone.
The elder Flannery lifted his head, searching for the familiar sound. When he discovered Patrick pushing his way through the throng, his eyes popped open wide. With a whoop, their father dashed toward them, Aidan trailing after, a sour expression on his face.
Enveloping his father in a bone-crushing embrace, Patrick’s free arm snaked out, and wrapped around Aidan, drawing him in too.
“Hello, little brother.”
“Patrick.” Aidan extracted himself from his brother’s muscular arm. “We have a schedule to keep.”
Patrick glanced at Alana, muttering loudly, “When did he become so proper?”
