Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(15)

stopped in the doorway.

Mary and Anne moved in to clean up the table. Mary was

nearest the door that led from the dining room to the kitchen

and slid out before Anne could stop her. The door swung shut

behind her.

Teach heard Anne curse, clearly annoyed, her arms full of

dishes. She held out her hand for the knob but couldn’t extend

enough to reach it. Teach crossed the floor behind her, reached

over her, and pulled the door open.

Trapped between the door and his body, she froze. He knew

he was using his size to intimidate her, but nothing else seemed to work where she was concerned. She was as bold as a badger and just as fierce. He could feel the heat emanating from her.

Anne swallowed, turning to meet his gaze.

“What did you put in the tartlet?” he demanded.

Her face paled, and her blue eyes flitted to the door on the

other side of the room before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t

know what you mean.”

51

“Don’t lie to me. You put something in Miss Patience’s apple tartlet. I want to know what it was.”

“Margery was the one who baked the tartlets. I suggest you

go ask her,” she said.

“We still have unfinished business to discuss.”

“You should concentrate on Miss Patience,” Anne said.

“Just like fair Eve in Paradise Lost, she is the one searching for knowledge. Not I.”

Teach was surprised that Anne knew the details of the

poem, but he kept his features guarded. “Are you saying you’re

above temptation?”

Relief washed over Anne’s face when she saw something

over Teach’s shoulder. “I’m saying I don’t have to partake of the fruit to understand the difference between good and evil.”

Teach glanced at the room behind him, annoyed when he

saw who it was. The scowl on Patience’s face no doubt matched

his. “This isn’t finished between you and me,” he whispered

through clenched teeth.

As if emboldened by Patience’s presence, Anne scooted

beneath his arm and backed out through the door, her eyes

flashing defiance. “In that case I’ll be sure to keep my pail

handy.”





5 2


C H A P T E R 6

Teach

The sun was warm overhead. Too warm, and Teach felt sick to

his stomach. He leaned against the rough wood of the gardener’s shed, fingering the large red bloom in his hand. He’d never cared much for roses but knew Patience liked them.

He moved impatiently from one foot to the other, wishing

he’d chosen a different spot to rendezvous with his fiancée. The rose garden had been her idea. Not very original, but after two hours of interruptions by both Drummond and Lady Hervey,

he was willing to go just about anywhere to get some time alone

with her.

Twirling the flower in his hands, he wrinkled his nose at

the scent. It was heavy and cloying, so very different from

his mother’s favorite blossom. He remembered how she used

to decorate the house with delicate snowdrops, their light





5 3


perfume filling the rooms. When they bloomed, it was like a blanket of white, signaling the arrival of spring.

After her death five years ago from a prolonged illness, his

father had ripped up that section of the estate, letting the entire staff go. For several months Drummond had lived in seclusion, allowing the house and grounds to deteriorate. Teach had been

off at school at Eton but had come home and managed to talk

his father into rehiring the gardener and acquiring new staff.

He’d pointed out that his mother would have been appalled at

the estate’s condition, and it hadn’t taken long for the neglect to be repaired.

Now there were stone figures standing as sentinels through—

out the gardens, much like the stone wall around Drummond’s

heart.

At length Teach heard Patience’s voice, and he straightened,

anticipation coursing through his veins. It had been too long

since their last tryst. Although he didn’t feel well, he was sure Patience could renew his spirits.

As long as she didn’t say much.

Except she wasn’t alone. Walking beside her was a young

girl, her ear held in a painful grip by a tight-lipped Patience.

“Where is he?” Patience demanded.

“I told you, my grandfather isn’t here,” the girl wailed, leaning her head to the side in an effort to lessen the pain.

Teach took a step forward. “What’s going on?” he asked,

uncomfortable at the sight of Patience using unnecessary force.





5 4


The girl’s ear was bright red, and she had tears in her eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Ruth, sir.”

“Let her go,” he said.

Patience’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”

“Because you’re hurting her.”

“I asked her where her grandfather, the gardener, was,