Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(18)

“Let me see your hand.”

She held it behind her back. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not. That water was hot enough to boil an egg. Now,

show me your hand.”

With obvious reluctance she held it out to him. The skin

was an angry red in one spot, and small blisters were already

forming. He dragged her several steps to a small sideboard.

Atop was a large vase with several red roses resting inside. He

threw the roses down. “Is it fresh?” he asked her.

Anne nodded. “Yes, from this morning.”

“Good,” Teach said, and stuck her hand into the water. He

had seen quite a few burns in the last year. Working on the ship, several sailors had had to take turns manning the kitchen. More than one had left the encounter scarred for life.

For some reason Teach felt responsible for her injury. If he

hadn’t pressed his father about captaining the ship, he wouldn’t have become so upset. “I’m sorry my father startled you.”

Anne glanced down at her feet. “He meant you, didn’t he?

About not stepping foot on board the Deliverance?”

It was a strange question to ask, for a maid would never be

banned from a ship. More than likely, she would never set foot

on one in the first place, unless she was accompanying a lady.

“Of course he meant me.” Teach couldn’t help the bitterness

that crept into his voice.

The look she gave him could be described only as pity. “And

yet you’re his only son,” she said, almost to herself. Shaking her 6 2

head, she withdrew her hand, and then cupped it inside her apron so as not to drip water across the floor. “I . . . I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

Teach watched her dart away. Only after she was gone did

he realize he had yet to put her in her place. It would have been the perfect opportunity, for the two of them had been alone.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t as keen on it as he had been

before. He had a disconcerting feeling that despite their short

acquaintance, Anne, the maid, understood him better than

Miss Patience, the baron’s daughter, ever would.





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C H A P T E R 7

Anne

The next morning Anne stood in the kitchen, kneading the

dough for breakfast scones, her arms covered in flour. She was

not usually one to make a mess while she cooked, but the kitchen appeared as if the flour bag had exploded. She continued to pound the table and form the round shapes.

The rest of the house was quiet. Neither the masters nor

their guests were awake, and she was grateful for the reprieve.

The burn on her hand was no longer painful. Anne had

been so shocked yesterday, thinking Master Drummond had

meant her when he’d actually meant his son wasn’t to step foot on one of his ships.

She’d stood between the two of them and thought Master

Drummond had figured out her plans to get aboard.

Thankfully for her, that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately for

Teach, Master Drummond controlled him, like everyone else





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under his roof. And Teach appeared just as helpless to do anything about it.

To be banned from his father’s own ship, she couldn’t imagine what that must feel like. Nor did she want to.

It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for him.

Still, Teach had a roof over his head. He would always have

plenty of money to spend and food to eat. And he would soon

be married to the daughter of a baron.

From what Anne had seen of Miss Patience, she wished

Teach luck. He would certainly need it.

Throughout the evening meal the previous day, Miss

Patience had taken every opportunity to make Anne look like

a fool or drop things. Several times she had even attempted to

send Anne sprawling.

Margery eventually took pity on Anne and had Mary serve

Miss Patience the cold meats and cheeses instead.

Teach sat on the opposite side of the table, and Anne was

unsure which situation was worse. He’d guessed correctly that

she had placed something in the tartlet, although he would

have a hard time proving it. Anne had thrown out the seeds as

soon as she’d returned to the kitchen, and had vowed not to try

anything so foolish again.

The rooster in the yard crowed, signaling sunrise. Sara

walked into the kitchen and regarded Anne for a moment. “Do

you need some help?” she asked.

Anne stopped to catch her breath, blowing a thick strand of





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hair out of her face. “Thank you, I would appreciate it.”

Sara nodded and grabbed a rag, then cleared the eggshells

and excess flour from the table. At least one good thing had come out of Anne helping serve the meals. Sara was kinder to her now than she had been in the past few months. Unsure how long Sara’s behavior would last, Anne was grateful to her for the moment.

While Sara finished cleaning, Anne baked the scones, and

their hot buttery scent filled the air. Once they were ready, she covered them with a cloth. After pulling out the scraps of cold meat from the previous night’s meal, as well as a carrot, she