Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(26)

What could be the harm in getting to know Anne a little

better? An acquaintance with her could prove useful if he hoped

to help his father catch the thief in the house.

Closing his eyes, he began to doze off again, his thoughts

turning once more to the sea and the mysterious maid under

his father’s roof.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” he said, his heartbeat accelerating.

The door opened a moment later. Rolling over, Teach saw

Mary coming toward him, a bowl of steaming broth on a tray.

He frowned. “Where’s Anne?”

Mary gave him a strained smile. “She’s cleaning out the fireplaces in the guest rooms, sir,” she said. “I brought you a little something for your sickness.”

“Why can’t you clean out the fireplaces?”

Mary’s smile faltered. “I just thought that since Anne brought

you breakfast, I’d give her a hand and bring you your dinner.”

“You thought wrong. I made my instructions clear. Anne is

the only one to bring me my food,” Teach continued. His justi—

fication for the demand was that she had already been exposed

to him. He didn’t want to risk anyone else getting sick.

“But don’t you want—”

“I want you to leave. From now on Anne is the only one to

wait on me. You may go.”





9 2


Mary still hesitated, clearly unwilling to give up so easily. She moistened her lips and glanced back at the door. He watched her through narrowed eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?” she

asked, her voice full of innuendo, as she placed the tray on his bedside table.

Teach’s head pounded. “Absolutely sure. Now I suggest you

leave. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to tell your beau, John, about

your cheating ways.”

Mary blinked in surprise at the rebuff. “I don’t know what

you’re talking about,” she said, holding her hand up to her generous bosom.

Teach took a deep breath, wishing, not for the first time,

that he were still at sea. “Yes, you do. When William and I

came back the day before yesterday from our morning ride,

you and the groom were . . . how shall I say it? Otherwise

engaged. If I catch you doing that again, I will have no choice

but to let my friend John know exactly what kind of girl he

plans to marry.”

“I . . . Tom, he . . . he helped me . . . because I fell . . .”

Teach watched, unimpressed, as Mary tried to defend herself. She was clearly not quick-witted. “It appears you both fell,”

he said.

Scowling, Mary stomped toward the door, muttering something beneath her breath about seeking a different position elsewhere.





9 3


“Tell Anne to come here,” he commanded before she closed the door with a loud bang.

Teach sighed, hoping Mary would make good on her threat

and leave. He wouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to be the

crook. The less he knew about her exploits, the better. When

he’d met John last year on the merchant ship, they had become

close friends. John had mentioned that his girl was seeking a

situation within a respectable household.

Unfortunately, there was nothing respectable about Mary,

and Teach now regretted having asked his father to give her a

job. Even if he hadn’t been engaged to Patience, Teach would

never have considered Mary as a prospect. She was too eager.

Teach liked a challenge.

He remembered fondly his first few attempts at wooing

Patience. She’d played hard to get in the beginning, but he knew she’d enjoyed the attention. If there was one thing Patience loved, it was being the center of attention.

A knock at the door brought him back to the present.

“Come in,” he said.

Anne poked her head in, a wary look on her face. The girl

was constantly on edge. He had the distinct impression that it

took her a while to trust someone.





She stepped inside, rubbing her hands down her apron. It

was covered with gray ash, and several strands of hair had crept out of her cap.

Teach’s hand itched to touch them. She reminded him of





9 4


an exotic flower growing on the islands of the West Indies and seemed out of place in this cold, sterile environment.

“Sir?” she said.

His eyes met hers. Teach was aware how he must look, with

his jaw covered with stubble, his face flushed. Everything was

as she’d left it a few hours earlier, with the exception of one

window being open, allowing a cool breeze to drift through the

room. The chicken broth steamed in the bowl, filling the air

with its scent. “You’re late,” he said, his voice rough.

She pointed to the tray at his side. “You have your soup,”

she said.

“Yes, but you are the only one I wish to bring me my meals.