Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(31)

he’d prolonged his “illness” and she’d incurred the wrath of

Margery as a result, or the fact that she’d enjoyed herself in his company and would most likely do it again if given the choice, despite the fact that he was to wed another.

Alarmed and confused, Anne prepared to flee, but Teach





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reached out and caught her hand, his thumb smoothing the skin. The movement stole the breath from her lungs.

“This has to stop. You can’t keep running away from me,

Anne. I mean you no harm. Truly I don’t. I’ve never met anyone

like you before. You . . . intrigue me.”

Anne withdrew from his touch. “You’ve just spent a year at

sea, encountering untold dangers, and you find me interesting?

I’ve never been anywhere. I’ve never seen anything.” She might

have been inexperienced, but she wasn’t so na?ve as to believe him.

“And that is precisely what is so fascinating. When you

read, your face lights up. Those pages come to life for you, just as they do for me,” Teach said. “Whether you are aware of it or not, you and I are alike, Anne. We feel things differently than

others.”

“That book . . . it’s fascinating. Anyone would feel the same.”

Teach took a step forward, and she immediately retreated,

her legs hitting the bedpost, her eyes meeting his.

“That’s not true. My father has refused to look at it, though

I’ve offered to lend it to him. Patience could not be bothered to open it, much less read it. Not even William truly paid attention at the picnic, which was why he left it lying out in the field.”

“Perhaps they’re otherwise occupied—”

Teach waved his hand. “No one is more occupied than you,

Anne. Not my father. Not Patience, and definitely not William.”

“Then they have no need for escape,” Anne said, before she

could stop herself.





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Teach’s eyebrows drew together. “Is that what you wish for?”

Anne could not believe she’d been so careless, and her throat

tightened on any response she might have given.

“Would it surprise you to know that I’ve sometimes wished

the same thing?” Teach asked. “To leave this place and find

out what life would be like on one of those islands Dampier

describes so beautifully? Admit it, you’ve dreamt about it too.”

It was pointless to deny it. Teach had an uncanny ability to

see through any subterfuge with her. “But they’re only dreams.

They aren’t real.”

“They could be. I know you don’t wish to live the rest of

your life under my father’s roof.”

This conversation was far too dangerous. Anne searched

desperately for a way to change its direction. “Every maid wishes for something greater. Take Sara, for instance. I’m sure she’d like nothing more than to stay home and care for her mother, but she has to work. That’s her reality, as well as mine.”

“But that’s what I’m telling you. I realize you have to work.

You’re a maid, but you’re also different, Anne. You must know

that not many house servants know how to read, yet you do.

I’ve also seen you glance at that gold watch in your pocket when you thought I wasn’t looking, so you must be able to tell time.

I’ve never met a maid who possessed such a treasure.”

It was true. Most commoners measured time by the morning and evening church bells, the passage of the sun, or the

movement of the tides. Anne’s father had bought the watch on

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one of his trips to London and had given it to her mother. Before she’d passed away, she’d given it to Anne. It was the only thing remaining from Anne’s previous life. That and her memories.

“I didn’t steal, it if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Anne

snapped, a guilty flush creeping into her cheeks.

“I never suggested you did. I’m simply pointing out that

you are unlike anyone else I’ve ever met.”

“I’m sure Miss Patience knows how to tell time.” Anne

threw the words, like a pail of cold water to hit him in the face.

They had the desired effect, and he stepped back, his expression masked.

“If that’s all, sir,” she said, taking up the linens and candlestick.

“Leave the linens for tomorrow. It’s late.”

“Yes, sir.” Anne closed the door on her way out. Shaken, she

headed to the west wing to start making the beds, disregarding

Teach’s instructions. As tired as she was, she knew she would

not be able to sleep. Her mind replayed the events of the past

few days, as well as Teach’s professed interest.

He wasn’t the only observant one in the household, and

Anne could see a battle being waged. He was torn between

wanting to please his father and wanting to make his own path.

Master Drummond dictated every aspect of everyone’s life