Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(61)

Teach asked.

“I have not the faintest idea, but I do not expect to return

home until the matter is resolved satisfactorily. I will do whatever it takes to see these charges dropped, and will send word with a messenger once I have more information.” With that,





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Drummond turned on his heel and left the two of them alone.

It was several moments before Anne heard the sound of

Drummond’s carriage fading away. Teach remained where he

was, staring at the floor, his mouth grim.

Anne wanted to say something, anything to comfort him,

but wasn’t sure what that should be. Glancing at the door, she

almost wished for Margery to appear. But the house was silent,

except for the occasional pop of the fire.

“My father thinks I’m the devil incarnate,” Teach said,

striding to the hearth. He stabbed the logs with the fire iron.

Sparks flew up, illuminating his face with a dangerous light, as the evening outside darkened to dusk.

“You don’t mean that,” she said.

“Don’t I?”

“No. He just wants to see that your name is cleared.”

“Not my name, Anne. His. He’s never cared about my thoughts or my dreams. It’s always been about him and what

he wants.”

“He wouldn’t have rushed off in such haste if he didn’t care

for you. He’s a powerful man. If anyone can have the charges

dropped—”

Teach flung the fire iron against the nearest wall. The wood

paneling cracked beneath the force, and the rod clattered to

the floor. He rounded on Anne and approached her, his steps

purposeful. “If word of this gets out, which it undoubtedly will, then any chance my father had of the aristocracy accepting him





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will be gone. That is what he cares about. That is why he was so quick to act.”

Had their relationship always been so volatile? Or had it

deteriorated since Mrs. Drummond’s death? “He is not as cold

as you believe he is. Look at what he’s done for me. He will get you out of this.”

“How?” Teach asked, stopping in front of her. His face was

grave.

She threw up her hands, her own fear making her voice

sharp. “I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this will turn out, but we have to give your father time.”

“You saw the men today, Anne. Time is not on my side.”

Anne turned and strode toward the fire, her speech trying

to keep pace with her agitated thoughts. “Concentrate for a

moment. Who would want to see you suffer or possibly hang?”

“I can’t imagine anyone would want to see me hang.”

“Nor can I, but obviously someone does. Now think. Is

there anyone you’ve angered recently?”

“Henry Barrett is the only person I can think of.”

“Do you think he knows we spoke with Mr. Cogswell?”

Would that even be possible? They’d left the solicitor’s office barely an hour before.

“I doubt it. Henry is angry with me for another reason.”

“Why is he—” As his words sank in, Anne closed her eyes

against the prickling along her scalp. Teach had never returned the money. “Why? Why didn’t you give it back to him?”





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“Because he’s a fool!”

“And it appears you’re the greater fool for not thinking he

would seek revenge. When he left, he said he’d make you pay.”

“Do you really think he’s capable of such a thing? He would

accuse me of piracy simply because I didn’t return a few coins?”

Anne noted the heightened color in Teach’s face, and wished

she could tell him no. But she wouldn’t put it past Henry to

have done just that. “I can’t say for sure, but look at what he did to me,” Anne said. “If it had benefited him to have me gone, I have no doubt he would have sent me away. Permanently.”

Teach’s eyes glinted, his chest expanding with a deep

breath. “I’ll butcher him. This time I’ll kill him with my bare hands. If I’m going to hang for a crime, I might as well be

bloody guilty of it.”





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C H A P T E R 2 1

Teach

Teach’s mouth was dry, and he strode to the sideboard to pour

himself a drink. He noticed the trembling of his own fingers as he gripped the decanter. Despite Anne’s and his father’s assurances, he was unsure how the investigation would end.

Studying her over the top of his glass, Teach noticed that

her face was ashen, and she fingered the watch in her hand, a

sure sign of her anxiety.

“Killing him won’t solve anything,” she said. “And you said

yourself you do not want another man to suffer by your hand.”

“That was before I knew that Henry Barrett planned for me

to suffer.”

“Don’t do anything rash.”