Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(68)

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Reaching for her slowly, he gave her every opportunity to retreat. When she didn’t, he took her hands in his and pulled her close. “Will you always be there for me, no matter the circumstances?”

“You know I only want your happiness,” she said, her voice

faint.

“By my definition, that means you—”

Anne tugged her hands from his grasp and moved out of

his reach. “I don’t think this is wise,” she said, shaking her head.

“You’re upset.”

“If I’m going to die, I might as well die a happy man. Tell

me,” he said, his voice soft.

Her lashes half lowered over her crystal-blue eyes. “In

the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve come to bear a

certain . . . regard . . . for you. Your friendship is something I could not stand to part with.”

“‘Regard’? ‘Friendship’?” He approached her once again,

and his warm palm found the curve of her cheek. “Is that all

you feel for me, Anne?”





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C H A P T E R 2 4

Anne

Teach’s eyes darkened, the expression in them stealing her

breath. She should have pretended as if his nearness did not

affect her. But it did, and instead of stepping back, she stepped closer. “Yes,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice. “A very special sort of regard.”

He apparently needed no further confirmation. He cradled

her face in his hands, and his lips met hers, their mouths fit—

ting together perfectly. Anne’s heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird in a cage. But she didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to.

His clever fingers found the bare skin at the nape of her

neck and wound into the strands that had come loose from her

bun, tilting her head to an upward slant.

Anne fought to control the reckless rhythm of her pulse as

he increased the pressure of their kiss. Her legs threatened to





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give way, and her hands traced down the fine linen of his shirt, feeling the solid strength of muscle underneath. For the rest of her life she would remember that moment. The sound of the wind rustling through the trees. The earthy scent of the moss

beneath their feet, and the warmth of his breath mingling with

hers. Her first kiss.

When at last he pulled away, Anne swayed forward, slightly

dazed. “We . . . we shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling steadily, Teach

gave a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry, but I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you.”

“It was a mistake.”

He cupped her cheek in his palm, his touch feather-light.

“You cannot tell me you have not wanted the same thing, Anne.”

Anne swallowed, unable to lie. It took considerable effort

on her part not to lean into his embrace. She had thought about it, more than she cared to admit. Ever since he’d arrived, he

had haunted her dreams. “But you’re promised to another.” She

could not bring herself to speak Patience’s name.

“Promised? What good is a promise to someone else when

my heart belongs to you? What good is a promise when I might

not live to see another day?”

Anne refused to think about the inquiry. In spite of Teach’s

scorn, Anne still believed Drummond would somehow come

through for him. “What we’ve just done is no different from

what Mary did to John.”





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“Do not compare my feelings for you to those of that strum-pet. Mary never cared for John. He was a lover of convenience.

I do not hold out much hope for Tom, either. Give her a week

or two, and she’ll have moved on to someone else.”

His words did little to ease her guilt. “Still, your father—”

“Oh, yes, my father. My union with Miss Patience is his

will, not mine.”

Anne took a step back. It was too hard to think with him

standing so close. “But you agreed,” she reminded him.

“I was sixteen years old and still an obedient boy! I didn’t

know any better. Do you think I could predict the future? Back

then I saw Patience as my father wanted me to see her. She

was a pretty face with a title. My father filled my head with

stories of the aristocracy, how their life of leisure enabled them to cultivate their minds and improve their tastes. He spoke of their power and how much they could achieve, and like a fool,

I listened to him.”

Anne felt sorry for the boy Teach had once been, blindly

believing everything his father had said. Her own upbringing

had been so different. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But how I wish I had. Who would have thought that

three years later, I’d care so little for appearance and prestige.

I’ve learned so much, Anne, about people and about life. You