room so dark that she could barely make out a form lying in the
bed. After setting the tea on the table, being careful not to wake him, she turned to leave, and tripped over something on the floor.
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It was a book, the pages weathered and worn. Crossing to the window, she held it up to the sliver of light falling between the heavy curtains, so as to read the title. A New Voyage Round the World by someone by the name of William Dampier. This was most likely the same volume he’d gone searching for yesterday after the picnic. Right before he’d vomited on his
bride-to-be.
This was not some silly book. A “voyage” meant “traveling
other than by a land route.” It meant the open sea.
It meant freedom.
Curious, she read a page, for it had been more than a year
since she’d last held something this dear in her hands.
I first set out of England on this voyage at the beginning of the year 1679, in the Loyal Merchant of London, bound for Jamaica, Captain Knapman Commander. I went a passen-ger, designing when I came thither, to go from thence to the Bay of Campeachy, in the Gulf of Anne did not face the bed but suddenly knew he was awake.
The skin prickled on the back of her neck, and she turned
slowly, guilt causing her features to flush.
Teach watched her, no longer reclining but sitting up in
his bed, his features pallid. “Are they gone?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
It took her a moment to register his words, for she saw that
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his nightshirt gaped open at the collar, clinging to his chest, drenched with sweat.
He repeated his question. “The houseguests. My father. Are
they gone?”
“Ye . . . yes,” Anne stammered. “About a quarter of an hour
ago, sir.”
He nodded and closed his eyes.
Returning to the bedside, she placed the book next to the
tray and poured him a cup of tea. “Drink this, sir,” she said,
holding it out to him.
Opening his eyes, he glanced in her direction. He took the
cup but had trouble holding it, and she did not release her grip.
His hand clasped hers as he brought the cup to his parched lips.
Her skin fairly burned beneath his touch, but he continued to
drink like a person lost in the desert, seemingly unaware of any assistance.
Anne had trouble reconciling this image with the person
who’d confronted her about the price of shrimp, and was surprised by an unexpected twinge of sympathy.
After replacing the cup in the saucer, she walked to the
other side of the bed and wetted a damp cloth in the washbasin.
His black hair was plastered to his brow, and she smoothed it
away, just like her mother had done for her when she’d been
sick with fever. She wiped the cloth across his forehead, and he turned in her direction, a relieved sigh escaping his lips as he watched her through heavy lids.
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Anne pretended not to notice and wet the cloth once more.
“You’re not going to run away again, are you?” he asked softly.
Every impulse told her she should, but for some reason she
could not. “I should call a doctor,” Anne said, still trying to cool his fevered skin.
He shook his head. “I don’t want a doctor.”
“But you need—”
“Read to me,” he said.
Her hands paused, for his words were unexpected. “Sir?”
Leaning to the other side of the bed, the blankets pulled
taut, he picked up the book. “Read to me. I know you know
how.” It was not a request.
Anne swallowed, the blood quickening in her veins. She
remembered the familiarity with which he and Miss Patience
had addressed each other. “It would not be right for me to read
to you. You are betrothed to another.”
His jaw clenched. “Which is exactly why there is no harm
in it. You can rest assured that your virtue is yours to keep. I merely asked you to read,” he said.
Anne bit her lip, returning the cloth to the basin. He was
mocking her. He knew she’d heard his exchange with Miss
Patience. It was clear his and Miss Patience’s relationship was
closer than either of their parents suspected.
Drying her hands on her apron, Anne searched her mind
for a logical excuse not to remain. There were many.
Despite Teach’s assurances, it would not be appropriate.
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There were chores to be done.
Margery would come looking for her.
If Miss Patience found out, she would be livid.
Unfortunately, Anne did not give a whit about Miss
Patience, and no matter if she read or not, there would always
be chores to be done.
What could be the harm if she stayed? He was much too
weak to get out of bed. He could be no threat in his present
state, and she had been given specific instructions to tend
to him.
If she left the door ajar as it was, there would be no cause
for censure. He was to wed another; they simply needed to
agree upon a date. There could be no harm in fulfilling his
demand.
Teach waited, as if aware of the inner battle waging within