Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)

Teach’s jaw clenched. “She’s ill and might be suffering from

the same ailment that plagued me. I left her estate late last night and only just returned. I heard that you’d gone into the city.”

So he’d decided to come after her. If he dogged her every

move, she’d never be able to return the stolen goods. “As you

can see, I’m quite all right.”





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“Were you harmed?” he demanded, his eyes raking her from head to toe, taking in her muddy and torn hem. “Who did this to you?”

“I’m fine. Sara and I were separated by the crowd. Someone stepped on my skirts, that’s all.” Anne’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration. “I didn’t know the city would be like this. Otherwise I would not have come.” She almost

wished she hadn’t.

“You saw them, then?” Teach asked

“Yes.”

Teach muttered something under his breath. “You shouldn’t

be here.”

He was the one who shouldn’t be there. “If you’d like to

return to your father’s estate, please don’t let me keep you.”

“I’m not about to leave you here by yourself.”

“You sent Sara home by herself.”

“In the safety of the carriage. With my driver.”

Anne was confused by the different emotions his presence

stirred in her—attraction and resentment as well as yearning

and exasperation. She’d never felt like this about anyone before she’d met Teach. It was a bit overwhelming. “I’m sure you have more pressing matters than to accompany me.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re more pressing, but they do concern

you. I was on my way to see your father’s solicitor. He sent a note this morning. My father was busy, so I came in his stead.”

“What did the solicitor say?” Anne asked.





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“Only that he’s had some news about Henry. Would you care to join me?”

“I still have some errands to attend.”

“In that case, I’ll accompany you.”

Anne’s heart dropped. “But the solicitor—”

Teach waved a hand. “He’ll simply have to wait. He didn’t

specify a time for the visit. I’ve given my driver instructions to wait for me at Mr. Cogswell’s office, once he’s delivered Sara safely back to the estate. Now, where did you need to go?”

Teach asked, preparing to take her by the elbow.

It was all Anne could do not to stamp her foot. Her cage

might now be wrapped in silks and lace, but nevertheless she

was still trapped by her circumstances. “I will go with you to

see Mr. Cogswell.” And come back for the silver another day.

“Are you sure?”

Anne nodded. She could not deny her curiosity about

Henry. If her father had left instructions for her to be cared for, then she wanted to know what, exactly, that entailed.





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C H A P T E R 1 9

Teach

Teach gave instructions to the carriage driver to take them back to the Drummond estate, before sitting back against the plush velvet upholstery inside.

Anne stared down at the papers in her hands. Mr. Cogswell,

Andrew Barrett’s solicitor, had handed them over to her, along

with the news that Anne was now an heiress.

“What are you thinking?” Teach asked.

She didn’t appear to hear him.

The moment lengthened uncomfortably. “What are you

planning?” Teach asked, unable to remain silent.

“What makes you think I’m planning anything?” she asked,

not quite meeting his eyes.

“Because I know you. What do you intend to do with the

money?” Teach tried to make his voice light, knowing how

inappropriate the question was, but there was a sense of urgency 2 0 8

behind his words. He truly did want to know what she was thinking. What she was feeling. The lack of emotion on her face was unusual, especially for someone as passionate as she was.

Andrew Barrett had left her a fortune. Three thousand

pounds, to be exact. Mr. Cogswell had apologized for not

knowing sooner about Anne’s predicament and had confirmed

that Henry Barrett had lied to him as well.

“Not that it’s any of your business” she said after an inter—

minable moment, “but I would take it . . . and . . . travel—”

“You can’t leave! Where would you go? What would you do?”

“I would take the opportunity to start my own life somewhere, find some of my mother’s people—”

Teach laughed out loud, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“But you can’t. You can’t leave. You won’t receive the money

until you turn eighteen.”

Anne’s own voice rose. “So you mean to tell me I have no

choice but to stay here?”

“Would it be so terrible?”

“For someone who doesn’t feel like I truly belong, yes. What

do you see when you look at me?” Anne asked.

A myriad of words flowed through his mind at her question. Strength. Intelligence. Beauty. Compassion. “I see you.”

Anne’s expression softened somewhat. “Because you’ve

taken the time to speak with me. And to listen. But most people see only how different I am.”

“It doesn’t mean you have to leave.”





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