A Heart for the Taking Read Free

she snapped. “Get rid of it, I tell you.”
    “What harm has he done you—Master Jonathan will still be a rich young man—you are a rich young widow—far richer than you ever dreamed when we lived with your father in Surrey. You have so much now. Couldn’t you—”
    Constance’s green eyes flashed angrily. “How
dare
you! You forget yourself! And you forget that I am your mistress and that you will do as I say or it will go ill for you.” She stepped closer to Anne. “I could send you back to England without character. How would you like that? I could write Father and tell him that you were a lying, thieving wretch and that he was not under any circumstance to offer you employment and to tell all his friends what a terrible person you were. What would you do then? Penniless and without character?”
    For a long moment, Anne stared at Constance. This was the way it had always been: Constance threatening her with some dire fate if she didn’t do or obtain something that Constance desperately wanted. Once the objective had been gained, Constance would turn back immediately into the sweetly smiling creature most people knew. Only Anne knew of the greed and viciousness that lay behind that lovely face. Constance
would
do precisely as she had threatened.
    Anne’s slender shoulders drooped with defeat. “Very well.”
    “Oh, Annie, dear, I knew you would not let me down,” Constance said softly, a pretty smile curving her mouth. “And I would never have really sent you back to England—how could I? You are the dearest creature. You never fail me.”
    When Anne remained unmoved by her words, Constance said quickly, “I’ll make it up to you. Truly I shall.”
    Her heart heavy, Anne paid her no mind. The squirming baby clutched to her bosom, she slipped from the room. Moving swiftly down the long, wide hallway, her step faltering only as she came to the ornately framed portrait of Letty’s grandmother, Charity, and her twin sister, Faith, she silently made her way through the darkened house. After finding her cloak in her room, she flung it on and, moving carefully, fearful that some servant might be awakened by the storm and find her, quickly departed from the house, the baby hidden beneath the folds of her cloak.
    Outside, the full force of the storm hit her, the wind and rain clawing at her like a wild thing. Grimly Anne struggled forward, deliberately shutting out all thoughts but one. The river. She had to reach the river.
    The river, a branch of the James, lay a good three-quarters of a mile from the main house and the last of the outbuildings. Usually it was a pleasant walk, several tree-lined lanes leading to a landing at the river’s edge, but in the middle of a fierce storm, with no light to guide her but the brilliant and terrifying flashes of lightening, Anne took no pleasure in her journey. The horrible thought of what she would do at the end of it filled her with pain and sorrow.
    The babe was quieter now, the soft, mewling sounds that he made muffled beneath the blanket and cloak. Anne tried not to think about him, tried not to respond to the warm weight of him in her arms, or the emotions that rose up within her as he instinctively rooted near her breasts.
    The sound of the river rose above the wind and rain. Swollen by the storm, it roared and surged in wildly tossedwaves, and Anne’s steps grew even slower as she neared it. How could she do this thing? Even for Constance, whom she loved more than anything in the world? But what
was
she to do? She didn’t doubt for a moment that Constance would do as she threatened—despite what she had said afterward. Anne knew Constance, and if she didn’t obey her . . . Anne swallowed painfully. Well, it just didn’t bear thinking about.
    Reaching the river’s edge, she sought out a small bluff. A streak of lightning snaked across the sky, revealing the dark, furiously churning water below, the current running hard and fast. Slowly she opened her cloak