Dayna Quince [Quince - Seven Lovely Sins (The Northumberland Nine Book 7)

T he damp sea air permeated his neck cloth and sent a chill down his spine. The moon shined brightly, illuminating the hills and valleys of the sand. Theo stood next to his brother, watching the rowboat come in, his gut tightening the closer the boat came.

The shadow of a man cranked oars efficiently as the small boat rose up and down with the swells of the ocean.

Callen remained silent, an air of stern judgment around him, as usual. Even during clandestine meetings, he looked every inch the Earl of Densmore. Theo wished he would say something to cut the tension. His own voice felt like a foreign object in his throat. But Callen never spoke unless he was imparting some lecture. Theo preferred lectures to this strange silence, though hed never tell his brother that. He certainly didnt want more lectures, but he hated to feel like his presence was something to be ignored, and yet he couldnt think of a damn thing to say to his brother right now.

His pride choked him.

The pressure in his chest made him feel as if he couldnt draw a full breath. He stared out at the boat edging closer and closer, the future as it were, the future he didnt want but he had no control of. It was his own damn fault that he was here pretending to attend a house party and court nine lovely and dreadfully poor sisters when his true purpose was escaping England and the hangman.

And though he was certain his brother loathed him, there Callen stood, ever the protector, the dutiful brother, guarding Theos back as hed promised their parents on their deathbed and ensuring he never saw the noose.

Even if Theo deserved it.

What was family worth if not for this moment?

Am I a criminal? Do I deserve to die?

No, he wanted to shout.

His brother finally broke the silence. Captain Marlowe is taking a great risk by meeting us like this.

I know, Theo said. He wouldnt do it if he wasnt fully aware. Maybe he does things like this all the time.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother glare at him.

Not everyone has a moral compass as skewed as yours.

Perhaps not everyone, but certainly quite a few.

This is no joke, his brother said, his voice edged with scorn.

Who is joking? Theo returned. Leaving England, you think I take that lightly? I dont want to do this.

I dont want to do this, either. I have to because of you.

Theo ground his teeth, his jaw aching. Bloody hell, did every conversation have to result in an argument? He exhaled loudly.

Petulant whelp, his brother muttered.

The rowboat glided onto the sand, and Captain Marlowe, a swarthy fellow of ambiguous originsperhaps Spanish or maybe Mediterranean, Theo thoughtleapt from the small dinghy. He approached them with a swagger only seen in seamen. They always walk as if the ship rolled under their feet. Would Theo carry the same gait just from crossing the sea? Probably not, the journey would not be long enough.

Only hours, maybe a day at most.

Hed have to spend months at sea before he achieved that kind of swaggering stride. Perhaps he ought not to make land anywhere and become a deck hand for Capt. Marlowe. The idea was appealing.

His mind filled with daring images of a piratical life, wanton women, swords clashing, but the fantasy quickly unraveled. Nothing more than a brief dream as the truth smothered his fanciful imagination.