“I mean it,” he said, no longer caring if she heard the bleak desperation in his voice. “Let me fetch the priest from the tavern, and I’ll swear upon his Bible that I want you by my side. And more. Can’t you tell that I—”
“Don’t say it,” she interrupted, placing a palm to his chest as if to stop him from speaking further. Just as his body warmed to the contact, she realized what she’d done and jerked her hand back to her side. “Even if I thought you capable of true emotion, what exactly are you offering? The life of a fugitive, forever consigned to backwater village after backwater village so you won’t have to bother with such things as morality and consequences and the law? I would resent you before the end of the first week. In fact, I’m already insulted you think me stupid enough to take such trope as truth. There is no ‘we,’ Mr. Bothwick. There never was. Now tell me what you’ve done with that box.”
She didn’t care about him. Not even enough to let him unburden his soul. All she wanted was the evidence necessary to destroy him. Little did she know her dismissal of his feelings had already destroyed him in a way the gallows never could.
Despite the cold seeping through his pores, Evan rallied what remained of his pride.
“No.”
She bristled. “Without that box—”
“Why do you suppose I’m so determined no one else have it? Besides,” he threw out carelessly, “I destroyed it.”
Her eyelashes fluttered heavenward. “Iamaware that it’s indestructible.”
“Nothing,” he said softly, “is indestructible.”
Like the heart he hadn’t known he still possessed. The one he’d given up on when he’d taken to the sea in search of adventure. He’d had nothing to lose.
Until now.
And he’d already lost her. Which, as she’d pointed out so eloquently, was his own bloody fault. Never to be forgiven. And never to be reversed.
“Balderdash.” She stared up at him in exasperation.
Not because she saw the internal battle, the frustration, the despair of Evan the man who would prostrate himself before her if he thought it would make a difference. But because he stood in the way of her retrieving a jewelry box that could severely shorten his life. If there was love in the equation, it was only on his side.
Her gaze unfocused somewhere over his left shoulder, then narrowed at nothing. Her left shoulder twitched. Someone who wasn’t watching might have thought it nothing, a twitch in the muscle. He knew it for what it was: a shrug. She was communicating with someone. And it wasn’t him.
“Are you talking to my damn brother instead of listening to me?” he demanded.
Her eyes refocused on his. “He’s the one doing the talking. He wants to know why I don’t shove my knife hilt-deep in your belly and have done with you already.”
“Truly?” Evan frowned. That didn’t sound like Timothy.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping against the wall. “No, he just said that arguing with you has never gotten anyone anywhere. I added the bit about the knife because it seemed as good a solution as any.”
That much sounded likeher.He remained convinced she’d make an excellent pirate. Much more so than Timothy.
Timothy, who had either betrayed him from the start, or simply hadn’t thought to inform his brother after suffering a severe change of heart with regard to smuggling. Evan wasn’t certain which was worse. Nor was he sure how he felt about having an unexpected opportunity to find out.
“Can you... ask him something for me?”
She raised a brow. “He’s invisible, not deaf. He can see and hear splendidly.”
“Oh. All right.” He turned to face the direction she’d last looked, then realized Timothy may or may not still be there. He glanced at her for help.
Compassion filled her eyes, and she reached out to touch him before remembering herself and letting her hand fall with the act uncompleted. “Don’t worry about trying to face him. He understands the impossibility. Just ask your question.”
Evan nodded, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable by the second. He was about to converse with his dead brother. Hisinvisibledead brother. Via the one woman with whom he’d wanted their failed romance to last... forever.
“Timothy,” he said aloud, the back of his neck warming uncomfortably when he heard his voice crack. He cut his gaze to Susan’s to see if she noticed his discomfort. This time, she did brush the tips of her fingers against the back of his hand. With that simple touch came strength. “Why—” He cleared his throat. “Why did you take Red instead of me?”
He shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t had any questions prepared for a moment such as this, but he hoped it was as good a start as any. He opened his mouth to clarify what he meant, but Susan was already responding.
“He says, ‘Because Red doesn’t ask questions.’”
Thatdidsound like Timothy.
