A Lark's Regret (Verity Lark Mysteries, #5)

by Lynn Messina

Of a certainty, yes, for he considered hubris to be an asset. Icarus’s failing was not that he flew too close to the sun but that he relied on someone else’s expertise in fashioning his wings. Never delegate life and death tasks, especially not to one’s father, for there was nothing on earth as feckless as a sire.

Good lord, now he was expecting things of himself! The mighty had indeed fallen.

Cuiusvis hominis est errare, nullius nisi insipientis in errore perseverare.⁠*

Any man can make a mistake; only a fool keeps making the same one.

They were never going to be family precisely because they were not family, and if she had felt a flicker of familiarity, it was more than she had any right to expect. Having met her half brother, she had the pleasure of discovering he was a decent man—and decency was in short supply among her relatives.

It was almost as though she wanted to take up residence in his mind, to tuck herself into a narrow corner and simply observe the way his brain worked.

Excessive competence had always appealed to her.

It was not infatuation or fascination or even lust. It was love. Devil it! She had not consented to the extremity of emotion.

Delphine, her eyes trained steadily on Freddie, asked Verity why their friend was talking to her as though she were a poodle who wanted to go out in the rain.

Selective obliviousness was the foundation upon which society was built.