Murder at Half Moon Gate (Wrexford & Sloane, #2)

by Andrea Penrose

Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis—The times are changing, and we change with them.

The truth was, there was no staying still. One made choices every day, both big and small. Both right and wrong. It did no good to fret. Whatever the consequences, she would find a way to deal with them.

For the moment all was well, and yet Charlotte lingered, thinking about the hopes and fears that came with love. Love. The heart was safer in solitude. Was that what was keeping Raven at arm’s length? The boy had seen enough of life’s cruelties to sense the dangers of caring too much.

Love. Perhaps that was the simple answer that cut through all the complexities.

“You’ve told me that you men of science think everything in the universe is in constant motion—the sun, the moon, the stars, the tide . . . the hearts that thump inside our chests.” she said. “Constant motion, which means constant change—it’s an elemental law of nature.” He saw her profile pinch in a pensive frown. “So, it seems ironic that change is so terrifying to us.” “The world is full of beautiful contradictions,” responded Wrexford. “Perhaps someday we will have rational answers for all its workings. But I rather doubt it. Some things simply defy logic.” He allowed a wry smile. “Which to my way of thinking is all for the good, as rules are meant to be broken.” She chuffed a laugh, though it rang a little hollow. “Now you are speaking like an artist.” “I think we’ve both come to understand that there’s never just one way of looking at a conundrum.” He took a step closer to her. “What is it that has you so terrified?” “The past,” whispered Charlotte. “The future.” “Fears often lose their terror when they are shared.” He waited a long moment and then, after releasing a to-hell-with-the consequences sigh, drew her into his arms. “Perhaps that’s because love has the power to keep them at bay.” “L-Love,” she stammered. “B-But you don’t believe in love!” He pressed his mouth to her cheek, a throaty chuckle reverberating against her skin. She tasted of salt, and something far more exquisitely sweet. “My dear Charlotte, it’s occurred to me that I may not have gathered enough...