Only For His Lady (The Theodora Sword #1)(2)

Oh, God.

Her mother, wrapped in her father’s arms, wept with such force her slender figure shook. “No,” she cried, pounding at her husband’s chest.

And Theodosia knew.

Not because the words had been uttered. But rather, because of the despair that poured from her parents’ trembling frames.

He is dead…

Her legs weakened under her and she dimly registered Aidan capturing her at the waist. “Luke,” she whispered, managing nothing more than that one name. Her elder brother in the King’s army. Her protector. The honorable man who’d vowed to slay the monsters in her nightmares when she’d been a girl afraid of the shadows. He’d then pledged to defeat Boney and all his forces.

“What is it?” Aidan, his voice usually exuding confidence and strength, broke.

Their parents, faces ravaged with tears of grief looked up, as one. The desolateness in their empty stares raised gooseflesh on Theodosia’s skin.

“It is your brother.”

She’d been expecting it. Knew it. And yet, even so…the air left her on a swift exhale. The weight of despair brought her eyes closed. No.

“He is gone missing.” Their father’s voice emerged threadbare. “From the fields of Tavalera.”

Mother fell in a heap on the floor, landing hard on her knees. Face buried in her hands, she dissolved into a keening wail that sent tears spilling down Theodosia’s cheeks.

How wrong she’d been earlier. There proved a far greater despair than bearing witness to Richard’s heartbreak. This gripping, aching agony, no words could heal, that came with this news of Lucas.

And just like that, the threads of a once beautiful fabric, came undone, so all that remained were the frayed and ruined pieces of the Rayne family.

We are cursed.





Chapter One


London, England

Spring 1810

“Not at all, honorable, I’ll say. Not at all.”

Lady Theodosia Rayne knew Herbert, the Viscount Fennimore, quite meant those words. He’d uttered them eleven times, and that was only since she’d climbed inside his and his sister’s carriage. Their families were long-standing friends. In fact, the only friends they’d known since the string of scandals had struck.

That blasted sword.

“Sneaking into a man’s ball, uninvited,” he mumbled under his breath. “Not at all honorable.”

Twelve times. “I’ll not overstay my welcome.” She leaned over and patted the top of his hand. Theodosia was not so self-absorbed that she’d not feel some string of guilt for forcing the oft-nervous viscount to assist in this, her latest, but most worthwhile, scheme. But sometimes, there were things far more important that merited those dishonorable acts.

“You already have overstayed your welcome,” he mumbled. “Dishonorable sneaking into a man’s masquerade all to steal another man’s property.”

Thirteen.

Apparently his sister, Miss Carol Cresswall, Theodosia’s only true friend in the world, had also tired of the dishonorable charges being leveled. “Oh, do hush, Herbie.” She kicked him hard in the shins.

He grunted. “You shouldn’t go about kicking a person. Not at all—”

“I swear if you say dishonorable, honorable or any variation in between, then I will do more than kick you.”

Herbie clamped his lips tight, indicating he’d been well on his way to fourteen.

Carol gave a flounce of her curls. “Theo is merely retrieving something that belongs to her family.”

The something in question was the great Theodosia sword. Legend held that ancient weapon was cursed and would bring great misfortune to the holder. Yet, Theodosia knew enough of her own family’s history to know that Antonia Varyshkova had ultimately found the sword to open one to love and happiness. She squared her jaw. And through the hasty sale from a vile, if prosperous, shipping magnate, that good fortune had been transferred to the Duke of Devlin and his horrid kin. No, Theodosia’s family had been robbed of the artifact. They’d known their share of the toil and bad luck that went with that legend. “I promise, Herbie, I shall retrieve the weapon and be on my way. The Duke of Devlin shall never even know I’ve entered his hallowed home.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Still not the very least honor—oomph.” Carol buried the tip of her boot in his shin once more.

Theo gave her friend a smile, a way of showing she truly appreciated her support. She did. And with the Raynes’ luck, these years, she’d take any and all support she could get.

“All I am saying—”

“I do not care what you are saying,” Carol, the viscount’s younger by two years sister, snapped.

As brother and sister launched into a squabble about the word honor, and Theo’s actions, and a pairing of that word dishonor that resulted in further grunts from Herbie, Theodosia turned her attention to the window. She tugged back the curtain and peered out into the passing, dark, London streets, her masked visage reflected back in the crystal panel.

The rub of it was…she did see the merit of Herbie’s argument. It wasn’t honorable, even if it was common, to enter someone’s ball without an invitation. But the Duke of Devlin and his lucky in every way family were not going to be handing out invitations to any member of the Rayne family. It just wasn’t going to happen.