Only For His Lady (The Theodora Sword #1)(4)

Did you steal your brother’s biscuit? BlinkBlinkBlink.

Did you cut up your sister’s dress and stitch a gown for your pug? Blinkblinkblink.

Did you—

Carol caught her hand. She passed her gaze over her face. “You’ve…we’ve, worked through all the details.”

Theodosia looked after Herbie and the butler…of course wildly—blinking. “I’ll not be discovered,” she said, not sure if she sought to convince herself or Carol.

“You’ll be in and then you’ll be gone.” The driver had, of course, been instructed to wait at the opposite end of the street for Lady Theodosia and Carol. Her faithful friend would forego the evening’s fun for her.

“It shall go perfectly smoothly.” She shifted her weapon to her other hand.

Carol took her by the other and pulled her down after Herbie who stood in wait beside the butler, a pained expression revealed even through the black domino he’d donned as…a king’s jester. It really was the perfect costume for the ever-worrying Herbie.

At last, they reached the ballroom and Theo became an interloper from the enemy family, hidden by a mask and some armor and a carefully conceived plan. And as she slipped into the ballroom alongside Carol and Herbie, gay laughter and the thrum of the orchestra blared loud, nearly deafening in its exuberance.

For a moment, she allowed herself, who’d been far too serious for far too long with her hopelessly unfortunate family to forget that she’d snuck in uninvited, to steal the host’s ancient weapon.

Er…her family’s ancient weapon. For the promise she’d made Herbie to steal her sword and be on her way, she’d allow herself but a small moment to enjoy the evening’s festivities. Purely to avoid attracting notice is all.

Yes, that was it.

“You said you were leaving,” Herbie hissed.

“Do hush.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You’ve injured my feelings.”

He frowned. “It wasn’t my intention.”

She’d merely been teasing him. She knew he wasn’t trying to be unkind, but rather feared the duplicitous role he’d agreed to. “Do not worry, I’ll slip out and then you’ll…”

“Yes, yes, I know my role.” Sweat dotted his high forehead. Obviously, the fear of being discovered stealing something from the Devil Duke was a far more egregious offense than agreeing to secret her into the duke’s home. All entirely accurate.

“I shall meet you in the foyer,” Carol said from the side of her mouth.

Everyone knew his or her respective roles.

“Now, go,” she ordered brother and sister. It wouldn’t do for them to be discovered speaking or together…but for the end…when she was triumphant in her plan.

Herbie sprinted off, entirely too eager, by her thinking, to be free of her.

“That one gives me doubts,” Carol whispered hurriedly and then without another word, disappeared into the crowd.

Theo hesitated and surveyed the crowded room. She shifted her armor, wishing Joan of Arc had managed to fight a battle in something at least less sweltering. Then, gossamer or satin or silk provided little protection against an enemy’s blade.

The orchestra concluded a lively country reel and the room erupted into a blaring cheer. An involuntary grin pulled at her lips and, for a moment, she forgot what brought her here. Forgot that her brother, Richard, had taken to overindulging in spirits after his heart had been broken and forgot that another brother had gone missing after fighting Boney’s forces.

For in this moment, if even for just a bit, it felt nice to simply be any other young lady lost in the merriment of the evening. On the heel of that was the tug of guilt. Even if all her efforts here this evening were for her family…all they would know is that she’d entered the devil’s lair.

Theo eyed the door. She really should be after the broadsword, now. In fact she should have begun her search as soon as she’d arrived. And yet…she lingered in the corner of the ballroom, on the fringe, unnoticed by all.

Which was best. It was far safer this way. Yes, it was best if she remained as invisible as possible. Anything else would be calamitous.





Chapter Two


He’d noted her the moment she walked in the room.

And Damian, the Duke of Devlin, made it a point to not notice anyone. A duke who noted the appearance of young ladies often found himself inevitably trapped, tricked, or seduced into more with those young ladies.

He peered over the heads of the couples now filing onto the dance floor for a tedious quadrille. At three inches past six feet, his height proved rather advantageous in this moment of studying the young woman.

The young lady alternated her gaze between the dance floor and the door, and even through the silver helmet she’d donned, the damned piece obscuring the color of her eyes, he saw the pull of longing.

Only, he couldn’t determine whether she one, wanted to dance, two, wanted to leave, or three, made eyes at a lover and pointed the nameless gentleman to the exit, an idea he found not at all palatable.

Damian preferred the first. Because in her armor-clad frame and too tight breeches that clung to generously abundant hips and buttocks, it would be quite a shame to see her leave. Not without knowing who the diminutive, if plump, warrior, in fact, was.

Someone took up position at his side. He silently cursed at the sudden and both untimely and unwelcome appearance of his younger brother, Gregory. “You can, at least, try to appear as though you’re enjoying yourself.”