Only For His Lady (The Theodora Sword #1)(6)

He turned to go.

“Are you leaving?” she squawked.

Damian paused. “I’ve put in my requisite appearance, Mother.” He tugged out his watch fob and consulted the timepiece. “Good evening.” He spun on his heel and left the indignant duchess gape-mouthed.

He marched through the crowd, glad to put the boisterous cheer behind him and enjoy the quiet calm of his office.



Theo stole down the corridor. Her thin-soled, booted feet were noiseless against the blood red carpet. Perfect shade for the Devil Duke. She wrinkled her nose. After all, it was likely red because he’d used her family’s ancient weapon and slayed his foes, of which he had many. He must. Granted he was a duke, but by the reports, he was a scarred, foul-tempered beast. She paused at the end of the hall and looked left and right. With the corridors empty of servants and couples stealing away from the festivities, Theodosia then darted across the intersecting hall and came to an abrupt stop.

Then tiptoeing past, one, two, three, and four doors indicated by Herbie, she paused. Before her courage deserted her, she shoved the door open and slipped inside. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the dimly lit space. Theo closed the door quietly behind her with a quiet click that sounded like a shot in the silence.

Her heart hammered, the steady beat of her pulse deafening in her ears. So this was the devil’s lair. She scanned the massive space, wrinkling her nose. Or was it the devil’s den?

Den. Lair. He probably had both. As did the Duke of Devlin.

She gave her head a clearing shake. “Focus, Theodosia,” she muttered to herself and did a slow circle about, searching for the broadsword. Nay, her family’s broadsword.

She took in the broad, immaculate, mahogany desk. “Likely because he doesn’t actually see to any real work,” she whispered to herself. A man whose family stole from others and built their successes off those same people he’d trampled upon would likely turn his responsibilities over to hardworking stewards and barristers.

A gold framed painting hung over the fireplace mantel caught her notice. Drawn to the glimmer in the dark, she wandered close. Tilting her head back she stared at the tragic image captured upon the canvas. A chill coursed along her spine. There was nothing romantic or beautiful in the image. A warrior in full armor with his head bowed while a massive weapon was brought down, forever frozen with the edge of steel one sliver away from the end.

What an awful way to be memorialized in time. In spite of herself, she hugged her arms to herself, and her own armor clanged noisily. The shiver of apprehension spread out, filling every corner of her being at the similarity between her and this unknown figure forever a brush-stroke away from death. The implications of her being here at last fully registering. Even as her family knew their rightful ownership of the weapon, the Devil Duke, and the rest of the world, would not see it that way.

Her family wielded little power and influence where Devlin and his kin were concerned.

“The sword, the sword,” she reminded herself, giving her head a shake as she returned to her purpose in stealing into the duke’s home. She scanned his office for a hint of metal.

What if Herbie had been incorrect? What if—

Her breath caught.

The Theodosia sword. With her heart suspended in her breast, she stood transfixed. She’d only heard the legend, but had never before glimpsed the legendary weapon possessed by the great Rayne ancestors many years before. Her namesake. Drawn to it, her feet, of their own volition, carried her across the hardwood floor. Theodosia set down her sword quietly and then removed her helmet. She placed the headpiece beside the fake weapon and paused at the foot of the sideboard. With her heart thumping wildly, she stared up at the massive weapon.

Even in the darkened room, there was an almost mystical quality to the weapon. The night shadows reflected off the shimmering, hard steel and glinted in the night.

This was the weapon.

The loss of this is was what had brought great strife to her family. The recent history had the weapon stolen and sold by Captain Tobias Ormond, a great shipping rival to her great ancestors. As the rightful owners, when the sword had been in her family’s possession, it had brought great happiness. Since being stolen and sold by Ormond to the Duke of Devlin’s devilish ancestors, her family’s fortune had deteriorated. Eagerness replaced all earlier reservations. It built steadily in her chest and threatened to spill past her lips on a giddy giggle.

But she didn’t giggle.

She was a blinker and a talker. But she’d never been one of those giggling ladies.

A giggle fought past her lips. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the damning sound and stared up at the Theodosia sword once again. Then her mirth faded. She stitched her eyebrows into a single line. However was she to wrestle that massive weapon from its position upon the duke’s wall. She looked about for the time somewhere in this sweeping office and found it under the grim, massacre painting.

Herbie would be here soon. He’d pledged to meet her in the corridor in twenty-three minutes after their arrival, with a loyal friend who owed him a debt. The specific time chosen by Theo, that was no mere coincidence. Twenty-three…the number of words etched upon that legendary weapon.

Still, she’d little time to waste this evening.

Theo eyed the sword a moment and then captured her chin between thumb and forefinger studying it. Nearly eight feet up on the wall, she couldn’t simply reach it with her fingers. Certainly not with her mere five feet and barely one inch of height. She searched around for…She widened her eyes and before her courage deserted her, hoisted herself up onto the duke’s sideboard, grunting as she struggled up with her heavy costume.