“It matters not what you say here. You’ll not sway us to that bastard’s favor. He’ll not have you anyway.”
Theodosia swung her gaze to Aidan. Her heart pounded as a sudden unease traversed a path along her spine. “What are you on about?”
A cruel, ugly laugh filled the room. “I merely enlightened the Devil as to your true motives.”
Aidan’s words came as though down a long hall and she struggled to muddle through the dirtied water of his words. “What did you do?” she asked, her voice hoarse. A harsh, ugly grin turned his lips and she flew across the room, her hands outstretched, and took him by the lapels of his jacket. “What did you tell him?” she cried, giving him a hard shake.
“I told him the truth.”
What was the truth? She didn’t think Aidan had ever known a truth in his life, so mired as he’d been in fables and legends. Just as you were. Oh God. Nausea roiled in her belly and she shook him again. “What truth?” she implored.
“That you’d never wed a scarred beast and merely sought the return of the—”
Theodosia shot her palm out and cracked it across Aidan’s cheek. The sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room. Only the stark, white imprint of her hand upon his face gave her little discomfort. She staggered away from him and folded her arms across her chest. “What has happened to you?” she whispered. Her pale mother glanced down as though shamed. Good. They should all be ashamed. Theodosia included. “What has happened to all of you?” she asked, her voice rising in volume. For years they’d hung the circumstances of their family upon that cool, inanimate object fought over and about through time. Silence was her only reply. The history they’d found pride in had destroyed them all. How very close she’d been to being destroyed and eaten by those dark, cold emotions. “I am ashamed to call myself a Rayne.”
“That is enough,” her father said, the quiet of his tone more powerful than had he boomed with fury. “Leave us,” he commanded his son. “You are to stay, Theo,” he said not taking his eyes from her.
She fisted the fabric of her skirts. She’d rather walk the muddied, cobbled stones through London’s Seven Dials than have this discussion with her father. Alone. Her brother’s fury she could well handle. She’d braved Aidan’s explosive fits of tempers since he’d been a boy. Her father’s somber disapproval, she could do without.
After a long moment, Richard came to his feet and looked to Aidan. He glared at Theodosia and then all that remained of her living siblings started for the door.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and a quiet rap on the door froze the members of the room. Another knock sounded.
“Enter,” her father called out at last.
The butler, Watson, who’d been with their family since Theodosia had been in leading strings opened the door. “The Duke of Devlin,” he announced and stepped aside to allow Damian entry.
Hope sprung to life in her chest.
Damian.
He stepped into the room with long, slow strides better reserved for a predator hunting his prey.
Then she registered the weapon carried in his hands and her heart started at her family’s silence to his unexpected arrival at last made sense. The legendary Theodosia Gladius only spoken of amongst their family had never before been viewed or touched, but had instead existed as the stories told them as children. Until now. Now it became real.
“Your daughter attempted to steal my sword.” Damian’s gaze lingered on her, his ice blue eyes, conveying nothing. “She entered my home, not once, but twice with the express purpose of stealing it.”
A spasm of pain wracked her heart and, coward that she was, she wanted to look away. But for every ill word that could be uttered about her, coward was not one of them. What a fool she’d been. How had she ever believed this cold piece of metal mattered so very much?
Her father opened and closed his mouth several times, but said nothing.
“Do you know what I realized, Lavery?” Damian asked, not sparing so much as a glance for her brothers as he strolled past and then stopped before her father.
“We don’t give a damn what you realized,” Aidan exclaimed.
Their father gave his son a quelling look and the younger man looked away shamefaced. “What was it you realized, Devlin?” he barked, in a clear attempt to try and regain some mastery over this meeting.
“I came to find that I don’t give a damn about this weapon. I’m not the rightful owner.” He may as well have declared a treasonous plan to overthrow the king for as shocked as her gape-mouthed family was. “But neither are you the rightful owner, Lavery.”
Color splotched her father’s cheeks and he opened his mouth to speak.
Damian presented him his shoulder in a deliberate attempt to silence her father and turned to her. “I realized the gladius belongs to you.”
She cast a glance about for this rightful owner he spoke of and jumped at the cool, smooth metal pressed against her hand. Theodosia and Damian stood, their hands united upon the gladius. “You see, Theodosia, you would sacrifice all for it, when men such as me disrespect it by hanging it upon the wall and not considering the ancient story surrounding it. Your brothers and family,” he shifted his gaze about the room to her family members. “They will see an item and long for its return merely to wrest control back, but you, your hope was not for wealth, power, and control, but for happiness. Just as the original owner found hope and love at the edge of this blade.” His mellifluous baritone washed over her, seducing her with the beauty in his words.
“I thought you did not believe in the history of the sword.” She tightened her grip upon the hilt and he shifted his hand over hers.
Damian held her gaze. “In spite of the ancestors who came before who believed the weapon cursed, unless it was in the rightful owner’s true hands, you knew different. It can open the heart to love.” Her throat worked. Damian shifted his attention to her still silent father. “The true fortune that comes to the rightful owner is love and hope. Theodosia believes in the power of the sword and that reason is more honorable than the aspirations of wealth and power dreamed up by both of our families.”
Tears flooded her vision and his beloved visage blurred before her. “I don’t want the sword.”
A collective cry went up about the room at this latest betrayal. The list was growing with a remarkable speed.
“The Theodosia,” Damian corrected, stroking his thumb over her hand. “It is yours.”
I don’t want this cold, hard metal. I want you. She captured her lower lip between her teeth and bit down hard. “What my brother said,” her voice caught on a shuddery sob at those hateful, hurtful words Aidan had leveled at him. “They weren’t true. I—”
Damian touched a finger to her lips. “I know that.” A tear slid down her cheek and he caught it with the pad of his thumb. “If your daughter will have me, I intend to marry her,” he spoke with the firm, unyielding tone of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
Her mother wrung her hands together and looked from her husband and sons to Damian. She shook her head once, in an almost pleading manner, a woman afraid this union would tear her family asunder.
“No.”
“Yes,” Theodosia spoke over Aidan. “Yes, I will marry you.” Even if it means she was cast out of her family, even if she earned their displeasure and scorn. “I love you,” she said softly.
Her father let out a curse. “I don’t like you, Devlin.” The earl had made no secret of the truth all these years—he hated Damian, even as he didn’t know him. All because he’d been trained to detest the Renshaws for having attained that weapon that once belonged to them. Yet there was an easing of the tension in his bulky frame.
“Surely you are not considering allowing her to wed him?” Aidan cried out.
“Leave us,” their father ordered. Mother and sons lingered a moment with mutinous sets to their mouths and then together strode angrily from the room. They closed the door hard in their wake.
Th
rough it, Damian continued to work his hand over Theodosia’s and then carefully, he held the sword out toward her father. Damian may as well have handed over the kingdom for his care. With almost reverent hands, her father took it silently and then he gave a nod.
Her lips twitched. Of course, a man who’d revered that gladius since his own early days should un-hesitantly turn his daughter over to the care of a man who’d given over that precious item. Damian fished around the front pocket of his jacket. “I love you.” He withdrew a small bouquet of rumpled thistles.
Her heart warmed and she touched her fingers to her lips. This same man who’d first sneered at the legend behind the Theodosia now paid honor to the tales with each word, each offering. “The moment you entered my office, you failed to steal your legendary sword.” He paused. “Instead you stole my heart. Marry me.”
Emotion squeezed at her heart and another tear slid down her cheek. He was the other half of her soul she’d not known had been missing. Theodosia managed a jerky nod.
“My love for thee.” That gruff whisper that had first terrified her in his office less than a week ago now warmed her.
She leaned up on tiptoe and with their lips but a hairsbreadth apart, whispered, “For eternity it will bind us.”
Epilogue
Summer 1810
The Manor of Elstree
Hertfordshire, England
Standing in the White Parlor, bathed in the sun’s rays, Theodosia peeled back the curtains and stared outside her family’s Hertfordshire properties, desperately searching.
Joy, nervousness, and fear warred in her breast. “Where is he?” she whispered to herself. What if Damian had been proven wrong? What if—?
Her husband settled his hands on her shoulders and gave a slight squeeze. “He will be here, Theo,” he promised, his breath fanned against her ear. She leaned into his caress, the commanding strength he exuded drove back the fear that had been with her since the day they’d learned her brother Lucas, was, in fact, living.
Fear that the sources her husband had hired to search for Lucas’ whereabouts had proven incorrect. Fear, that they’d found an altogether different man languishing in Spain.
“He will be here,” Damian pledged, pressing a lingering kiss against her temple.
In the six months that she had been wed to Damian, she’d oft feared that nothing would bring all her family together with her husband.
While the Earl and Countess of Lavery had come to see Damian as part of them, Richard and Aidan had looked upon Theodosia’s husband, first, with a cool disdain, and then that tangible animosity had receded…to an icy politeness.
In the crystal windowpane, with the collection of guests present, the day proved how wrong those fears had been. Her parents sat perched, side by side on the sofa, their hands clasped tight. Hovering behind Theodosia, their tall frames erect and unbending, Aidan and Richard stood shoulder to shoulder.
Her throat worked. Yes, she’d despaired of her husband ever knowing peace with her brothers.
The floorboards groaned and she turned. Damian’s arms fell to his sides, just as Richard came over.
“Thank you,” Richard said hoarsely, for the tenth time since Theodosia and Damian had stepped inside the room. He clasped his brother-in-law’s hand and gave a firm shake.
Her husband returned that gesture. “Please, there is no need—”
“There is every need,” Richard interrupted hoarsely. “You found my brother and, for that, I can never repay you.”
“I do not expect, nor want any payment,” Damian said, in his gravelly tones. “You are family.”
A sheen of tears blurred her vision as Richard grabbed Damian in a quick hug, slapping him on the back. Mayhap there would forever exist resentment within some of the Raynes and Renshaws…but there was a new peace and love. With each day that passed, the bond joining their families grew. As though embarrassed by his show of emotion, Richard immediately released his brother-in-law.
The rumble of carriage wheels filtered up to the parlor window and, with a gasp, Theodosia pressed her forehead to the window. “He is here,” she breathed. With her husband at her side, Theodosia bolted from the room. Her family’s cries and footsteps echoed behind them as they raced down the corridors.
Heart pounding loudly in her ears, she rushed into the soaring foyer just as the butler drew the door open. The smooth soles of her slippers skidded along the marble floor and she shot her arms out to steady herself. Damian immediately caught her around the waist, keeping her upright.
“He is here,” she whispered, making for the door. Her beloved brother. Her one time protector. The friend she’d despaired of ever again seeing had returned. Because of her husband.
Abandoning her place in the foyer, she squeezed past Aidan and Richard, and stumbled outside. Theodosia suddenly stopped.
Several footmen rushed forward reached inside the carriage, and helped her brother out.
Rail thin, his hair long, and his face covered with a beard, Lucas bore little trace of the smiling man who’d gone off to fight Boney’s forces. He eyed the collection of assembled guests with bloodshot eyes. Those eyes had aged in the time since he’d been gone.
A tear slid down her cheek.
But he was home.
Grabbing her husband’s hand, she rushed forward to greet her brother.
The curse had, at last, been broken.
The End
Enjoyed, Only For His Lady? Be sure and check out Christi Caldwell’s next book coming with Amazon Publishing.
September 17th 2019
The Spitfire, Book 5 in the Wicked Wallflowers series
Her dream is to open a music hall. Only one thing stands in her way—the man she loves. The final Wicked Wallflowers novel from USA Today bestselling author Christi Caldwell.
Leaving behind her life as a courtesan and madam, Clara Winters is moving far from the sinful life to which she was accustomed in the gaming hell the Devil’s Den. Her more reputable and fulfilling endeavor is a music hall for the masses. One night, when she sees a man injured on the streets of East London, she rushes to his aid and brings him home. It’s then that she discovers he’s Henry March, Earl of Waterson, and a member of Parliament. No good can come from playing nursemaid to a nobleman.
When Henry rouses to meet his savior in blonde curls, he is dazzled. This smart and loving spitfire challenges his every notion of the lower classes—and every moment together is a thrill. But after Henry returns to his well-ordered existence, he strikes a political compromise that has unintended consequences. Will his vision for London mean dashing the dreams of his lovely guardian angel?
Biography
Christi Caldwell is the bestselling author of historical romance novels set in the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!
When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can be found in her Southern Connecticut home with her courageous son, and caring for twin princesses-in-training!
Visit www.christicaldwellauthor.com to learn more about what Christi is working on, or join her on Facebook at Christi Caldwell Author, and Twitter @ChristiCaldwell!
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Other Books by Christi Caldwell
“The Rogue Who Rescued Her”
Book 3 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell
Martha Donaldson went from being a nobleman’s wife, and respected young mother, to the scandal of her village. After learning the dark lie perpetuated against her by her ‘husband’, she knows better than to ever trust a man. Her ch
ildren are her life and she’ll protect them at all costs. When a stranger arrives seeking the post of stable master, everything says to turn him out. So why does she let him stay?
Lord Sheldon Graham Whitworth has lived with the constant reminders of his many failings. The third son of a duke, he’s long been underestimated: that however, proves a valuable asset as he serves the Brethren, an illustrious division in the Home Office. When Graham’s first mission sees him assigned the role of guard to a young widow and her son, he wants nothing more than to finish quickly and then move on to another, more meaningful assignment.
Except, as the secrets between them begin to unravel, Martha’s trust is shattered, and Graham is left with the most vital mission he’ll ever face—winning Martha’s heart.
My Wild Duke
Eva Devon
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
My Wild Duke
Copyright © 2017 by Máire Creegan
This uncorrected Advance Reader Copy is the property of the author. All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
Created with Vellum
Acknowledgments
Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues Page 10
