Only For His Lady (The Theodora Sword #1)

Only For His Lady (The Theodora Sword #1)

Christi Caldwell



Prologue


Fall 1809

London, England

Following the very public humiliation of Richard Rayne, her eldest brother, Lady Theodosia Rayne found there was no greater agony than witnessing a family member’s tangible heartbreak.

Theodosia hovered at the edge of the billiards room. The door slightly cracked, she inched it open, and peered inside. She searched for a glimpse of Richard, heir to the earldom.

A bleating snore pierced the quiet and she ducked her head all the way inside, and found him.

“Oh, Richard.” Those two words emerged on a whispery sigh of regret.

Her brother lay sprawled on the leather button sofa with one arm draped over his face, while his other hung loosely over the side. The muscles of her stomach tightened as she took in this man who was more of a stranger than a brother. Ever the romantic, grinning, carefree brother, he’d lost his heart, to Miss Candace Roberts. In the grandest romantic gesture, he’d gone down on a knee in the middle of Hyde Park to offer for her—only to be rebuffed before all Society. In the end, the lady had chosen another. Theodosia balled her hands into tight fists.

Nay. Not just any other.

Seething fury burned to life as fresh now as when she’d read of Lady Candace’s treachery in the gossip columns. The young woman had rejected Richard and given herself, instead, to Charles Renshaw. Of the same Renshaws who’d stolen the ancient heirloom from Theodosia’s family years earlier and left the Raynes cursed.

Now another theft had been committed…her brother’s heart.

With a vicious hatred spreading like a conflagration inside, Theodosia quietly cursed the Renshaws and all who loved them.

Richard emitted another shuddery snore, forcing her attention to him, once more. His face marred with several days’ growth, his jacket discarded, and his remaining garments wrinkled, he had the look of a man who’d lived in the bottom of a bottle since he’d had his offer rebuffed. Which by the glimpses she’d had of him these weeks and the stories written in the papers, was, in fact, just what he’d done.

I cannot stand to see him like this…

Theodosia pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside. Suddenly, a hand snaked around her wrist. That unexpected hold had wrung a gasp from her and she spun around.

Aidan, the youngest of her brothers, stood before her, a hard glint in his eyes. “Do not,” he ordered her.

“But—”

“Leave him.” That quiet command raised a frown on her lips. Yes, Aidan was older than her twenty-one years, but not by more than two years. Even with that, there had always been a cocksure arrogance to him where he’d challenged her at every turn.

“He cannot remain in this room,” she said quietly while Richard slumbered on noisily from the sofa.

“He doesn’t remain in this room,” Aidan corrected in hushed tones.

Theodosia pursed her mouth. “No, he doesn’t,” she concurred. “He visits his wicked clubs and gaming hells and—”

“It has been but a month,” Aidan put in.

But a month. A month of Richard drinking himself into a stupor and slurring his words and stumbling around.

Theodosia cast another look over at Richard’s frame. Even in sleep, the sharp planes of his face were wreathed in agony and despair.

“Nothing you say or do will erase his hurt,” Aidan said, following her unspoken thoughts. “He doesn’t require your lecture, or your friendship. So leave him be,” he ordered.

They remained locked in a silent battle. And glaring into his dark brown eyes, she resented him for being right, in this moment. There was nothing she could say or do that would undo Richard’s pain. His heart had been broken by a woman who’d never deserved him and Theodosia had no words with which to help him put that shattered organ back together.

The truth of that realization stabbed like a dagger being plunged into her chest. When you loved your family, you loved deeply. Their joy was your joy. And their hurt became your own. Her throat worked painfully as she drew the door closed behind them.

Theodosia stalked off.

“It is their bloody fault,” Aidan gritted out, as he easily fell into step beside her.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand whom he spoke of. “Yes,” she seethed. Their age-old hatred of the Renshaws went back well beyond the sale of the Theodosia gladius, a coveted heirloom their families had fought for. A prized sword so special, Theodosia herself had been named for it.

Where the Raynes’ investments had failed and they’d found themselves with depleting coffers, the Renshaws had thrived, flourished, and become the epitome of success and power.

But this crime…stealing Richard’s love…this was beyond the pale. The depth of treachery and ugly had that defied mere wealth.

A sound of frustration escaped Theodosia and she threw her hands up. “There has to be something we can do to help Rich—”

A sharp cry went up. An eerie call of desperation that froze them in their tracks. Shivers raced up Theodosia’s spine and a numbing chill went through her.

Moments later, a wrenching sob filtered down the hallway, springing Theodosia into movement. Heart pumping, she sprinted down the corridor and skidded to a stop outside her father’s office. With fingers that shook, Theodosia tossed the door open, and her stomach lurched.