Page 108

He was alive. It was a litany repeated in rhythm to her madly beating heart. She wouldn’t dare believe it until she saw it with her own eyes.

Theo could just make out the butler’s fading footsteps and sprinted after the sound. She followed, storming up a set of stairs and taking them two at a time. A slip of black disappeared down a long hall into a room, and a huge crash echoed from it.

She couldn’t hear above the roar of her heart, or maybe those were the shouts coming from behind her, the thundering footsteps. She ran faster, lungs burning. Almost there. Almost there. There!

Her arm shot out to the wall, gripping the molding of the doors, as she slid to a stop and burst into the room. She waved her pistol wildly, searching, searching—and then she froze. Steel-grey eyes. A riot of ebony curls.

Her lips curled, the relief in her body bubbling up into hysterical laughter.

“Theo?”

A sob choked off in her throat. His voice.

Rafe

Alive.

He was alive.

43

Rafe

Theodora was here. Brown hair in tatters, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead, hands shaking around a pistol. A pistol pointed directly at him.

“You’re a-alive.” Her whisper broke off.

He hated himself for the way his heart swelled at the words, at the relief beginning to sag through her frame. But it was evidence she cared…even the smallest amount…for him. And his pathetic self apparently loved that fact.

Her attention slowly scanned him, her features twisting as her attention fell on different parts. His gaunt face. His arm brace. His crutch. His awkward stance because of his leg. She saw it all, and it killed him. She hadn’t wanted him before; she most definitely wasn’t going to want him now. He had even less to offer.

The silence buzzed around them, and he finally registered the numerous gazes burning into him. Bloody fucking hell.

“While I, in particular, always love a good theatrical display, I think it best we put that pistol down, dear. I’ve already almost lost my grandson once. I’d rather not risk it again.”

Rafe’s lips twitched. One could always count on Grandmama to treat something like a break-in by a crazed woman as something blasé.

Theo glanced at her pistol, eyes going wide like she hadn’t even realized she’d been pointing it at him. She let it fall to her side and glanced around the room. An entire catalog of emotions flitted through her dark brown eyes. The oh-shite, the mortification, the guard going up, the rapid-fire plotting on how best to handle the situation—and the moment she settled on said course.

She bowed formally to the room. “My sincerest apologies for interrupting. I am His Grace’s steward, Dawson, and I had pressing matters to discuss with him. I shall wait for him in his study.” Her gaze found his again, and she cocked a brow. “Urgent matters, Your Grace.”

A warmth he couldn’t quell bloomed behind his breastbone.

Bold as brass.

God, how he loved her.

“Dawson, is it?”

Rafe’s head snapped to Grandmama. Her mouth was curling into a smirk Rafe did not like.

“Well, this is quite interesting.” She met Rafe’s gaze. “Quite.” She cleared her throat. “As we would all like to return to our celebrating, and it appears you have pressing matters to discuss, Raffy, why don’t you see to your steward and join us when you are finished? Yes? Lovely.”

Rafe’s expression went blank. But she ignored his flat glare.

She flicked her hand. “Off with you.”

He let out a giant sigh even as every part of his body was itching to usher himself and Theo out of the dining hall as fast as possible. Which only brought his focus back to the fact that moving as fast as possible was not something he was capable of any longer.