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He gritted his teeth as he hobbled toward Theo on his crutch. Her brown eyes filled with pity, and he hated it. Bloody hated it. Thank God he’d figured out how to manage with a single crutch. It wasn’t easy for him to walk without assistance, but he’d been adamant no one was helping him—or God forbid wheeling him—to his best friend’s wedding.

Rafe’s attention fell on his gaping butler.

“She said… But I… But she…” he said weakly. This might have been the only time in his entire life Rafe had seen a butler completely lose all composure.

Theo’s mouth pinched, and she lifted her chin. “I didn’t have the kindest reception, Your Grace. If they had simply had a conversation with me, I could have easily proven my identity.”

“But you’re a woman,” the butler wheezed.

She blinked at him. “How observant of you.” Then she turned and marched out of the room.

Rafe couldn’t prevent his grin.

“Fortunately, I had my knife and pistol on me. You might want to seek better security. It was all too easy to overpower them.”

Rafe froze just outside the doorway. “Did they touch you?”

“Don’t go barbaric on me, Your Grace,” she called over her shoulder.

He would go bloody barbaric if he felt like going barbaric. He continued after her. So. Damn. Slowly. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“No. But I imagine a Duke’s study would be quite obvious. There should be a pair of ostentatious double doors around here somewhere.”

She would be right.

As she always was.

She reached the front of the townhouse where his study was. She glanced over her shoulder and arched a brow. As I said. Then she swept inside.

And with every step closer to his study, reality sank its sharp claws in. Deeper and deeper. His lungs cinched tighter. The pressure on his sternum intensified. He didn’t know whether he wanted to rage at her or fall to his knees before her—not that he was physically capable of doing that at the moment. He had no idea why she was even here, why she wanted to make sure he was alive so bloody badly that she’d taken on his staff with a sodding pistol.

He limped into the room and carefully closed the door behind him. He leaned against it, resting his crutch next to him. His gut twisted. Now that they were standing here, he didn’t know what to do. How to feel. A million questions filled the heavy silence. Ones he wasn’t certain he wanted the answers to. Yet was desperate for.

She stood in the middle of the expansive room, facing his desk, facing away from him.

She was in a dress.

It was goddamned odd to see her in a dress. It wasn’t right. Theodora Dawson was meant to be in trousers.

Tension stiffened her shoulders beneath the cotton of her dress, and her fists balled, one still wrapped around that pistol.

“Perhaps we put the pistol down for our conversation?”

She gradually spun to face him. “I’m not certain that’s wise. I still have a strong desire to bash you over the head with it.”

His heart thudded against his breastbone, a failed attempt to get to her. But her ire was giving it hope. “I’m much too tall for you to bash me over the head.”

She took a step toward him. “I’d find a way.”

He swallowed hard, pulse drumming erratically in his throat. “You do always find a solution.”

She bit her lip, hesitating like she didn’t know what to say. “I…apologize for how I arrived. They wouldn’t let me in. Seemed to think I was one of your deranged prior lovers.”

“If you saw yourself, I think you’d agree on the deranged part.”

That had her features softening slightly. She stepped closer. “You always did have a way with words, Duke.”

Duke. There’d been so much fondness in that one word. His stomach flipped over.