Chapter 1

August 1814

London, England

None of the long years of instruction at Mrs. Stone's Distinguished Ladies' Seminary had taught Theresia Dvorak how to stop a thief. Perhaps running away from the seminary at dawn had not been the wisest course of action. Her gaze begged for someone capable to dart around the corner before the ruffian across the street succeeded in robbing an innocent elderly man.

The unusual August fog made it difficult to see more than a few houses in the quiet London neighborhood, which was probably why the thief had not noticed her yet. His demands for money were growing more persistent. She hadn't the time to knock on doors and wait for a sleepy butler to awake. Did no one else rise at such a ghastly hour? Apparently only useless, genteel women of age who had been locked away in a seminary by their unloving stepmothers and forced to sneak home undetected did.

She edged closer, despite her abysmal skill set for such a situation. The victim not far in front of her proved an easy target, his gray hair and stooped figure an inevitable product of age. He was no match for the much stronger, lankier thief, who grabbed him by his jacket lapels. "I know ye have somefink of value on ye. Now, give it here before I knock yer teeth out!"

Theresia winced and covered her own teeth with her hand.

"Wait. I d-do have a purse."

Theresia strained to hear the older man's response, but she heard enough to know the thief would soon have what he wanted. This was exactly the sort of manipulation that had sent her running from the seminary. Her fear abated, and fatigue and frustration from being bullied and controlled her whole life rose to the surface. She could not bear to see anyone else treated like she had been all these years. She had to do something .

Clinging to her violin case as her only source of protection, she yelled in her most authoritative voice, "Stop! Stop this instant!"

It had always worked for Mrs. Stone, and even in Theresia's short experience with students of her own, but the thief did not so much as look at her. She glared at his back. Perhaps he did not speak English. She translated her command into German, Italian, and French, but to no avail.

Useless lessons.

The older man lifted his jacket and revealed the purse on his belt.

At this point, Mrs. Stone would've held her handkerchief to her nose and instructed Theresia to look away, but Theresia wanted to do the opposite. So few people had shown her real kindness since she'd come to England, and she could not in good conscience withhold her own. She would no longer abide by her years of training or the stifling rules of propriety but follow her own moral compass. She would be different now—better and happier. Without another thought, she darted toward the men.

To her dismay, the thief reached forward and aggressively wrestled the older man for his coin purse before she could reach them. Right as the thief secured the purse, he stepped back toward her, and she impulsively stuck out her foot. The man stumbled, and Theresia used the butt of her hard violin case to strike the back of his knee to assist him the rest of the way to the ground.

She heaved a surprised breath. Had she just done that? And people said women shouldn't play the violin. If only the world could witness how terribly useful it was now.

The thief tried to push himself to his feet.

"Pardon me." She stepped on his hand clutching the purse, digging in the heel of her boot. "How clumsy of me."

Her bravery and stupidity only stalled the inevitable. The man rolled away from her and jumped to his feet. He would bolt now, and the poor older gentleman beside her would lose all his money. At a loss for any more ideas, she helplessly stood her ground.

"Ye picked the wrong day to get on me bad side," the thief snarled, elongating his lanky body. He strode toward her, catching her completely off guard.

She'd only tripped him. What was he planning to do to her? She stumbled backward, but her feet would not run as she willed them to. Her bravery was all used up, and fear threatened to explode in her chest.

The thief pulled back his fist to strike her. She squeezed her eyes shut to brace herself. An arm snaked around her waist and tugged her out of the way just in time. She imagined the older gentleman as her rescuer, but these arms were much too strong. She opened her eyes to discover herself protectively against the side of a well-dressed man not ten years her senior. His form was solid, his grip firm, and his chiseled face solemn yet completely confident.

The thief lost his balance when his strike did not make contact with her, but he quickly rallied. He lifted his arm to swing again, but the man holding her beat him to it. One well-placed hit from her rescuer and the thief was flat on his back.

"I'll have that purse now," this new man ordered to the nearly unconscious thief.

The purse did not belong to him, either, handsome or not. Theresia had her own money problems, but stealing was wrong. "You cannot have it!" She pushed against the chest of the man she'd naively assumed to be a gentleman.

"Not for myself," he said, putting his foot on the thief's jacket, pinning him from turning onto his stomach. While his actions were rough, his voice was soft, like a mother speaking to a frustrated child. "I am no thief." For the first time, Theresia met her savior's deep-set eyes, an intensity reflecting in the swirl of brown, and her ire left her.

For the second time that morning she lamented on the uselessness of Mrs. Stone's lessons. He was a gentleman, not a thief. Couldn't she tell the difference? She was no longer a young schoolgirl. She had a profession now—if anyone could call being an imprisoned teacher a profession. Her attempt at an apologetic smile came out with a wince. "Sorry."

His gaze raked over her face. "Are you hurt?"

Her heart beat forcefully against the wall of her chest, but she'd never heard of anyone dying of fright. "A little shaken, but I—I am well."

"I commend your instincts." The deep tones of his voice echoed inside her. "You were brave to try to stop him on your own." He had not criticized her actions. How strange.

When he released her, she pressed her hand to her collar, anxious to quiet the reckless pulsing beneath it. Her savior was not so overcome. He dropped to the side of the thief, who cradled his jaw and moaned, and retrieved the coin purse in an easy swipe. The gentleman tossed it to the ground in front of her before ripping the cravat from his neck, using it to tie the thief's hands together behind his back.

Blinking rapidly, Theresia regained her bearings before dragging her gaze from her mesmerizing hero to the coin purse—a worn purple velvet. She plucked it from the ground and hurriedly turned to the older man. His grateful eyes were framed by thick gray brows with a few remaining threads of black.

"Here," she said. "This is yours."

She had not expected a calm, enigmatic smile to cross his weathered cheeks. "Thank you, miss."

"I did nothing. It is this man over here who deserves your thanks." She motioned to their liberator, who'd come out of nowhere. She caught a few of the gentleman's words to the thief—a stern lecture on treating the elderly and women with respect.

The older gentleman held out his finger and motioned her closer. She obeyed, keeping his coin purse extended. He shook his head and waved it away. "You—so young and unprotected yourself—did not run away when you had the chance. Such kindness deserves rewarding. Keep the money. I have plenty."

"A generous thought, but it isn't mine to keep." She'd seen him struggle for the purse, and she would not rob him too.

"Such courage is not seen every day. I insist."

"Nonsense. Anyone with an ounce of dignity would've done the same."

He raised his thick brows. "Did you not wish for money?" He examined her like he had the power to read her thoughts.

"Me?" She opened her mouth to deny it, but he gave her a knowing look.

Her eyes widened. It wasn't possible for him to know her plight. She had spent the last year wishing for nothing else but money: money to leave the girls' seminary, money to take back what she had lost when Papa had died, and money to return to her homeland in Bohemia, where she could play her violin more freely. Money wouldn't solve all her problems, but it would make a difference. She had saved all she could during her two years teaching at the seminary, but she'd been treated not much better than a servant, and the pay had been meager.

The older gentleman reached out and curled his hand around her own, pressing her fingers tighter over the coin purse. "I didn't want to lose my purse to this undeserving man, but I would gladly lose it to reward you for your kindness."

"But, sir—"

"Not another word, miss." He removed his hand and patted her shoulder. "Think of me... think of me as your godfather, granting you this one small wish."

She stared at him, not believing what he was saying.

He smiled knowingly. "Go ahead. Open it."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the younger gentleman had pulled the thief to his feet, but her focus was now on the long coin purse folded in half, the gold fringe on the ends browned with age. She carefully slipped the rings holding it closed in the middle out of the way and emptied the coins into her hands. A pile of guineas tumbled out, but a bulge remained. Sticking two fingers inside, she wriggled out several rolled banknotes. She stared at the amount for several long moments.

So much money.

It would make all the difference in her quest to return to her ancestral home. She closed her eyes and could almost hear the chatter of voices in her native tongue, smell the spices of dishes she'd longed for, and see the familiar faces of a community who had raised her. A prayer of wonder and gratitude silently passed over her lips. When she opened her eyes to say thank you, her newfound godfather was gone. Pivoting on her foot, she turned in every direction, but nowhere along the houses lining the streets half-covered in fog did she see him. Had he gone inside one of them? If so, which one?

She caught sight of her rescuer pushing the thief to walk and already putting distance between them. "Wait!" she cried.

He turned, as if surprised to still see her there. His shirt was open at his neck with his cravat gone to secure the thief, and his wavy dark hair had fallen long over his forehead. How could she have ever mistaken this man for a thief? He was Adonis personified, and his honor preceded him.

"Yes?" he asked while the thief struggled against him.

"We should share this reward."

"You earned it." He gave a stern nod, his rugged features stoic despite his rough encounter, before returning to his effort to guide the thief away.

"Thank you," she breathed. He had complimented her instincts and stolen her breath away with his heroism, and yet he was leaving her life just as quickly as her mysterious godfather had. Never had she had such an eventful morning. Never had she met two kinder men.

Refilling the coin purse with its contents, she moved in the opposite direction, eager to walk the last few blocks. Soon she would finally be home again, ready as she would ever be to face the stepmother who despised her. Thanks to a generous old man and a handsome stranger, her heavy heart was a little lighter than it had been only moments ago.

Despite her one and twenty years, she felt as if she were glimpsing herself on a page of some fantastical story. The momentary euphoria faded as quickly as it had come, however, and her smile faltered. No one had devoured as many legends and folktales as she had, and they weren't pretty stories with happy endings. She shook the grim thought from her mind. No matter what was coming, she would face it with the same bravery she'd summoned this morning. The future she'd dreamed of her whole life depended upon it.