Portia sucked in a breath and realized she was shaking—he was right. Why was she downplaying this? She didn’t have to. David should never have touched her.
“You’re right. I was scared. I just don’t want to make a scene.”
“I hate these people,” Johan said miserably. “Cruelty is so normal to many of them.”
“How many shots did you have?” she asked.
“Only two,” he said. “For fortitude. And some whiskey.”
His gaze scanned the room, a troublesome glint in his eyes. She felt a sudden, sad kinship with the redheaded step-prince. She decided to do what she would have done to Old Portia if given a chance.
“You know what, I really need something to eat. Let’s go get some appetizers and non-alcoholic drinks. We have a long night ahead of us,” she said. They’d hydrate and wait for Tavish to return or for the night to be over—whichever happened first.
Chapter 26
Tavish was exhausted. He could spend hours practicing parries and thrusts, or bent over a forge, and be good to go, but his interactions with the peerage drained him in a way physical labor didn’t.
“That went well,” he said to Leslie as they walked away from an elderly duchess smoking a long, thin cigarette.
“I think it went well, though most people are away at the yacht races this weekend. It’s a major event. I’m fairly certain David planned it this way on purpose.”
Tav listened while scanning the room for Portia’s rust-gold ringlets and yellow dress. He’d read a thing or two about codependency after Johan’s walking stick analogy and his subsequent talks, or non-talks, with Portia. It worried him how much he itched to see her, to be next to her again, but he didn’t want her advice or assistance. He wanted her. How in the hell was he supposed to differentiate between overreliance and love?
Love.
“Fuck’s sake,” Tav said aloud as the realization hit him.
“Yes, it is a pity,” Leslie continued the explanation Tav’s thoughts had interrupted. “But don’t fret, you’ll meet everyone at the Holyrood garden party.”
“Ah, yes. Along with the Queen.”
“In a week,” Leslie said, then stopped walking, halting their progress. Tavish’s gaze went from scanning the room back down to her.
“Honestly, Your Grace? You’re not ready. I know you have some type of arrangement with Ms. Hobbs, but if you’re serious about this title, you need to find someone else to help you. More importantly, you should do so if you’re serious about her.”
Irritation walloped through him, mostly with himself. Two people who barely knew either of them were warning him off, and Portia had pulled away, too. Maybe this title was already turning him into an arsehole and this was everyone’s way of telling him.
“If you’re trying to muscle your way into the job, insulting Portia isn’t the way to do it, lass.”
Leslie shook her head. “I’m not trying to insult her. I’m being frank, because I thought you appreciated frankness. She’s American. She has little experience with the peerage. Worst of all, she loves you.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Tavish said, though his irritation was being replaced with a hope he tried not to show. “Things are not like that—”
“She’s willing to give her all to make this work for you, even if she can’t. If you felt the same, would you let her? Because I have to tell you, after years of making everything go smoothly for David, love is the last thing I feel for him.”
“Oh, that’s sorted. Her apprenticeship is almost over,” he said. “It was always going to be three months. We’ve already discussed replacing her.”
“Oh dear,” Leslie sighed. “You really don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“Look, I get it. You think I don’t fit in with any of these people and I’m going to make a fool of myself.”
Tavish thought he would, too, but he was starting to understand how he needed to move forward.
“Well, possibly. But I was talking about with Ms. Hobbs.” She patted his arm. “Give me a call next week and we can discuss finding you a secretary when she goes. Possibly me, or someone else if you’d prefer that.”
“Why is it that everyone seems to know what I need more than I do?” Tav asked irritably.
“Why is it you’re waiting for someone to tell you?” Leslie countered, and something else clicked into place for him. He’d told Portia he’d replace her, that she should go. He was so thick he’d thought that was giving her space, but maybe there was such a thing as too much space.
Bloody hell. Tav had said he’d likely be the one to cock up, without realizing he already had.
“You’re lucky I like you, cuzzo,” he said and was rewarded with a brief smile, one that faltered.
“Be careful, Tavish. I know all of this seems frivolous and silly, but some people take it quite seriously. There’s Ms. Hobbs by the way.”
Tav turned and saw Portia chatting with Lord Washburn. Johan strolled up and handed her a glass of punch, like it was his duty, and jealousy twisted in Tav’s stomach. He ignored it—ignored the fact that Johan was already rich and wouldn’t need things explained to him like a child. Johan had been nothing but a friend to him and he wasn’t going to repay him by using him as a convenient target when he was angry with himself.
Portia nodded politely as Johan and Washburn talked, but her head swiveled every few seconds. She was looking for him, too, he knew, and then she found him. Her gaze latched onto his and he felt the connection between them like a physical thing. Molten metal waiting to be shaped; if he let it go cold, it would become an ugly, useless lump instead of the beautiful item he knew they were capable of creating together. She was a claymore’s length away from him and it was still too far.
“Save a reel for me, Tavish,” Leslie said, then headed off. Tav didn’t take his eyes from Portia, just walked straight to her.
“Hullo,” he said. She smiled, looked up at him from under her lashes.
“How is the evening treating you, Your Grace?” she asked.
“It’s treated me well so far, but I find I need a breath of fresh air,” he said. “Leslie was telling me about the gardens.”
He held out his hand to her and she took it.
“I assume I’m not invited,” Johan said pleasantly.
“Of course, you are,” Portia said.
“Of course, you’re not,” Tavish echoed. “We won’t be gone long.”
“Don’t worry, I’m used to being cast aside. Lord Washburn here will keep me entertained, I’m sure.” He didn’t sound like he found the man entertaining, but he winked at Tavish and began talking to the elderly lord anyway.
Tav led Portia through the crowds and out into the sprawling garden. Summer was evident in the blossoming canopies overhead, and the flowers carpeting the grounds. The air smelled green and fresh in a way Tav didn’t often encounter in Bodotria, outside of the river walk.
“Everything okay?” Portia asked.
“I figure. It seems like I’m being received well enough, but we’re all pretending to like each other so it doesn’t matter in the end.” He shrugged.
“I kicked David in the balls,” she said casually, “after he had the bright idea to grab me and threaten me.”
Tav was already turning around and heading back toward the building and throttle the bastard, but a blast of cool air where there shouldn’t have been any stopped him. Portia was tugging at his kilt to keep him in place. She slid her arm through his and pulled until he started walking alongside her again. His heart was beating fast and a fury he hadn’t felt possibly ever throbbed in his blood.
“I handled it,” she said. “So just pretend I never told you anything. But after I go, be careful. I don’t trust him. I don’t know if you can trust Leslie either, though she seems nice.”
“You expect me not to knock him across the room as soon as I get back in there?” he asked.