“Oh shit,” Portia said, and the reporter beside her glanced her way. Her phone was vibrating incessantly in her hand, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Tavish.

“What are you doing, mate?” a reporter asked. “I mean, Your Grace?”

“I’m publicly declaring my love for someone who was hurt because of me and by me.”

“He’s groveling,” the Queen said with just the right amount of royal contempt, then turned a kinder gaze onto Tav. “Go on.”

“Right. Portia, I would like to say, for posterity, that I was the fuck-up here. I thought I could protect you—”

Portia remembered her talk with Reggie and cringed, but something also loosened in her chest. He had wanted to protect her. Because he loved her, and sometimes or maybe all of the time, what people did for love was pretty damned illogical. She began pushing her way through the crowd of reporters, who were jostling to capture a member of the peerage engaging in dramatics that would make everyone forget Johan’s asscheeks had ever graced the front page of the papers.

“—I did what I did because I thought to protect you, but I didn’t bother to ask if you wanted to be protected, or how. So. That’s about it, Freckles.

“I don’t expect her to take me back, but everyone should know that nothing a paper says, nothing about her past, could change the fact that I love Portia Hobbs. Right. Um, you can stop videoing now. Thank you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stood awkwardly, but his hands dropped to his side as he caught sight of Portia pushing past the reporters.

“Bloody hell. You’re here?”

“This is much more entertaining than the previous garden parties,” the Queen said. Portia forgot what Debrett’s recommended, but curtsied because she certainly wasn’t going to shake the Queen’s hand.

“Pardon me,” Tav said, and once the Queen nodded her assent he turned to Portia. “You were supposed to watch the video on your tablet and then decide what you wanted to do.”

“My tablet is at the hotel. Should I . . . go watch it and come back?” she asked. “It was pretty good in person, but I can do that if you want.”

Tav shifted from foot to foot, his face suffused with pink. He looked like he could break a man in half but he stood there blushing as the Queen patted his arm in support.

Portia loved him. But she had something else to deal with first.

“I didn’t get drunk that night,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tav said. “We can—”

“It does matter. It means I didn’t mess up. It means someone drugged my drink.” Chatter burst from the reporters as Tav stepped down from the dais and approached her.

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when Cheryl painted my nails? It was special polish that changes color if you’ve been drugged at a bar or by your date. And someone noticed my nails were a different color when you carried me out.”

Tav’s face was still flushed, but with rage this time. He looked furious, but when he reached out to cup her face, his touch was gentle.

“Who?” His gaze bored into hers. “Who am I going to kill?”

“I can’t say for sure and it is very clear that you’re joking about killing anyone.” She glanced at the reporters in her peripheral vision. British libel laws were no joke. “But I will say that, unrelated, I found out some stuff about David Dudgeon. Like, how he’s into real estate, using a shell company to buy up property in Bodotria and artificially jack up the rental rates. The same company that was going after Mary’s bookshop.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “And the same company that was trying to buy the armory.”

Portia nodded. “He knew who you were all this time. He was hoping to buy the armory before you knew who you were. He also had control over several of your father’s companies that had been buying from the armory, and bad reviews of the products were traced back to his IP address . . .”

“Oh dear.” Leslie’s voice was almost lost in the commotion of the reporters. “I told him to just honor the duke’s will and let you know. To let you decide whether you wanted it or not. But he said he’d been waiting all his life. I didn’t think he would hurt anyone, though.” She glanced at Portia. “He said he’d looked you up and that if he got a drink in your hand maybe you’d be out of his hair.”

Portia glared at Leslie, but her anger with the woman for not warning her was a discussion for another time.

“Is he here?” Tavish asked.

“I would also like to have a word with Mr. Dudgeon,” the Queen said, cutting in. “And I believe Scotland Yard would be of the same opinion.”

She looked at Tavish and Portia for a moment, and then shook her head. “I do believe it’s time for tea. But perhaps later we can discuss what happened.”

“Yes,” Tavish said, bowing deeply. “Whatever you desire of me.”

“That was an exquisite bow,” Portia said after the Queen was on her way.

“I had a great instructor,” he said. “You weren’t so bad either.”

His hands went to her hips, pulled her close.

“At least half of the British media is watching,” she said. That didn’t stop her from bringing her hand up to his face, tracing the curve of his jaw and the shell of his ear, and smoothing back those salt-and-pepper strands.