“So, I’m to be a rake now? Don’t quite know how I feel about that. Raking seems like a lot of work. All that seducing and being charming. You know charm isn’t my strong suit.”

She pursed her lips as she chewed and swallowed.

“You joke, but I’ve already started getting formal inquiries as to whether you’re dating anyone and the news isn’t even fully out yet. A handsome newly minted duke is apparently irresistible, so you’d better figure out your thoughts on the matter soon.” He wanted the words to be flirtatious, but she was still looking everywhere but at his face.

“Is that a general statement or a personal one? The bit about me being irresistible?” he asked. He leaned forward a bit and his knee brushed hers beneath the table.

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of how women will react,” she said, avoiding his question. The grimace on her face revealed something else: she had thought of it, and she wasn’t keen on the idea. “When the internet finds out #swordbae is also #dukebae, your DMs are gonna be lit.”

“Well, I don’t know what that last bit means, but I’ve not been thinking about hypothetical women. I’ve been fairly focused on other matters.” He kept his gaze on her, wondering whether the anticipation pooling in his stomach was a one-sided thing. Her brown eyes were wide, gathering the flickering candlelight in their warm depths.

“Did you see the new exhibit at the Medieval Museum?” she asked suddenly. “I know we’ve been busy, but I was thinking I could talk to someone there about doing an exhibit of some of the interesting pieces you have in your collection and on modern swordsmithing. ‘Modern meets Medieval: A return to classic Scots swordmaking’ or something like that.”

Ah. Conversation change. Tav would respect that. She’d already told him she didn’t want anything and this night was about helping her feel better, not an opportunity to force the issue of their clear chemistry.

He shouldn’t have pushed, even though his push had mostly been a steady gaze and a one-track mind. He didn’t drink the rest of his wine. He was sober, but he didn’t want the excuse of lowered inhibitions to let his growing feelings for her slip. His feelings weren’t something else of his for her to manage.

“That sounds brilliant,” he said, settling against the back of his chair. They finished the dinner talking about everything but dukedoms and dating. Portia dragged him down a rabbit hole that led from medieval swords to ancient Etruscan sabers to Byzantine architecture to the basic structure of a web page, and Tav loved every minute of it.

Dating after his marriage had always ranged from “She’s a fun lass” to “this will work for now,” but as they sat eating the food of his childhood and opening up to each other, Tavish felt something come into alignment.

He’d been attracted to Portia before that night. He had grown accustomed to her presence. But the churn of emotions staging a tourney in his rib cage was more than those two things—he wanted her. He was well aware that he couldn’t and shouldn’t but he did, and Christ’s sake was he ever screwed.

“Is there . . . ?” She motioned around her face.

“What?” He tried to pull his focus back instead of staring at her like she was a sword he was grinding.

“Last time you looked at me like that there was something on my face,” she said, pulling out her compact. She dabbed at that red lipstick that miraculously hadn’t budged though they’d just eaten, and Tav watched her finger brush the sensitive skin on her pouty bottom lip.

Over her shoulder he noticed one of the waiters begin to flip chairs over onto tables, the universal sign for “you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.”

“We should probably pay.” He stood and she followed him, thankfully not protesting when he paid the tab at the register. He wasn’t trying to be a chauvinist; it was the least he could do to repay her for her help.

“It’s not what I’d call a warm summer night, but it’s not raining. Let’s walk back,” she said once they’d left the alley. The salty scent from the firth was carried by the strong night wind, and she closed her eyes as if savoring it, just as she had with the food. He’d once predicted that she’d be picky, but Portia was a woman who savored trying new things.

They walked and talked, Tavish trying not to think too much about how much he wanted to kiss her. This wasn’t a date, it was . . . a man and a woman who were attracted to each other sharing an excellent meal and conversation.

Oh hell.

“What is that?” she exclaimed when they were nearing their neighborhood. He followed the path from her tapered fingertip to the huge old ship anchored along the waterway. It was painted with stripes and blocks of different colors and patterns all contrasting. “It’s like a drunken Mondrian.”

Tav didn’t know what a sober Mondrian was, but he did know about the ship; he was so used to it, he hardly ever noticed it anymore. “It’s a dazzler. During the Second World War, German U-boats would patrol and sink ships in the bay, but when they saw a ship painted like this against the horizon, they couldn’t make them out. Apparently, the best camouflage was to be bright and beautiful.”

She stood looking at the ship and he stood looking at her, in her red lipstick and red blouse and red-bottomed heels.