Cheryl sucked in a deep breath, as if emerging from a well of panic. “Oh my goodness. I’m sorry, Portia. I just—this is a lot to take in.”

“I know,” Portia said. “I know. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

She finally looked away from her screen and tried to give Cheryl a smile of reassurance, but her expression was tight and Tavish could feel the tension vibrating from her.

Fuck all this.

“Freckles.”

She didn’t look at him.

“Freckles McGee, there’s something I have to show you.”

“I don’t have time,” she said in that strange voice. He stood, walked around the table, and placed his hand on the back of her neck. She stiffened, then relaxed into his hold, and he felt her release a shuddering breath. Desire tickled his palm, along with the curls at her nape, and traveled through his system, but that wasn’t what this was about.

“I must insist that you make time, squire,” he said, trying to remind her that he was supposed to take care of her, too, in whatever this relationship was. “Let’s go.”

She sighed and stood, her movement forcing his hand away.

“Go get one of your sporty little hoodies. We’re going for a walk.”

“THIS HAS BEEN here the entire time?” Portia asked, as she picked her way along the path. They’d walked in silence since Tav had driven them to the wooded section of the Bodotria Trail, which passed from the gentrifying industrial area of the docks, on past the brick town houses, and through old railroad tunnels and over abandoned tracks. The greenery expanded from moss on the rocks along the river, to bushes, to this lush—though compact—wooded gorge.

Tav had let Portia walk in peace, watching as the weight seemed to lift from her shoulders and brightness crept into her eyes. She asked questions about the area every now and again, and he enjoyed being the one who had answers for once.

“This is so beautiful,” she breathed. A couple of small brown birds chirped as they chased each other through the branches of chestnuts and beeches. “And peaceful. It reminds me of going to Central Park and finding a space that seemed magical in the rush of the city.”

Tav nodded. “I used to come here when I was a lad and play at being a knight. There was a lot more rubbish about back then. Mum was always warning me not to touch any strange needles. But this place cleans up well.”

“As do you. We have to think about what you’ll wear this Saturday, by the way,” she said, and he noticed her brow wrinkle just a bit.

“It’s a Highland ball. I’ll be wearing a kilt,” he said easily. “I may not know much about suits, but I’ve a very fine formal kilt and hose and all that. Don’t stress.”

He realized that the last bit would fall on deaf ears—Portia was always stressing. Maybe she should have been the one taking this post. She was certainly working harder for it than he was.

A duke needs a duchess . . .

Leslie’s words came to him as Portia stepped into a beam of sunshine filtering down through the leafy overhang and turned to look at him. The sun hit the strands of bronze in her hair, coaxed the golden undertones of her brown skin to the surface, and Tav was struck with wistfulness like an anvil dropping from the sky. He’d tried, and failed, at marriage, and it wasn’t something he was eager to try again. And his feelings for Portia were inextricably tied to the duke shite.

But he didn’t think that was what made his heart beat faster as she stood looking at him like some freckled nymph caught frolicking along the banks of the Bodotria. He didn’t think—but he wasn’t sure, and it was that lack of surety that meant he should push all thoughts of duchesses out of his mind. He’d married Greer for the wrong reasons, he’d realized much too late, and though he’d loved her, love wasn’t enough.

“Do you love her, m’hijo?”

“What about dancing?” Portia asked, that wide mouth of hers pulling into a grin.

Not yet, but oh fuck, could I. Shite.

“What about it?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Do you have two left feet, or three?” she asked.

“I’ll let you judge that.” He reached out a hand for her and she took it, tugging him close. He laughed. “I’m supposed to lead, Freckles.”

“Says who?” she taunted, tugging his arms out into a waltz position and slowly beginning the steps. Tavish fought against everything he’d learned, stumbling as he followed.

“I know a thing or two,” he said, pleased because she was pleased with him. “But this is a Highland ball, lass. There won’t only be waltzing.”

He stopped their movement, feeling the pull of her for a second, and when she relaxed and looked up in confusion he skipped into a reel, tugging her lightly along with him. He slowed to show her when to point her toe, when to lean back, when to turn, and when to bow. She picked up quickly and within a few moments they were whirling and hopping across the grass and mossy rocks, her laughter riding on the rustle of the wind through the trees like some kind of goddamned fairy song.

Do you love her?

They came to a panting sweaty stop and Tavish stared down at her as she threw her head back, letting the sun filtering through the trees warm her face.

I really could. Maybe I already do? This is not good.