“Coming!”

“Okay! Meet you in the parlor!”

Portia dropped her phone, checked her face and dress in the full-length mirror. She had been rejected by Tavish, and her family, but at least she looked like a goddamned princess. She would put on a happy face and pretend everything was all right because this was Tav’s big night and she wasn’t going to ruin it.

PORTIA HAD ALWAYS assumed that riding up to a castle in a queue of carriages would be magical, but she was too nervous to appreciate the fairy tale she was acting out. Each clop of the horses’ hooves as they approached the squat, foreboding building made her stomach flip. Maybe this was what Cinderella had felt like: filled with dread and unable to tell if she was light-headed from nerves or because the bodice on her dress was too tight.

This was different from a fancy fund-raiser or any of the numerous black-tie events she’d attended throughout her life. It was Tavish’s debut, and she needed to make sure it went well. If she got him started on the right foot, perhaps everything else would fall into place.

She pushed away thoughts of Tav flourishing or failing after she left. Of their discussion and how he’d seemed resigned to the fact that she would leave, as if he had no input on the matter. His well-being wouldn’t be on her agenda anymore, and he’d made it clear that his biggest concern was how he’d mishandled her job, not her heart. That was all he saw between them in the end: an apprenticeship. Well, an apprenticeship and some major chemistry and the best sex of her life. But chemistry faded and apprenticeships ended—it wasn’t even a full-time job. Despite that, it had taken over her life.

“This portion of Essexlove was built to repel invaders in 1575,” Portia said when the itchy tension started at the base of her neck. “It was renovated with a more modern look in 1912, though on this side you can still see the high, thin windows to prevent the English from storming the castle.”

“I should make sure David isn’t on the battlements with a pot of boiling oil,” Tav said drily.

The carriage moved forward in the line and she felt so nervous her head spun. They had worked hard in preparation for this moment, and now that it was here she felt totally out of it, as if she was watching it play out from a distance. All she could think of were the things she should have focused on with Tav, of her phone call with her parents, of the fact that no matter what she did, it wasn’t good enough. Her chest went tight and pressed back into her plush carriage seat.

“The stone was all locally sourced and the newer wings—”

“Relax, poulette,” Johan said. He was seated across from her, sporting a kilt that seemed perhaps a bit shorter than standard. He seemed quite comfortable, given his dangerous manspreading on his side of the carriage. He’d already announced he was playing a game of Liechtienbourgian roulette by going sans underwear, so Portia kept her gaze above his waist. “If you start to feel inadequate, just remember that you two will likely be the only people there tonight who make an actual contribution to the world, apart from the staff.”

Portia noted that he didn’t include himself in the positive contributions to the world column. “What about you?”

He ran a hand through his floppy ginger locks and shot her a devilish grin. “I’m semi-royalty. That’s even more useless than actual royalty.”

“Hey, you do good things. And you just spent days helping complete strangers because a friend asked you to.”

“I needed something to keep me occupied while in this dreadful country,” he countered, as if he hadn’t come explicitly to help Tav.

Portia started to protest but Tav sighed loudly.

“Christ, the two of you. Now can you see how frustrating it is trying to give you a compliment, Freckles?” Tav asked, shifting closer to her as he tugged at his kilt. Part of her was taken aback by his gruff words, but then his fingertips brushed over the back of her hand and she realized that someone being annoyed because they thought you were greater than you could imagine was perhaps not the worst situation one could find themselves in.

But having that and losing it was, and this was a game she’d already lost.

“And can you see how frustrating it is when you pretend she isn’t your lady love?” Johan chimed in with a smile. “I can say from experience that the Looking Glass Daily isn’t always entirely wrong.”

Tav drew his hand away and Portia swallowed against the roughening in her throat.

She shot Johan a dirty look, and he raised a shoulder. He knew something was up between her and Tavish, and his little pokes weren’t helping. Lady love. Pfft. Lady close to hand was more accurate.

Portia kept thinking about Tav’s complete lack of reaction when she’d told him about her next job. How he’d accepted it so easily. Because she wasn’t the kind of person people kept around.

Enough overthinking.

The carriage stopped and the door was pulled open by a liveried footman. Portia and Tavish looked at each other for a long moment.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Remember, you’re an international, ahem national, man of mystery,” Johan said from across the carriage. “James Bond, minus the taking advantage of abused women, plus a sword and whatever medieval affectations please you.” With that, he leapt down from the carriage, seemingly not caring at all that it was a gusty night and his kilt was flapping dangerously.