True panic took over then. She’d been truly wasted in her past, but she’d always had some baseline memory, or scraps of them. There hadn’t been a total void during which anything could have happened.

“Tavish?”

He pushed himself away from the counter where he’d been leaning. “Looks like we made the papers again.”

He shoved her the copy of the Looking Glass Daily.

THE DUKE’S DRUNKEN DUCHESS TO BE?

“What? No. I didn’t drink anything.” Portia didn’t understand this. She hadn’t had anything but punch. She placed a hand to her chest and tried to pull in a deep breath.

I tried so hard and still somehow I managed to ruin everything.

Tav sighed. “After the dancing. I went to the loo and got stopped by about fifty geezers on my way back. I have no idea how long it took. You’d been fine, but when I found you, you were yelling at Washburn about the results of some cooking competition. Johan was trying to play along and act like this was all normal, but then you keeled over.”

His expression was drawn, like he could barely bring himself to remember it.

She glanced at the paper again and caught the subhead of the article.

DUKE’S GOOD TIME GIRL FRIDAY MAKES THE ROUNDS OF THE PEERAGE, AND SETS HER SIGHTS ON A PRINCE

She skimmed the text, words like sordid past and promiscuous and bully-brained socialite stood out. There were photos of her that painted a terrible picture. One in which she leaned suggestively toward David, her body pressed against his as he sported a shocked expression. One of her and Johan with locked eyes as they danced. And of course, one of Tavish holding her in the gardens.

“That was when I kicked David in the balls, that’s when Johan was telling me an intense story about an overflowing toilet in the royal pool house, and that’s . . .” She looked up at Tavish. He knew when that was. It was when he’d asked her to stay. Not to be his apprentice or squire or any combination of the two—he’d asked her to stay for her. For them.

But the warmth that had been in his eyes the night before had banked, like a forge gone cold.

The next picture showed him carrying her over his shoulder toward their carriage and Johan elbowing a paparazzo out of the way.

Tavish’s debut. His entry into society. She’d ruined everything.

You knew you would.

She flipped the page and sank down, either chance or reflexes landing her ass in one of the wooden chairs. There, in bullet point format, was an accounting of her scandalous past. Former hookups gleefully discussing their brief times together, happy to cash in on fifteen seconds of fame. Pictures stolen from her social media—or more likely offered up by acquaintances.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she said.

“We all know the Looking Glass is full of lies,” Cheryl said comfortingly as she chopped, but her smile was tight. “No one believes this tripe and if they do they’ll forget soon enough, aye?”

Portia shook her head and winced at the brief flash of pain. “Some of it is true-ish. Sensationalized, but true. But the stuff about last night—no. I wasn’t flirting with anyone! Well, Tavish, maybe, but I’m not some scheming social climber. I’m rich, why would I need to aim for some dusty old Scottish aristocrat with nothing to his name but a crumbling property? They would be coming after me!”

“Portia.” Tav’s voice was low and there was an undertone to it that she didn’t like.

“Tav—”

“I think we should move up the end date for your apprenticeship,” he said.

The kitchen spun and she didn’t think it was the hangover. She gripped the edge of the table.

“But—”

“Look, you said yourself that this situation was too much for you, and I think last night showed it. Your face is splashed everywhere, everyone is crawling through your past looking for garbage. Because you’re here, associated with me.”

His nostrils flared.

“Maybe it would be better for you to go back to New York,” he said with a firmness that left no room to imagine the maybe was anything other than a nicety.

“Come on, Tav,” Cheryl said. “Take a minute to think about this.”

“To think about what? The fact that the tabloids will leap on everything and everyone related to me and drag them through the mud? I have a responsibility to my family, and to the armory, and . . . and to this title. So I think it’s best you go like you planned, get back to your regular life and friends and family.”

Portia said the first thing that came to mind. “But who’s going to help you?”

Tavish ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “You need to worry about helping yourself right now, Portia. People around the world are reading about your sexual exploits. Have you checked your phone? There are already stories circulating that Johan and I are sharing you, which would be fine if any of us were into that, but that’s not the healthy setup being spread around. Aren’t you always thinking about optics? What are the optics of constant headlines about you being some kind of—”

He stopped short, but Portia knew what he was going to say. What he had thought. About her.

“I’ll book my flight. You already have access to all of the social media accounts and emails on the phone I got you. I’ll send you the link to all the important info and files online,” she said calmly. She tried to keep her breathing controlled because all it would take was one deep breath to lead to a gasp, to lead to a sob, to lead to showing everyone how Tavish had just ripped her heart out.