A Duke by Default (Reluctant Royals #2)(40)

“Aye, but grinding away for hours requires a certain level of stamina.”

Portia’s studious gaze softened to something decidedly naughty. “I would imagine so.” She shook her head and laughed. “It’s going to be really hard to avoid innuendo today, isn’t it?”

Tav chuckled, felt the mood lighten a bit. “It’s a hazard of the job I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

“Well, since the other hazards involve accidentally cutting a finger off or burning myself with molten metal, I’ll take Innuendo for $1,000, Tav.”

“In that case, here’s my eighteen-inch length of steel,” he said, pulling the thin flat metal from the worktable.

“Dear Lord,” Portia said, then pressed her lips together.

“Hey, you’re the one who pressed for these lessons, Freckles.” Tav gripped the steel and pointed it at her. “You had to have some idea they’d be like this.”

Though he was still firmly against exploring anything with Portia, despite the banked attraction between them, they were both adults who should be able to acknowledge it and move past it.

“Oh.” Her thin brows rose. “Is that why you kept brushing me off?”

Tav sighed. “No. I brushed you off because you were annoying and intrusive,” he said gruffly, but Portia didn’t react how she had to his previous insults. She smirked at him.

“Right.”

The cheek. He really had lost his edge.

“I think you were worried about sparks flying,” she said, then tilted her head toward the anvil near the forge. “Sparks? Get it?”

“I’m the only one allowed to tell bad jokes here, Freck.” But he felt less nervous now that they had in a way, dealt with the horny elephant in the room. Now they could just be normal coworkers. “We’re gonna start by hammering the tang, that is, the handle of the sword that’s going to be embedded in the hilt. I’ve already cut away two triangles of metal at the end of the steel, leaving a pointed handle that will fit into the hilt.”

He stopped and picked up the hammer, laying the steel down on the work surface. He’d lifted the hammer to strike the tang when she made a sound to get his attention.

“Hold on,” she said, tapping at her tablet and then pointing its camera at him. “Okay, annnnnd action! You were about to hammer the tang, Sir Tav?”

It was hard to be annoyed when she called him that—hard but not impossible. “Why are you recording this?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes, as if the answer should be obvious. “Because it will get people interested in your business. Which is one of my duties as an apprentice. I’m going to post it on social media and in the next post for my sister’s blog.”

Tav rolled his neck, tried not to show too much annoyance. “I don’t like being videoed, Freckles.”

She looked up from the screen. “It’s not going to steal your soul, you know. In case that was a concern. And why is this different than the exhibition?”

“I was performing then. And my face was covered.” He shifted restlessly. “I just don’t like the idea of people watching, making their little cool, snarky comments. I’m not entirely comfortable being reduced to a bloody hashtag.”

Portia’s stubborn expression softened a bit. “Oh, okay. The #swordbae thing freaked you out. That’s totally understandable. BUT I need to be clear that the comments on this video will not be snarky. They will mostly be, um, appreciative, if I had to make a guess. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

Tav remembered her comment from that first day he’d found her watching him at the grinder. He wasn’t the most logical man, but it stood to reason that if she thought others would appreciate watching him, it was because she appreciated it herself.

“I’ll give you thirty seconds and that’s it,” he said.

“Two minutes,” she countered calmly.

“One,” he compromised and remained stoic when she did a little gleeful jump. He kept his eyes above her neckline, too.

“Okay, and action! Again!”

Tav tried to frown discouragingly at her. She was having way too much fun with this.

“The tang. Yeah. Tang. Tangy,” he choked out, then remembered that this was for Portia, not the annoying contraption in her hand. He straightened, and fixed her with his gaze instead of the phone. “We’re hammering out the tang, aye?”

“Aye, Sir Tav!” she responded with an encouraging grin. He liked this Portia, open and teasing—the Portia he’d sent into hiding with his childish response to his attraction. He could do this silly video without complaining. For her.

“The thing with the tang, which is what keeps the blade locked into the handle of the sword for those of you who don’t know, is that the angles have to be rounded. Soft.” He ran his fingertip over the blunted edge of metal and because his gaze was on her face he saw the way her teeth pressed down on her bottom lip in response. “This is what secures the sword to the hilt. If you have sharp edges, it can eventually lead to fissures and cracks in the metal, and a sword that breaks off at the hilt in the middle of battle. And if that happens? You’re done for. Always check for cracks at this point in the process to ensure you’re crafting something that will stand the test of time.”