A Duke by Default (Reluctant Royals #2)(65)

“I’ll be right there.” He’d nearly closed the space between them in the hallway when she’d said those words so guilelessly, as if that was something she could offer him simply and without a second thought. It had hurt, because it wasn’t true in the long term. Apprenticeships ended, as did visas. In the meantime, she was doing exactly that. Being there for him.

She’d contacted her princess friend—because of course she hadn’t been joking about that—and found a lawyer perfect for the job of navigating all the aristocratic bullshit and transitioning the title, and all the land and money and prestige associated with it, to Tavish. The mere thought of it made him feel like he’d been kicked in the chest. She’d taken over his emails and begun answering the inquiries that had started to trickle in—Tavish assumed there would be a tidal wave once word really got out. There were the lessons of course, and in her spare time she was still putting the finishing touches on the armory’s website and running the social media.

He’d brought on an apprentice but gotten a force of nature instead.

He finished up his work for the day and headed to Portia’s room, in what had become the norm for them. He’d gone from avoiding his apprentice to spending every free minute with his squire. The flurry of anticipation that built in his stomach as he approached her room had also become the norm. Tav had thought the infatuation would fade away, or that her drills on social interactions and small talk and how to act like a rich git—reminders that she was one—would have turned him off. As with everything when it came to Portia, he’d been wrong.

He remembered how wrong he’d been about her kissing style, how she’d been shy and vulnerable, growing bolder as their tongues tangled. Even with all that had happened in the weeks since she’d arrived, it was that kiss by the forge he couldn’t stop thinking of. His entire world was on the precipice of change. Life as he had known it was about to fall and smash to pieces on the cobblestone below—was in fact already tumbling toward the ground—but he was too busy fixating on the memory of her mouth and her hands and the way she’d moaned . . .

What a tosser you are, Tavish.

He pushed the thoughts away as he raised his hand to knock on the door. There was no response and he waited, then knocked again. Finally, he heard the shuffling of sheets and a groggy “Come in.”

When he stepped into the dim room, the first thing that hit him was how her territory seemed to be marked by smell—a fragile floral scent that told intruders this space was hers now. The second was that she looked . . . well, she was lying across her bed, hair wild, the skirt of her black dress wrinkled and hiked up in precarious folds just above her knees. Her feet dangled off of the edge of the bed, and her heels were still on. It was like walking into a boudoir fantasy until Tav noticed the dark circles under her eyes and how out of it she seemed.

He stalked over to the bed and sat down, ignoring the warning creak emitted by the frame.

“You look like hell,” he said, and no, that wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear judging from the glare she shot him. It was a sleepy glare, bordering on adorable since he could see both of her hands and she wasn’t toting any weapons.

“I feel like shit,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, and not sexy, Kim Cattrall hoarse. Worry tumbled Tav’s stomach.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

“I think I’m just really, really tired.” She shook her head ruefully and wiggled down further into her duvet. “I sat down for a minute, and I passed right out.”

She had taken on so much—much more than could be justified with this talk of apprenticeships and squires. He would pay her, once things were settled and he had the money that was supposedly his by virtue of blood.

“You’re toast, lass. Burnt,” he said. His hand went to her hair, sweeping the curls back and out of her face. “Setting off the damned fire alarm in the kitchen, even though some knob’s taken the battery out.”

She laughed softly.

“I just needed a nap. I’m fine now . . .” She started to sit up and Tav laid his hand heavily on her shoulder to keep her down, and then she flopped back onto the bed and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Here’s what’s going to happen tonight,” he said, speaking in an exaggeratedly slow tone. “You are going to take a break.”

“I promised to help you,” she said, and Tav felt something in his chest region that was probably similar to what a man run through with a sword felt before he gave up the ghost.

The look in her eyes was dangerous because it was ridiculously pure, despite the fact that he’d spent a good portion of his time around her at between a six and a ten on the wanker-ometer.

“Helping me shouldn’t leave you feeling like shite. You know that, right? And like I said, you look like—”

“Hell. Yes. Got it.” She pulled the duvet up over her head.

“Glad we’re on the same page. So instead of teaching me how to curtsy or hold a damn fork or whatever you had planned for this evening, how about you sleep? Just relax?”

She let out a soft laugh, and shook her head beneath the duvet before pulling the cover back down. This was basic peek-a-boo shite, but Tav couldn’t help the strange spike of happiness when her face was revealed again.

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep now,” she said. She rolled over and picked up her tablet, which was never far from her reach. “It’s cool. I have to—”