Tav hadn’t gone down on his knees, all those years ago. He’d politely asked Greer to stay and she’d politely declined and that had been that. He felt nothing polite in him at the thought of Portia leaving, which probably meant that she should.

“Hi,” she said, standing. Her smile was friendly, but there was strain around those big brown eyes of hers.

He flung open the office door and ushered her inside, gestured toward the seat she’d sat in that first morning after nearly burning his eyes out. He sat down, laced his fingers together over the papers on his desk. He’d known how to be professional once, to sit in meetings with a bland expression, and he called on that training to keep him from thinking about how she had gasped into his mouth when he’d tugged at her hair.

“You wanted to meet?” he asked. Professional. Not remembering the slide of her stomach over his cock as she’d pressed closer to him.

“Yes.” She looked worried, and Tav once again felt that strange and unprofessional need to hold her.

He leaned forward. “Is everything all right? If this is about the other day . . .”

“No. This is something important and I’m not quite sure how to tell you.”

If Tavish hadn’t been well-versed in the birds and the bees, he would’ve started to worry that one could get pregnant from kissing. He’d nearly come in his pants from that kiss, so it wasn’t the most unrealistic thing that might have happened.

“Okay.” She took a fortifying breath.

“Christ, out with it then,” he said. There was being professional and there was being tortured.

“So you know I’ve been researching the history of the building as something fun for any history buffs who might happen across the site. And I found something.” She sucked in a breath and then stood, coming to stand beside him as she tapped at her tablet. She handed it over to him.

“Please don’t hate me,” she said. “But I would be remiss as an apprentice, and as a friend, if I didn’t show you this.”

Tav was caught on the fact that she’d called him a friend until his gaze tracked to the screen of the tablet, where he saw a picture of himself. No, not himself. His hair was thicker—would be wavier at that length, his nose a little less pronounced, and he had his mother’s mouth. He wasn’t keen on photos, but he looked in the mirror every damn day, and whoever was in this obviously old photo looked a hell of a lot like him. Tav’s brain tried to process that and stalled out.

“What is this?” he asked, trying not to sound annoyed. He really didn’t like situations like this, where someone already knew the endgame and he was still puzzling his way along.

She swiped the screen again and there was now the full picture, along with a newspaper clipping. There was his doppelganger, along with a little boy, and—was that the bloody Queen?? Outside of the armory?

Dread began to gather in his muscles, tensing them for some unwanted revelation.

“I found this photo at the library this morning. This is the Royal Duke of Edinburgh, Douglas Dudgeon, sometime in the late 1940s. That’s his son, another Douglas Dudgeon, who inherited the property upon his father’s passing.” She swiped again and another image popped up, of some kind of family tree, rife with titles Tav usually came across in the old treatises he pored over for information about weapons and martial arts.

She swiped again and there was another newspaper clipping, this one more recent—from the late 1970s. A man who didn’t look exactly like him, as in the other photo, but still resembled him a great deal.

Meet the New Duke! With the passing of Douglas McGuinness Dudgeon, his son Douglas Tavish McGuinness Dudgeon has inherited the title of Royal Duke of Edinburgh. He is known for his philanthropic works in the resettlement of refugees, in addition to being one of Edinburgh’s most sought-after bachelors. Now that he has inherited the dukedom, the confirmed bachelor will certainly be in search of a duchess!

“Interesting,” he said. “Yeah. That’s . . .” He mumbled something—even he wasn’t sure what. His brain was too busy spinning. “I mean, that’s a pretty big coincidence.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “I checked the deed again. And before it passed to you, it was registered to a non-profit organization, which upon further probing was under the umbrella of a larger corporation. Owned by Douglas Tavish McGuinness Dudgeon.”

Tavish had never thought much about his father, and what he had thought hadn’t been good. The man had clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Tav had been more than happy with the family he had, so there’d been no room for wishful thinking about some wanker he’d never even met.

How did he explain then, the sudden emotions whirling through him? He wanted to throw something. He wanted to stab something. He wanted to flip his desk. Not because he now had a face to put to his father, and a name, but because now he understood that his father had been a powerful man. A member of the peerage. His mother had been a scared young refugee. And this man had gotten her pregnant and abandoned her. The date on the paper didn’t lie—his mother would have been well along with him when this story broke.

“The fucking numpty lavvy-heided wank stain arsepiece,” Tav growled. “I’ll fucking throttle him.”

Portia’s hand came down on his clenched fist, which he hadn’t realized was shaking.