problem.
But even as he had that thought, he knew he was lying to himself. It may not be his problem, but he wanted it to be.
He stood up, hesitated by the door, and then slapped on the cowboy hat. Grinning, he headed to the auction house’s storage facility. He’d ask his duchess to tea. The British loved tea, right?
“I’d prefer whiskey,” Portia declared as she stood and put on her coat.
Jack knew he had to be gawking at her, but he couldn’t help it. “You drink whiskey?”
“Don’t you?” She batted her eyes at him, taunting.
He leaned against a piece of furniture that was covered with a large sheet, enjoying himself. “Don’t poke the tiger, sugar.”
“I didn’t realize tigers wore cowboy hats.” She wrapped a scarf around her neck and tipped her head, like a queen being patient with a lowly vassal. “Are you coming? I know just the place.”
He let her lead the way because he liked to watch her walk—so much that he’d have followed her across London.
But they took the subway—or the “tube” as Portia corrected him. A few blocks blindly staring at her excellent legs and she said, “We’re here.”
He looked at the cute white house with black trim and the hanging flowerpots. “You Brits do bars weird.”
Portia’s adorable nose wrinkled. “This is a lovely establishment.”
“Exactly.” He opened the door for her. “After you, duchess.”
“I’m not a duchess,” she murmured as she strutted past him.
He inhaled her, wanting to growl, and followed her in.
“This is a surprise, Portia,” the redheaded woman behind the bar called out. Her eyes fell on him, and a mischievous smile crossed her lips. “And hello , cowboy.”
Portia rolled her eyes as she stripped off her layers and perched primly on a barstool. “Don’t encourage him, Niamh. He already has an inflated sense of self.”
“If I looked that good in jeans, I would, too.” She winked at him and then faced Portia. “The usual?”
“Two.”
He watched the bartender pour two hefty glasses of Jameson as he took the seat next to Portia’s. “I never would have guessed that you drink whiskey.”
Her lips pursed. “What would you have guessed?”
“Something pink and sweet.” Because he wanted the same, he pressed a lingering kiss on her mouth.
She stilled, her eyes wide on his, but then she melted into him, her hand on his chest. “Lovely,” she murmured against his lips.
Better than just lovely. He ran his fingers down her arm and took her hand. “So how have your first few days on the job been?”
“Exciting.” She lit up. “Satisfying. I’m grateful that you’re giving me this chance.”
“You aren’t sad to be around the things you used to own?” he asked, watching her closely.
“Well, they were never my things, were they?” She toyed with her beads. “They belonged to my father. He’d only ever promised me Suncrest Park, and just to allow me to live there.”
Jack frowned. “But he sold it.”
“Yes.” She gave him a sad smile and a shrug.
He’d never met the bastard—Hiram had been the one to buy the property—but Jack wished the man were still alive so he could punch his face. He soothed her knuckles with his thumb, more for his sake than anything. “Aren’t you angry about that at all?”
“I’m disappointed. All I ever wanted was to live at Suncrest.” She gazed at him incredulously. “You’re upset though. Why is that? You don’t know me.”
“I’d like to.” He lifted the whiskey. “To getting to know you.”
She tipped her head as she clinked his glass with hers. “Do I get to know you also?”
He grinned. “Ask me anything.”
“Are your boots comfortable?”
Frowning, he looked down at his shoes. “Damn comfortable. Do they bug you that much?”
She blinked, her eyes wide and earnest. “Not at all. I love them. Frankly, I’m jealous that I don’t have a pair.”
He pictured her wearing a pair of cowboy boots and her fancy
But even as he had that thought, he knew he was lying to himself. It may not be his problem, but he wanted it to be.
He stood up, hesitated by the door, and then slapped on the cowboy hat. Grinning, he headed to the auction house’s storage facility. He’d ask his duchess to tea. The British loved tea, right?
“I’d prefer whiskey,” Portia declared as she stood and put on her coat.
Jack knew he had to be gawking at her, but he couldn’t help it. “You drink whiskey?”
“Don’t you?” She batted her eyes at him, taunting.
He leaned against a piece of furniture that was covered with a large sheet, enjoying himself. “Don’t poke the tiger, sugar.”
“I didn’t realize tigers wore cowboy hats.” She wrapped a scarf around her neck and tipped her head, like a queen being patient with a lowly vassal. “Are you coming? I know just the place.”
He let her lead the way because he liked to watch her walk—so much that he’d have followed her across London.
But they took the subway—or the “tube” as Portia corrected him. A few blocks blindly staring at her excellent legs and she said, “We’re here.”
He looked at the cute white house with black trim and the hanging flowerpots. “You Brits do bars weird.”
Portia’s adorable nose wrinkled. “This is a lovely establishment.”
“Exactly.” He opened the door for her. “After you, duchess.”
“I’m not a duchess,” she murmured as she strutted past him.
He inhaled her, wanting to growl, and followed her in.
“This is a surprise, Portia,” the redheaded woman behind the bar called out. Her eyes fell on him, and a mischievous smile crossed her lips. “And hello , cowboy.”
Portia rolled her eyes as she stripped off her layers and perched primly on a barstool. “Don’t encourage him, Niamh. He already has an inflated sense of self.”
“If I looked that good in jeans, I would, too.” She winked at him and then faced Portia. “The usual?”
“Two.”
He watched the bartender pour two hefty glasses of Jameson as he took the seat next to Portia’s. “I never would have guessed that you drink whiskey.”
Her lips pursed. “What would you have guessed?”
“Something pink and sweet.” Because he wanted the same, he pressed a lingering kiss on her mouth.
She stilled, her eyes wide on his, but then she melted into him, her hand on his chest. “Lovely,” she murmured against his lips.
Better than just lovely. He ran his fingers down her arm and took her hand. “So how have your first few days on the job been?”
“Exciting.” She lit up. “Satisfying. I’m grateful that you’re giving me this chance.”
“You aren’t sad to be around the things you used to own?” he asked, watching her closely.
“Well, they were never my things, were they?” She toyed with her beads. “They belonged to my father. He’d only ever promised me Suncrest Park, and just to allow me to live there.”
Jack frowned. “But he sold it.”
“Yes.” She gave him a sad smile and a shrug.
He’d never met the bastard—Hiram had been the one to buy the property—but Jack wished the man were still alive so he could punch his face. He soothed her knuckles with his thumb, more for his sake than anything. “Aren’t you angry about that at all?”
“I’m disappointed. All I ever wanted was to live at Suncrest.” She gazed at him incredulously. “You’re upset though. Why is that? You don’t know me.”
“I’d like to.” He lifted the whiskey. “To getting to know you.”
She tipped her head as she clinked his glass with hers. “Do I get to know you also?”
He grinned. “Ask me anything.”
“Are your boots comfortable?”
Frowning, he looked down at his shoes. “Damn comfortable. Do they bug you that much?”
She blinked, her eyes wide and earnest. “Not at all. I love them. Frankly, I’m jealous that I don’t have a pair.”
He pictured her wearing a pair of cowboy boots and her fancy
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