Page 12 of The Scot's Perfect Match
Ava’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments. Moira looked radiant in pale rose silk, her curls pinned just so, her expression open and eager as she took in the glittering room. And Gavan, well, he looked exactly as she’d expected. Imposing. Annoyed. Beautifully tailored. There was a storm in his eyes, as usual, like he’d come here against his better judgment and was determined to find fault in everything.
Ava’s stomach twisted. She was supposed to be angry with him, had been angry with him, but still, there he was, and she felt her pulse flutter traitorously at the sight of him.
Focus. She was hosting a ball, and she had a mission.
Her gaze returned to Lachlan, smile back in place. “Mr. Ferguson,” she said smoothly, “how lovely to meet ye at last.”
Lachlan offered a modest bow, eyes twinkling. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Ava. I’ve heard quite a bit about ye.”
She gave a light laugh. “All good things, I hope.”
“Only the verra best. Though I’m no’ sure anyone warned me ye’d be this… intimidating.”
She tilted her chin, amused. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”
“Only if ye’re the type to accept them.” His grin was confident, but not arrogant. Charming, in that easy, practiced way.
Before she could respond, her eyes wandered again, drawn almost against her will. Gavan stood near the entrance; his gaze fixed on her. Moira had been drawn into conversation with another guest, leaving him to scan the crowd like a soldier assessing enemy territory.
Their eyes met. Again.
Brief. Sharp. A flicker of unreadable expression passed across his face before he turned his attention elsewhere, jaw tightening.
Ava felt it like a spark beneath her skin.
She turned quickly back to Lachlan, her smile steady. “I do accept compliments,” she said. “Though I prefer sincerity to flattery.”
“Then I’ll try verra hard to be sincere,” Lachlan replied. “Starting with this, I had intended to ask for ye to join me in a dance later. But I wonder if I might make it my first request instead?”
Her mind was already pivoting, calculating. This was perfect. Moira, sweet and lovely, was standing just feet away. And Gavan, brooding and belligerent, was watching.
She gave Lachlan a thoughtful look. “If ye will grant me a request. If I agree to one dance tonight…” She leaned in just slightly, her voice dipped in honey. “Ye must promise to meet my dear friend Miss Moira Douglas. I think the two of ye might get along splendidly.”
Lachlan arched a brow, amused. “An introduction in exchange for a dance? I’m intrigued. And curious, should I be flattered or wary?”
“Oh, flattered,” Ava said airily, waving her fan. “It means ye’ve already passed my first test.”
“Which is?”
“Excellent bone structure and a willingness to be redirected.”
He laughed, offering his arm. “Verra well. Lead on, my lady.”
As she guided him through the throng, she allowed herself a small breath of satisfaction. Moira stood near the refreshment table, politely sipping from a glass of lemonade, watching the swirling crowd with open curiosity. Moira hadn’t yet spotted Gavan drifting several feet behind her, engaged in what looked to be a tedious conversation with Lord and Lady McCray and their drab daughter.
Perfect.
“Moira,” Ava said brightly.
Moira turned, her face lighting when she saw Ava. “Oh, Lady Ava, so lovely to see ye again.”
“I am so pleased ye joined us. Mr. Lachlan Ferguson, please allow me to introduce ye to Miss Moira Douglas,” Ava said with a slight flourish. “He’s newly returned from London, and he was just telling me how he’s hoping to make new acquaintances this season.”
Lachlan gave a charming bow. “Miss Douglas, it’s a pleasure.”
Moira curtsied. “Mr. Ferguson. It’s lovely to meet ye.”
Ava watched as they exchanged pleasantries, a tiny flicker of pride stirring in her chest. Already, she could see the ease in Moira’s expression, the faint blush on her cheeks. Lachlan was attentive but not overbearing. A good start.
