Page 26 of The Scot's Perfect Match
Gavan Douglas, Baron Darkwood
He sanded the letter, sealed it, and rang for a footman. “This needs to go out tonight,” he said curtly.
Once the footman departed, the silence of the study crept back in, heavy and charged. Gavan's mind whirled as he sat at the desk, staring at the dying embers in the hearth.
Putting his frustration into action should have felt like a step forward. But instead, it had only sharpened the ache in his chest.
His thoughts drifted to Ava again. He could still feel the ghost of her hand in his from the dance, hear the cadence of her voice when she challenged him beneath the roses. She was infuriating, brilliant, utterly impossible to ignore.
And dangerously entangled in this mess. Why couldn’t she have a regular female hobby, such as sewing or painting? But then again, if her hobbies weren’t archery, horseback riding, and meddling, would she be the Ava he pretended not to admire?
He exhaled slowly, pressing his palms flat to the desk.
Even as he tried to focus on Malcolm, on Moira, on his duty, the memory of their time in the garden today lingered like an ember refusing to die.
That moment in the shaded path, the parasol tilted over her shoulder, the sunlight catching in her hair, the defiance and something else in her eyes, hadn’t left him. He hadn’t meant to step closer, hadn’t meant for his gaze to drop to her lips, but it had. And for one suspended breath, he’d thought, no, wanted.
He shut the thought down as quickly as it came. Thoughts like that would only lead to trouble.
It was easier, safer, to remember the look on her face when she’d pulled herself back together, when she’d cloaked herself again in that perfect, untouchable poise. It reminded him, painfully, that Ava had always been out of reach. She’d made him feel that way once before, years ago, when they were younger and he’d thought her smiles meant more than they did. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
And yet… the way she’d looked at him before Freya’s voice shattered the moment, that had not been nothing.
With a frustrated growl, Gavan forced himself back to the task at hand. Malcolm would find the truth. He had to. And when he did, Gavan would use it to do what needed to be done, protect Moira.
And, perhaps, protect Ava, too.
He sat for a long while after sending the letter, elbows braced on the desk, staring at the dark window. The land beyond was little more than shadow and suggestion, but his mind wouldn’t quiet.
It wasn’t just Moira, or his duty to his uncle, who trusted him with his daughter’s future.
If he was honest, if he dared to say it out loud, this was also about Ava.
He hated how much her name could still undo him. He hated that Lachlan Ferguson’s easy smile directed at her had felt like a personal affront. He hated knowing that if Ferguson hurt her, if she became another one of his charming little conquests, Gavan would have to stand by and do nothing, because she wasn’t his to protect.
He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand. He’d given Malcolm his task, and that would have to be enough for now.
A soft knock broke through the heavy quiet.
“Come in,” he called.
Moira peeked her head inside, her smile small but genuine. “I just wanted to thank ye,” she said, stepping into the room. “For taking me to the garden party. I know it’s no’ your favorite thing, but it meant a great deal.”
Gavan softened despite himself. “Ye dinna need to thank me for that.”
“I do.” She crossed to his desk, resting her hands lightly on the edge. “It was lovely. Truly.” Her gaze warmed. “And I know ye’ll do what’s best for me. Ye're a good cousin and friend.”
The words cut deeper than she could know, but Gavan nodded anyway.
She smiled, content, and left him to his brooding once more.
When the door closed, the guilt settled heavily in his chest. He was ruining her pretty illusions, undermining the men who’d made her cheeks pink with delight, and doing it behind her back.
It felt like betrayal. But it was also the only way to keep her safe.
He turned back to his desk, staring at the ledgers. When the reply came, when Malcolm dug up whatever truth there was to be found, Gavan would be ready.
Even if Moira never forgave him for it.
