Page 51 of The Scot's Perfect Match
He strode across the green, ignoring the startled glances that followed him. “Ferguson.”
Lachlan turned, all silk and self-satisfaction. “Darkwood,” he drawled. “Come to try your hand at the games? Ye dinna seem the type.”
“I’m no’ here for games,” Gavan said flatly. He stepped in close enough that the laughter around them stuttered to a stop. “Ye mock young women behind their backs, and ye think no one hears? Ye think ye can humiliate my cousin, and walk away unscathed?”
Ferguson’s smirk faltered, just slightly. “Careful, Douglas. Ye’re making a scene.”
“Good,” Gavan bit out. “Let everyone hear. Ye’ve made a career of slinking through counties and card rooms with your practiced charm, leaving destruction in your wake. No’ here.”
Ferguson’s brows arched, his tone mocking, and a flash of something vulgar in his eyes. “And ye’ve set yourself up as a champion? Ye, who can barely stomach being in the same room as half your neighbors? No’ to mention how ye have compromised Lady Ava Woodmoor.” His voice carried dramatically and deliberately for the men lingering nearby. A ripple of nervous laughter rose from the crowd.
Gavan felt the weight of the onlookers settling like stones on his back, every whisper sharp as a blade. Was Ferguson just guessing or had he seen the kiss?
It would be so easy to grab Ferguson by the collar, to drag him from the festival and make him answer for every rumor and every smirk. But Ava’s pale face flashed in his mind. He suppressed the violence, shaping it into words instead. He would not give Ferguson the satisfaction of seeing him lose control or get the upper hand.
“Say what ye like about me,” Gavan said, his voice steady, “but ye’ll keep her name out of your mouth.”
“Oh, come now.” Ferguson leaned back on his heels, his smirk curling like smoke. “If ye’re so worried about appearances, perhaps ye should worry less about my words and more about the way ye kissed Lady Ava for all and sundry to see. Quite the display of your lack of self-control. A word of advice, ye ought to spend more time worrying about your own legacy than mine.”
Gavan bristled. Of course, a man like Ferguson would try to point the finger. To turn the attention from himself and point out Gavan’s own issues with his estate. He would want everyone to turn the tide of conversation away from his abysmal treatment of women and concentrate on Gavan’s own misfortunes. And why not ruin Ava in the process? The bastard.
The crowd’s hum grew louder, sharper. Gavan felt every pair of eyes on him, saw heads turning as Ferguson deliberately dangled Ava’s reputation and his own estate like bait.
Murmurs rippled through the bystanders. “Did he say Lady Ava Woodmoor?”
The crowd smelled blood in the water. “I never thought…”
“Reckless, that one. Or perhaps desperate.”
“Poor lass. She’ll be ruined…”
Each overheard scrap twisted like a knife. They’d ignored what Ferguson said about his estate and glommed onto Ava’s name and the kiss. This was what Ava feared most. Whispers that reduced her to a name on someone’s tongue, her reputation in tatters. He had meant to defend her. All he had done was make her a spectacle.
Ferguson’s face tightened.
“Dinna speak of what ye dinna know. How dare ye attempt to shame a lady? I ought to call ye out.” Gavan took a deliberate step closer. “If ye care for your name at all, ye’ll leave. Today. And ye’ll no’ set foot back here while I draw breath.”
The tension coiled between them, thick and dangerous.
For a long moment, Ferguson said nothing. Then, with a calm, brittle smile, he inclined his head. “The Highlands have grown quite inhospitable. I suppose I’ll find livelier company elsewhere.”
Ferguson’s jaw twitched, the facade he’d built cracking at the edges. For a long moment, Gavan thought the worm might fight back. Might say something cutting and turn his outrage into a performance. But then Ferguson’s lips slanted into a mocking smile, and he tipped his hat, gave an exaggerated bow and turned on his heel, stalking toward the road. The group of men who had been hanging on his words only moments ago scattered, leaving Gavan standing alone at the center of the spectacle he’d created.
Good. Let them all see that Ferguson had backed down on his accusations. Perhaps there was something to salvage from this spectacle.
But behind him, the whispers continued, low at first, then growing.
“Did ye hear? Darkwood defending Lady Ava?—”
“Do ye think he really kissed her?”
Murmurs that led to speculation, a thread already weaving itself into the tapestry of festival gossip. By sundown, half the county would know Gavan had stood in public, angry and unflinching, in defense of not only his cousin but Ava. And rather than being grateful he’d saved their daughters from potential ruin, they would pile on the rumors.
He drew a slow, steadying breath. Watching Ferguson walk away should have felt like victory. Instead, it felt like something else entirely. Something uncomfortably close to regret.
Movement on the edge of the green caught his eye.
Ava stood apart from the crowd, just beyond the festival stalls, her light skirts bright against the deep green of the trees. She hadn’t come closer when he’d confronted Ferguson, nor when the little fiasco had ended, but he could see her watching.
