Page 16 of The Scot's Perfect Match
She smiled, content, and leaned back against the velvet cushion with a dreamy hum.
Gavan stayed silent, turning the reins of the conversation over in his mind, wondering if saying something now would make any difference, or only make things worse. Moira wasn’t a child. But she was hopeful. And hope made people blind.
Especially the good ones.
He rapped his knuckles against the side of the carriage, an old habit to ground himself. If Lachlan hurt her, if he played her like he’d played the Ainsworth lass, there’d be consequences. Whether Ava liked it or not, Gavan had promised to protect Moira. And he intended to keep that promise.
Even if it meant protecting her from someone with perfect bone structure and a practiced smile.
Even if it meant protecting her from Ava’s plans, too.
Moira drifted into silence beside him, lost in her thoughts. Gavan watched the countryside blur past the window, but his focus had shifted entirely.
The truth scraped at him. He wasn’t entirely sure who he was guarding anymore.
Moira was family. That part was easy, clear lines, clear duty. He’d promised her father, and he would see it through. But when it came to Ava…
That was where the edges blurred.
He wasn’t sure if he was protecting Moira from men like Lachlan or protecting himself from women like Ava. From the sharpness of her wit. From the way her smile could both soothe and provoke. From the ache that lodged behind his ribs when he saw her standing at the top of the stairs tonight, poised and glowing, like she’d planned the stars themselves to light her entrance.
And not the first time he’d felt it. Years ago, at a harvest gathering when they were barely grown, they’d been nudged into a dance by their parents. She’d rolled her eyes but taken his hand. “Try no’ to scowl the entire time,” she’d whispered, grinning. “Ye’ll frighten the fiddler.” And then she’d laughed when he actually smiled. A soft, surprised sound that had lingered longer in his mind than it should have.
He hadn’t thought about that moment in years. Not until tonight, when she leaned into Lachlan’s arm like it cost her nothing. When she smiled that same dazzling smile, and Gavan, damn him, felt something shift. Or snap.
He had told himself, repeatedly, that he wasn’t jealous. That he didn’t care who Ava danced with, matched up, or paraded through her glittering little kingdom. But watching her with Lachlan, laughing, radiant, entirely too unbothered, it scraped against something raw inside him. His words about not being jealous rang hollow now, echoing in the quiet like a lie he’d told too often.
He could still feel the ghost of her hand in his when he’d cut into her dance. The way her fingers had flexed once against his palm before she remembered herself. The scent of lavender and lemon from her hair. The sharp glint in her eyes when she accused him of never trusting her, and the softer one when she didn’t pull away.
It had been a dance, aye. But it had felt like more. Every turn had felt like a question he couldn’t answer. Every step had brought them too close to something they never spoke aloud. He had meant to reprimand her. Instead, he had walked away rattled.
That was the problem with Ava. She challenged him. Infuriated him. Made him feel too much and say too little. And somehow, he was always the one left turning over their conversations in his head while she moved on with the next grand scheme.
He leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. Lachlan might be trouble, but Ava was a storm all her own.
And Gavan wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous.
Moira’s voice broke the quiet, light and hopeful. “Was it no’ lovely? Making Lady Ava’s acquaintance, I mean. She was so gracious. I am ever so grateful to her.”
Gavan opened his eyes, glancing over at his innocent cousin.
“She invited me to tea tomorrow,” Moira added, hands folded neatly in her lap. “Just the two of us. Would ye mind terribly if I went?”
Gavan hesitated, again. The sensible part of him wanted to say no, to keep his cousin well clear of Ava’s machinations. But what reason could he give that wouldn’t sound petty? That wouldn’t reveal how tangled he was in something he couldn’t even name?
He cleared his throat. “Just… dinna let her drag ye into one of her schemes.”
Moira only laughed, light and unconcerned. “Dinna be silly. She was lovely. I think we’ll be great friends. Just like the two of ye used to be.”
Gavan looked back out the window, the road unspooling ahead like a ribbon he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow.
Friends.
If only it were ever that simple with Ava.
7
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
