Page 22 of The Scot's Perfect Match
“Matchmaking.” Gavan’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Ye call it that. I call it arranging the board so no one else gets to play.”
Her parasol stilled, and she angled her face toward him, eyes narrowed just enough to be provocative. “Perhaps because I know the pieces better than anyone.”
“Pieces,” he echoed, his voice sharp, his eyes sharper. “They’re people, Ava. My cousin included. And ye’ve made her a pawn in whatever game ye’re playing with Ferguson.”
“That is absurd.” She scoffed, quickening her step just to feel a bit of distance from him. “Moira is smitten, and Lachlan is…”
“Dangerous,” Gavan cut in.
That made her pause. She turned to face him fully, parasol slanted behind her shoulder, the sunlight catching her hair and, she knew, making her look every bit the queen of her little chessboard. “Dangerous?” she repeated. “Ye’ll have to do better than vague warnings if ye want me to take ye seriously.”
The muscle in Gavan's jaw ticked. “I know men like him.”
“Ye mean charming gentlemen? Handsome? Gentlemen who smile too much for your liking?”
“I mean men who leave ruin behind them when the smiles fade.”
Ava tilted her head, curiosity and irritation warring within her. She also noticed that he never once called Lachlan a gentleman. “Ah. So this is about ye disliking him. No’ because he’s unworthy of Moira, but because he unsettles ye.”
“Ye think this is personal?” Gavan stepped closer, his voice low. “Last winter, in London, I heard whispers about him. Engagements broken. Debts hidden by family. A trail of pretty promises left to wither. He’s more in love with being adored than with any woman he courts.”
That made Ava falter—just slightly—but she recovered with practiced ease. “Whispers,” she said coolly. “Rumors passed around gentlemen’s clubs. Hardly damning evidence.”
“Rumors dinna keep repeating themselves without ceasing,” he said.
“And yet ye waltzed your cousin into my ball knowing full well what ye think of him.”
“First, Ferguson was no’ the only bachelor in attendance. Second, I brought her because I promised my uncle I’d keep her safe and help her find a husband. That has no’ changed.”
Ava studied him for a long moment. He was close enough that she could see the faint line between his brows, the tension in his shoulders.
“Ye’re always so sure ye’re right,” she said softly.
“Because I usually am.”
The words hung there, bold and unrepentant.
Her heart gave a treacherous little lurch, but she masked it with a smile sharp enough to cut. “Ye should try trusting me. Ye might be surprised.”
“I’d sooner trust a wolf to guard my sheep,” he replied with a perfectly time eye roll.
Ava sucked in a rather tart reply, and instead, said as she turned her back on him, “Then perhaps, ye should stop bringing your flock to my fields.”
For a long moment, they walked in silence, the hum of bees and the soft trill of birds filling the space between them.
“I’m no’ your enemy, Ava,” Gavan said finally, his voice lower, rougher. “But I’ll protect Moira. Even if that means protecting her from ye.”
That stung more than she’d admit. She spun her parasol idly, forcing herself to sound bored. “Then I suppose we’re at an impasse.”
He exhaled slowly, like he’d expected nothing less. “It seems we are.”
She should have left it at that. Should have turned on her heel and gone back to the sunlight and lemonade and the easy company of people who didn’t look at her like they could see past all the pretty masks she wore.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she found herself looking up at him, really looking. His hair a little unruly from the breeze. His dark eyes searched hers like he was trying to solve a riddle. Not an ounce of cruelty was in the set of his jaw, just a determination that matched her own.
“Why do ye care so much?” she asked softly. It wasn’t meant to come out that way, unarmored, almost vulnerable, but there it was.
