Page 28 of The Scot's Perfect Match
“Then perhaps ye should return to her before she feels forgotten.” She kept her voice gentle and friendly, not wanting to offend, but also to give him a hint that she was not the one he should be pursuing.
Lachlan’s grin turned boyish, practiced. “Do I sense a hint of jealousy, Lady Ava?”
She laughed, sweet and sharp as a sugared lemon drop. “Ye are amusing, Mr. Ferguson.”
“Perhaps.” He inclined his head. “When there is a beautiful lass before me.”
Ava dismissed him with a flick of her fan, but the warmth of his gaze followed her as she glided toward the refreshment table. She couldn’t afford his attention, not for herself, not when it belonged on Moira. And when Ava’s own answer would always be a solid no.
Moira, at least, seemed entirely oblivious to the shifting currents around her. She was laughing with Mr. Asher McRae, who looked far more animated than Ava had ever seen him, his hands gesturing as though he were explaining some fascinating bit of poetry.
Ava blinked.
That wasn’t in the plan.
Moira wasn’t supposed to look at Asher like that, soft and curious, like she might actually be enjoying herself. And Asher, usually so restrained, was smiling like he’d just unearthed a secret meant only for the two of them.
A ripple of irritation ran through her.
She’d orchestrated this, Ferguson and Moira. The glamorous gentleman and the sweet Highland lass. It was supposed to be perfect.
And yet, the way Moira leaned in when Asher spoke, the way her blush deepened when he teased her, Ava knew trouble when she saw it.
“Your plans are unraveling.”
The low voice at her back was too familiar.
Ava didn’t turn. “Lord Darkwood,” she said, spinning her fan lazily. “Lurking is unbecoming.”
“I’m observing.”
She finally faced him. Gavan. Impossibly tall in his dark coat, his expression carved in granite.
“And what do ye observe?” she asked sweetly.
“That ye’ve spent the entire evening pushing Ferguson at my cousin while she seems far more interested in McRae. And well, Ferguson seems far more interested in ye.”
Ava’s jaw tightened, ignoring his latter observation. “She’s interested in both. It’s called keeping one’s options open.”
“It’s called confusion,” he countered.
“Perhaps ye’re confused,” she said, tilting her head. “Ye always seem so concerned with where my attention is directed.”
His eyes darkened. “Ye think this is about ye?”
She smiled, sharp and provocative. “Is it no’?”
For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face, something unguarded, something that made her heart jolt before she could stop it.
“Dance with me,” he said abruptly.
Ava blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dance with me.”
“That sounded remarkably like a command.”
“It was an invitation,” he said evenly. “Do ye accept?”
