Page 59 of The Scot's Perfect Match
Ava’s first instinct was to refuse her friend, to remain out in the open and avoid any more rumors. But the walls of the room felt like they were closing in around her and the cool air would do her some good. “Aye. That sounds… sensible.”
The chill night air hit her like a balm. She breathed in the comforting sweet scent of climbing roses from the garden. Lanterns dotted the gravel paths, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Already she felt relief from the prying eyes of the guests who’d been no doubt judging her all evening.
Moira looped her arm through hers, steering them down one of the quieter walkways. “Ye know,” Moira said gently, “people will talk.”
Ava huffed a humorless laugh. “They already are.”
“I dinna mean about the solstice anymore,” Moira said, glancing back toward the house. “I mean about the way he looked at ye. During the dance. Like ye were the only person in the room.”
Oh, how she wanted to tell Moira she was wrong. But the truth had been staring her in the face on the dance floor. Even now, the heat of Gavan’s gaze burned a not too subtle trail up her spine.
They rounded a curve in the path, and Ava startled at the sight of Asher McRae walking toward them.
Moira’s entire face lit up.
“I hoped I’d find ye,” Asher said, offering Moira his arm with a charming, earnest smile. “Would ye do me the honor of another dance?”
Moira glanced at Ava. “Would ye mind terribly?”
“Of course no’,” Ava said smoothly, though the idea of being left alone in the garden should have unnerved her. But the glow of Moira’s happiness was enough to push aside her hesitation. “Go on then. Enjoy yourself.”
Moira gushed a thank you, threading her arm through Asher’s, as they rushed back to the house, leaving Ava in the lantern-lit quiet.
“Lady Ava.”
Her name, low and rough, rolled over her like a shiver.
Gavan emerged from the shadows, his expression unreadable.
“Lord Darkwood,” she said, because formality was safer than admitting her heart had just leapt into her throat. “I didna realize ye were out here.”
“I was hoping ye’d be.”
She swallowed, trying to hold back her irritation, but then she blurted out, “To humiliate me for a second time?”
Gavan's jaw tightened, the little muscle twitching the only indication that her words hit their mark. But he didn't turn away from her, instead he seemed to straighten, as if accepting her challenge. “To apologize. And to speak plainly. Please.”
Ava was grateful there was no one here to witness them. The last thing they needed was another audience for more their barbed words. Or another, dare she even dream it, kiss?
Her pulse hammered in her veins. “Say what ye came to say, then.”
He stepped closer, the garden path gravel crunching beneath his boots. “What I did at the solstice… Confronting Ferguson, kissing ye without your leave, it was reckless. And I would apologize for the rest of my life if that’s what ye wanted. But I will no’ apologize for how I feel.”
Ava sucked in a breath. “Gavan?—”
“I’ve spent years pretending it was no’ there. That ye were no’ there. That whatever we were, whatever we could have been, died when we were too young and too stubborn to fight for it.” His voice was low, urgent. “But I canna pretend anymore. Ava, I want ye.”
Her heart stuttered to a halt. She should go back inside. Should tell him that his confession was absurd. That she hadn’t spent half her life burying the same damned ache.
But she couldn’t.
Because her entire soul was soaring.
He searched her face, as if bracing for rejection. “If ye dinna, or canna, tell me now, and I’ll walk away. But dinna make me keep standing here, wanting ye and wondering if ye’ll ever let me.”
Her voice failed her. Words failed her.
So she kissed him.
