Page 69 of The Scot's Perfect Match
His apology and declaration weren’t quite a proposal. But it was close enough to make her heart thunder.
“Why do I feel,” she whispered, voice shaking, “that ye’ve been practicing that speech for days?”
“Because I have.”
The final notes of the waltz faded, and still they didn’t move. Dancers shuffled off the dance floor, and another reel was struck up, but Gavan ignored it, his attention solely on her.
“Walk with me,” he said, his voice rough with something that wasn’t quite command and wasn’t quite plea.
For a heartbeat, Ava hesitated, knowing what walking out into the gardens with him meant, knew the whispers it might spark, knew how it would change everything.
Her body made the decision before her mind could reject him, and she was suddenly nodding. “Just for a moment,” she said softly.
His hand closed over hers, and she was mesmerized by the sheer size of his palm against her own.
The garden was peaceful compared to the ballroom, just the soft chirp of crickets and the faint murmur of music spilling through the open French doors. The sky was dotted with stars, and light from the moon cast shadows on the flagstone.
Gavan led her far enough from the house that the laughter of the guests was nothing more than a distant hum.
When he let go of her hand, it felt wrong, like a part of her was now missing. But it also brought with it a dose of reality, and her gaze flicked back to the open doors and windows in a flash of panic.
“I should no’ have come out here,” she said first, her tone carefully measured, but her hands fidgeting in the folds of her skirt. “If anyone notices?—”
“They’ll notice,” he interrupted. “They always do. They’ll whisper either way. Why are they out there, why are they no’ out there?”
She huffed softly, trying for humor but failing. “That’s reassuring.”
He turned to face her fully. “’Tis the truth.”
The silence between them stretched long, heavy, filled with all the things they hadn’t said and all the things they had. Gavan had practically declared that he loved her, that he wanted to be with her, and yet he hadn’t strung the words together.
Ava looked anywhere but at him. She looked at the lanterns, at the dark sweep of the garden, at her shoes as they peeked from beneath her gown. Her heart was beating far too quickly, and not from the waltz. Perhaps because being this close to him felt like walking willingly into a fire.
Gavan stepped closer, and for a moment she thought he might touch her, might brush his fingers along her cheek the way he had in the garden after the festival. He didn’t. But the space between them shrank all the same.
“I canna undo the things I’ve done,” he said, each word deliberate. “I’ve never wanted to hurt ye, Ava,” he continued, his tone rougher. “But the truth is, I dinna know how to be near ye without losing the part of myself that knows better.”
The confession hit like a blow. Messy, raw, unpolished, and something in her chest cracked wide open.
She wanted to say something biting. Something that would put him back in his place would restore the wall she’d been building since the Solstice Festival. But all she could manage was a whisper. She knew everything was too good to be true. That the feelings she had would not be returned. That he would break her heart all over again.
“Then why did ye ask to court me?”
“Because I canna stay away from ye.”
The words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown.
What did all of this mean? What did he want? She wanted to scream the questions aloud, but something caught in the back of her throat and kept her quiet. As if her own body tried to protect her from admitting too much.
“Ye were never supposed to be just… this,” he said, gesturing between them. “An argument I canna stop having. A distraction I canna get out of my head. Ye’ve been in my life, my head, for too long to pretend it’s nothing.”
She swallowed hard, her palms damp against her skirts. “Ye sound verra sure of yourself.” And at the same time, it was making zero sense.
“I’ve never been less sure of anything,” he admitted. Then more softly, he said, “Except that I love ye.”
The world went silent. A strong wind could have swept in for as unsteady as she was on her feet and certain she’d misheard him. “What?”
“I love ye,” he said again, firmer this time. “I’ve loved ye since we were young, since ye used to ride circles around me on your mare and then tease me for taking things too seriously. I buried it because I thought it was easier. Safer. But I was a fool. I canna bury it anymore.”
