Page 71 of The Scot's Perfect Match
But it was too late, Moira wasn't listening, not even looking at her.
The music stopped abruptly with a startled squeak from the violinist. Heads swiveled. A hush fell over the ballroom, and Ava suddenly felt every pair of eyes on her. Her skin prickled, and she resisted the urge to flee. Gavan slipped his hand in hers, and suddenly she felt more grounded.
Moira beamed, positively radiant as she grabbed Asher’s hand and Gavan’s free one in a triumphant chain. “This night was meant to celebrate my betrothal to Mr. Asher McRae.” She squeezed Asher’s fingers and turned her grin on Ava, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “But it appears this ball has become a double betrothal.”
The words detonated like fireworks. Moira was lucky she was right; otherwise, this would have been a humiliation that no amount of garden parties or fetes could have undone.
Mouths opened to gasp, some to murmur. A ripple of shock and delight melted through the gathered guests like the wax on a flaming candle.
“Did she say double…?”
“Lady Ava and Lord Darkwood?—?”
“By God, finally!”
Ava’s father stepped forward from the crowd, his expression somewhere between thunderous and thrilled. “About time,” he said loudly enough for the nearest guests to hear, his tone dry but fond.
Heat bloomed across Ava’s face. She turned to Gavan, wide-eyed, only to find him completely calm, a satisfied grin on his face.
“Is it true?” Poppy blurted out, appearing at Ava’s elbow with Freya not far behind. Both women looked as though they’d been waiting for this moment their entire lives.
Gavan didn’t even hesitate. He lifted Ava’s hand, still laced with his, and kissed her knuckles in front of everyone. “’Tis.”
If Ava had been dizzy before, she was reeling now.
The room erupted into cheers, applause, the swell of excited voices all talking over one another. Poppy squealed. Freya smirked knowingly. Someone shouted for more champagne which the footmen were quick to pass out.
Gavan leaned closer, his voice pitched just for her. “Are ye all right? I’m sorry about Moira, she’s a bit… enthusiastic.”
“Aye,” she whispered, though she couldn’t stop smiling.
“We could tell them Moira was mistaken… We could announce it in our own time.
She met his gaze, her heart hammering. “Do no’ dare.”
That earned her one of his rare, devastatingly soft smiles.
Asher stepped forward, clapping Gavan on the shoulder with boyish enthusiasm. “Well, then! It seems we’ve much more to celebrate than I thought. A toast!”
Glasses were raised. Someone shouted for the musicians to strike up something triumphant. And in the space of a breath, what had been Moira and Asher’s betrothal ball became a celebration of two couples. Two futures intertwined under the glittering chandeliers.
Ava exhaled, the swirl of voices and music folding around her like a tide.
Gavan’s hand settled at the small of her back, solid, grounding, undeniably hers, and for once, she didn’t care about the whispers or the spectacle.
Let them ogle and gossip.
Gavan bent his head, his lips brushing her ear, the warmth of his breath sending tingles racing through her. “A proper proposal,” he murmured, “somewhere quiet. Just for ye and me.”
Ava’s heart soared with the crescendo of the orchestra, and she allowed herself one small, private smile. “I think your proposal was proper and sweet enough.”
How fitting, it seemed the matchmaker had met her perfect match.
23
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
Lord Darkwood is betrothed to Lady Ava Woodmoor.
