Page 77 of The Scot's Perfect Match
He gave her a sidelong glance, that secretive little half-smile that both thrilled and infuriated her. “Ye’ll see.”
“Gavan.”
“A surprise, my lady wife,” he said simply, leaning back against the seat with the calm of a man who had no intention of being interrogated.
They rode for hours, the Highland hills rolling wider and wilder as they went. By the time the sun began its slow descent, painting the world in gold, Ava spied a castle on the edge of a loch, its grey stone softened by ivy and time. The castle rose against the water like something from a storybook, a place built for secrets and seclusion.
“Is it yours?” she breathed.
He nodded. “Ours. My parents rarely used it, but I’ve kept it. It’s… quiet.”
Private, she heard in the word he didn’t say. The perfect place for a honeymoon.
When the carriage rumbled across the narrow bridge to the gates, Ava couldn’t stop the thrill that fluttered in her chest. This wasn’t for guests or gossip. This wasn’t for the Season or for appearances. This was for them.
The staff had been kept minimal, just enough to prepare rooms and light the fires, so when Gavan helped her down from the carriage, the courtyard was still, the loch reflecting the last threads of daylight behind the turrets.
“’Tis beautiful,” she said softly.
“’Tis yours now,” he replied, offering his arm.
Inside, the castle smelled faintly of woodsmoke, the old stone halls warmed by well-tended fires. Ava’s slippers whispered over rugs older than either of them as Gavan led her through a warren of corridors until they reached a chamber overlooking the loch.
“The laird and lady’s chamber,” he said, pausing at the threshold.
Ava stepped inside, her breath catching. The room was simple but lovely, a great canopied bed draped in cream linens and a tartan coverlet, tall windows framing the glimmering water, a hearth crackling in welcome. A vase of wildflowers brightened the mantel.
“Gavan,” she said, turning back to him. “Oh, I love it.”
He looked almost shy at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “I want ye to be happy.”
The way he said it, the quiet earnestness, the weight of all they’d been through to get here, made her chest ache. “I am more than happy.” And she sealed that statement with a kiss before her stomach grumbled loudly. “I suppose I should have eaten my breakfast.”
“We’ve plenty here.”
They dined simply in the old great hall, venison stew, fresh bread, a surprisingly good wine from Gavan’s stores. He kept close to her, his hand brushing hers on the table, his gaze lingering longer than was proper. But then, propriety had no place here.
When the meal ended, he stood, extending his hand. “Come,” he said.
“To where?”
His smile curved, soft, sure, devastating. “Wherever ye want.”
She followed him through the castle until they emerged onto a narrow balcony overlooking the loch. The night had deepened, the water black and glimmering beneath a sky dusted with stars. The Highland air was cool against her skin, but Gavan’s presence at her back was all the warmth she needed.
“This is perfect,” she whispered.
“It’s only perfect because ye’re here,” he said, his breath stirring her hair.
Her heart hammered. This was the Gavan who could still undo her with a few quiet words. The one who made her feel seen, chosen, not just as a hostess or a matchmaker or a name in the county books, but as Ava. His.
He turned her toward him, his hands settling at her waist. “Do ye know,” he murmured, “how long I’ve wanted this? No’ just a kiss, no’ just a dance, but ye. All of ye. Your laughter. Your temper. Every sharp edge and soft place ye’ve tried to hide.”
She swallowed hard, unable to find words.
“I dinna just want to love ye,” he said, voice rougher now. “I want to be the man who earns that love back every day of our lives.”
The world seemed to tilt, the stars and loch and stone dissolving until there was only him.
