Chapter 8 #2
Lachlan bowed with a theatrical flourish. “Then I’ll return to her at once. But do save me a moment later, my lady. There are things I’d love to discuss with ye, if ye can spare the time.”
“Perhaps,” she said, turning the word into a weaponized smile.
Lachlan sauntered away, and Ava didn’t need to glance at Gavan to know his jaw was still set tight.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked lightly, refusing to acknowledge the storm radiating from his posture.
“No,” he said bluntly. “Walk with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
Ava bristled. “Ye sound as if ye expect me to obey like a scolded child.”
He leaned just slightly closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Ye’ve been parading my cousin in front of half the county. The least ye can do is give me five minutes to speak plainly.”
“Five minutes?” she echoed, arching a brow. “My, Lord Darkwood, ye’ve grown positively generous.”
His mouth twitched, with irritation or perhaps amusement she couldn't tell. But he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he reached out, resting a hand lightly against her elbow. “Now, Ava.”
Her pulse betrayed her with a treacherous flutter, but she didn’t let him see it. “Verra well,” she said crisply. “But only because I’m curious what ye could possibly say that warrants dragging me away from my own party.”
He guided her off the main lawn, toward a shaded path lined with climbing roses. Ava kept her parasol tilted, more for armor than for shade.
“Ye handle men like chess pieces,” Gavan said finally, once they were out of earshot.
She blinked at him, the parasol pausing mid-swing. “Pardon?”
“McRae. Kinnaird. Boyd. I saw ye,” he said, his tone flat but edged. “Redirecting them. Keeping them away from Moira. And making sure Ferguson had her to himself.”
“Ah,” she said, voice bright. “So ye were watching.”
“Dinna make this a game.”
“It is no’,” she replied lightly, though her grip on the parasol tightened. “It’s matchmaking. Surely even ye can tell the difference.”
“Matchmaking.” Gavan’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Ye call it that. I call it arranging the board so no one else gets to play.”
Her parasol stilled, and she angled her face toward him, eyes narrowed just enough to be provocative. “Perhaps because I know the pieces better than anyone.”
“Pieces,” he echoed, his voice sharp, his eyes sharper. “They’re people, Ava. My cousin included. And ye’ve made her a pawn in whatever game ye’re playing with Ferguson.”
“That is absurd.” She scoffed, quickening her step just to feel a bit of distance from him. “Moira is smitten, and Lachlan is…”
“Dangerous,” Gavan cut in.
That made her pause. She turned to face him fully, parasol slanted behind her shoulder, the sunlight catching her hair and, she knew, making her look every bit the queen of her little chessboard.
“Dangerous?” she repeated. “Ye’ll have to do better than vague warnings if ye want me to take ye seriously. ”
The muscle in Gavan's jaw ticked. “I know men like him.”
“Ye mean charming gentlemen? Handsome? Gentlemen who smile too much for your liking?”
“I mean men who leave ruin behind them when the smiles fade.”
Ava tilted her head, curiosity and irritation warring within her. She also noticed that he never once called Lachlan a gentleman. “Ah. So this is about ye disliking him. No’ because he’s unworthy of Moira, but because he unsettles ye.”
“Ye think this is personal?” Gavan stepped closer, his voice low. “Last winter, in London, I heard whispers about him. Engagements broken. Debts hidden by family. A trail of pretty promises left to wither. He’s more in love with being adored than with any woman he courts.”
That made Ava falter—just slightly—but she recovered with practiced ease. “Whispers,” she said coolly. “Rumors passed around gentlemen’s clubs. Hardly damning evidence.”
“Rumors dinna keep repeating themselves without ceasing,” he said.
“And yet ye waltzed your cousin into my ball knowing full well what ye think of him.”
“First, Ferguson was no’ the only bachelor in attendance. Second, I brought her because I promised my uncle I’d keep her safe and help her find a husband. That has no’ changed.”
Ava studied him for a long moment. He was close enough that she could see the faint line between his brows, the tension in his shoulders.
“Ye’re always so sure ye’re right,” she said softly.
“Because I usually am.”
The words hung there, bold and unrepentant.
Her heart gave a treacherous little lurch, but she masked it with a smile sharp enough to cut. “Ye should try trusting me. Ye might be surprised.”
“I’d sooner trust a wolf to guard my sheep,” he replied with a perfectly time eye roll.
Ava sucked in a rather tart reply, and instead, said as she turned her back on him, “Then perhaps, ye should stop bringing your flock to my fields.”
For a long moment, they walked in silence, the hum of bees and the soft trill of birds filling the space between them.
“I’m no’ your enemy, Ava,” Gavan said finally, his voice lower, rougher. “But I’ll protect Moira. Even if that means protecting her from ye.”
That stung more than she’d admit. She spun her parasol idly, forcing herself to sound bored. “Then I suppose we’re at an impasse.”
He exhaled slowly, like he’d expected nothing less. “It seems we are.”
She should have left it at that. Should have turned on her heel and gone back to the sunlight and lemonade and the easy company of people who didn’t look at her like they could see past all the pretty masks she wore.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she found herself looking up at him, really looking. His hair a little unruly from the breeze. His dark eyes searched hers like he was trying to solve a riddle. Not an ounce of cruelty was in the set of his jaw, just a determination that matched her own.
“Why do ye care so much?” she asked softly. It wasn’t meant to come out that way, unarmored, almost vulnerable, but there it was.
His answer was equally unguarded. “Because I promised I’d look after her. And because I know what happens when men like Ferguson are left unchecked. She’s my family, dash it.”
Her grip on the parasol slackened. A part of her wanted to argue or maybe mock him.
She wanted to keep their usual banter sharp and easy because then it was only surface level, nothing deeper.
But another part knew he was only doing what he thought was right.
And she couldn't fault him that. Gavan had always been someone his people could depend on.
She thought about Lachlan's easy smile and issue of compliments. The gentleman had quickly he’d sought her out today to thank her for the hospitality, and he had effortlessly charmed Moira.
The tiniest flicker of doubt needled its way under her skin.
And then, as quickly as it came, she buried it beneath a dazzling, practiced smile. “Ye do love to brood, do ye no’?”
Once again, he didn’t rise to the bait, instead gazed at her with a steady and unreadable expression.
They stood there like that for several heartbeats, alone in the shaded path, with her hand tight around her parasol, his gaze fixed on her, tethering her in place. The space between them felt charged, like one wrong word could shift everything.
He stepped a fraction closer, enough that she could feel the warmth of him even through the summer breeze. His eyes flicked, briefly, dangerously, to her mouth.
Her breath caught and the world felt like it tilted. Like he might actually close the remaining distance.
And with it came an echo, sharp and unwelcome, of another summer evening, years ago, when she’d let herself believe in the promise of a glance, the weight of a hand at her back… only to watch that promise dissolve into polite dismissal.
She would not make that mistake twice.
Ava straightened her spine, lifting her chin in what she hoped looked like defiance rather than self-preservation.
Her breath caught, and she hated that he noticed.
Then from the distance, “Ava!”
The call shattered the moment. Freya’s voice, bright and oblivious, floated down the path. “Ye must come tell Lady Drummond about the seating for the next assembly, she insists on knowing! Oh dear, did I interrupt? I’m so sorry.” Freya’s gaze moved suspiciously between the two of them.
Ava blinked, stepping back just enough to feel the air cool between them.
“I suppose duty calls,” she said lightly, though her pulse still hadn’t steadied.
Gavan’s jaw flexed. “Go play hostess,” he said, voice unreadable.
She dipped her head in a mock-curtsy, forcing her brightest smile. “And ye go back to scowling at gentlemen ye dislike.”
But as she swept away, parasol spinning lazily in her hand, the tiniest crack in her confidence remained, an unwelcome, whispering thought she couldn’t quite shake, What if he’s right?
Freya raised a brow at Ava the moment she stepped back onto the main lawn, Poppy closing the distance with two lemonade glasses and an expression far too knowing for Ava’s liking.
“I saved ye, ye’re welcome,” Freya said, looping her arm through Ava’s with the ease of a sister. “Ye disappeared into the rose path with Lord Darkwood and when I spotted ye, ye looked like ye’d been caught in a storm.”
Ava blinked, forcing her brightest, most effortless laugh. “Do no’ be ridiculous. It was hardly a storm.” Just a gale force wind.
Poppy arched a brow. “Oh? Because from the blush on your cheeks, it seems rather… charged.”
Ava scoffed, reaching for the lemonade Poppy offered as if that would shield her. “He was brooding. I was managing it. Ye know how he gets.”
“Managing it?” Freya’s grin turned positively feline. “Funny, that’s exactly how ye describe taming a particularly ill-tempered horse.”
“I do no’ need taming lessons, thank ye verra much.” Ava's tone was crisp even as her cheeks warmed.
Poppy leaned in conspiratorially. “So? What did he say?”
“Nothing worth repeating.” Ava sipped her drink with a grace she didn’t feel. “He’s concerned for Moira. That’s all.”
Freya hummed, unconvinced. “If that’s all, then why do ye look like someone just told ye your favorite dress has gone out of fashion?”
Ava fixed them both with a smile sharp enough to end the inquiry. “Because, darling Freya, he is tiresome. And I am bored of talking about him.”
But as the conversation shifted to Lady Drummond’s terrible new hat and the next assembly’s seating, Ava couldn’t quite banish the memory of Gavan’s voice from her mind.
Or the way his words had cut through all her careful plans.