Chapter 14 #2
Across the room, Moira had paired off with Asher McRae, who was laughing warmly as she tried to act out something, Ava couldn’t tell what, but the sight of Moira so easily charmed was enough to soothe some of the tension simmering between Ava and Gavan.
Poppy clapped her hands to announce the next round, jolting them all back into motion. “Well done, Lord Darkwood and Lady Ava! Ye’ve redeemed the game. Now, who’s next?”
But Ava wasn’t listening. She was still keenly aware of Gavan beside her, the ghost of his nearness clinging stubbornly even as they stepped back into the crowd.
The game carried on with more laughter and teasing guesses, but Ava found herself oddly distracted.
The echo of Gavan’s voice, steady, sure, lingered in her mind.
Every time she glanced toward him, she found his gaze already there, dark and unreadable, like he was trying to puzzle her out and hated that he couldn’t.
When the final round ended with Gavan’s team winning, Poppy clapped her hands and declared the evening’s entertainment a triumph.
Guests drifted toward the sideboard for more port or gathered in small clusters to dissect the evening’s more ridiculous pantomimes.
Lachlan Ferguson, ever the picture of effortless charm, lingered near Ava, complimenting her acting skills with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“Ye were marvelous.” He leaned in just enough that his shoulder brushed hers. “Though I think Darkwood only chose ye because he knew ye’d make him look good.”
Ava forced a light laugh. “I believe we made a competent team.”
“Aye,” Ferguson said smoothly, though his eyes flicked past her to where Gavan stood, speaking with Dougal near the hearth. There was a sharpness there, quickly masked by another grin. “But competent can be so… restrained. Ye deserve more than that.”
It should have pleased her. Once, it might have. But as Ferguson’s compliments rolled on, Ava found herself thinking of how Gavan hadn’t needed to flatter her in order to impress her.
Poppy’s voice rang out, calling for coats and carriages. The party had begun to wind down. Ava made her way toward the hall, but a familiar shadow fell beside her before she could reach the door.
“Lady Ava.”
Gavan.
She tilted her head, schooling her face into composure. “Lord Darkwood. Did ye enjoy your evening?”
“About as much as I expected,” he said dryly. But then, softer, “Ye seemed to enjoy yourself.”
Her heart gave a traitorous little leap at the weight behind the words. “Perhaps I did. Charades can be surprisingly diverting.”
“Or perhaps it was the company.”
Ava blinked, caught off guard. “Was that a compliment?”
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Perhaps.”
She should have left it at that. Instead, she stopped just short of the door, turning to face him fully. “Ye watch everything like it’s a problem to be solved, Gavan. Has it never occurred to ye that sometimes there’s nothing to solve?”
“On the contrary.” He kept his gaze steady. “I think there’s always something to solve. Especially when certain people are involved.”
And there came the clash. Inevitable as the pull between them. Did he refer to Lachlan? Or to her?
“Ye canna keep treating me like I’m one of your crofters,” she said, her voice lower now, meant for him alone. “I dinna need managing.”
He stepped closer, not enough to be improper, but enough that she felt the heat of him. “Then stop giving me reasons to think ye do.”
Her breath caught. She hated that he could do this, make her feel flustered and exposed with a single sentence.
Before she could answer, Moira appeared at her elbow, cheeks pink from a conversation Ava suspected had involved McRae and announced that their carriage was waiting.
Gavan offered his arm to both Moira and Ava.
After the briefest hesitation, Ava took it, feeling the solid strength of him through his sleeve.
The walk to her carriage was quiet but charged.
Their steps fell into that old, familiar rhythm that made her think of summers spent racing across the heather.
At the door, she turned to thank him. But the words snagged in her throat when she caught his expression. Steady, searching, like he could see straight through every polished layer she’d so carefully built.
At last, in a voice that was low and rough, he said, “Goodnight, Lady Ava."
“Goodnight, Lord Darkwood.”
Moira looked between them with a curiosity and Ava pretended not to notice. “I’ll see you soon, Moira.”
Ava climbed into her carriage, smoothing her skirts, forcing her heartbeat to settle as the door closed behind her. But as the carriage jolted forward, Ava knew there would be no calming herself tonight.
Not when she could still feel the heat of his hand beneath hers.
Not when his sharp, impossibly honest words lingered in her mind like an unanswered question.
The carriage swayed gently as it rolled away from the MacLeods’ estate, lantern light flickering against the dark velvet interior. Ava sat alone, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Gavan’s words still echoed in her head, low and unyielding: Then stop giving me reasons to think ye do. He had looked at her as if he meant it, not as if it were a game, not as if he wanted to wound her, but as if he was simply stating an unshakable truth.
The nerve of him.
She told herself she was angry. That was easier than admitting what she really felt.
Because if she wasn’t angry, she would have to acknowledge the way his nearness still rattled her, the brush of his sleeve when he’d offered his arm, the quiet solidity of him as he walked her to the carriage, the unspoken things humming in the air between them as they stood in the glow of the lanterns.
She hadn’t expected to feel sixteen again tonight. That was the worst of it. She thought she’d buried that lass long ago, the one who used to race him across the fields, laughing breathlessly when he caught her, only to pull away before he could see what she was really thinking.
And yet, there she’d been, alive and restless in her skin as they stood so close in that drawing room, almost touching, almost something.
She drew in a steadying breath, but it didn’t help. His voice stayed with her, the way it always did. So did that look, dark, searching, like he could still read her as easily as he once had.
It was dangerous to indulge these thoughts. She knew it.
She wasn’t a lass anymore, but a woman. She had work to do, plans to see through. Making sure Moira’s future was secure. A certain charming Lachlan Ferguson to keep pointed in the right direction.
That was where her focus needed to be. Not on Gavan and the maddening, uninvited way he still lingered in her thoughts.
The carriage wheels hummed over the uneven road, filling the silence with a steady rhythm and hiding the pounding of her heart.
Ava tipped her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, her decision was made.
She would double down on her plans. She’d ensure Moira’s match was as good as sealed before Gavan ruined it.
And in doing so, she would occupy herself, fill every moment with tea parties, garden strolls, and perfectly placed “accidental” encounters, until there wasn’t room left for the restless, foolish lass she’d felt like tonight.
By morning, she’d be sensible again.
She had to be.
Because if she wasn’t careful, Gavan Douglas would ruin far more than her composure.