Chapter 19 #2
Ava curtseyed, murmured something polite, she couldn’t even recall what, and stepped back, but she could still feel Gavan’s hand at her waist, the steadiness of his palm, the warmth that had bled through her gown and into her skin.
Every nerve in her body buzzed, the taste of him lingering as if the memory of that solstice kiss had found its way back between them, unspoken but undeniable.
She wanted to leave. Saints above, she wanted to flee, to retreat to the safety of her bedchamber, draw the curtains, and pretend she hadn’t just been swept across her own ballroom in full view of half the county by the very man who had humiliated her at the festival.
But she couldn’t.
Every eye in the room seemed to be on her. Watching. Whispering. Measuring the way her hand had lingered in his for a fraction too long, the way her chest still rose and fell like she’d been running. The way she was breathing now that she’d walked away.
“Daring,” someone hissed near the refreshment table.
“Or foolish,” another replied.
“She looks like she’s about to faint,” a third whispered, not quietly enough.
Ava’s cheeks burned. She reached for a glass of punch she didn’t want, more for something to do with her hands than anything else. Despite her best efforts to will her heart to settle, it refused to obey.
She felt the weight of Gavan’s presence, even now, though he’d stepped back into the crowd. Gavan was the walking embodiment of her undoing. His words still rang in her ears: Even if that means standing between ye and the rest of the damned world.
It wasn’t just a dance. He’d made that plain. That had been a declaration. But of what? A protector? Dare she hope something more?
That thought terrified her. Or perhaps the idea of her hopes being burst, her heart breaking, did. She glanced toward her father, who was boisterously entertaining his fellow lords and receiving several claps on the back as if some mighty deal had just been struck.
“Are ye all right?” Moira’s soft voice pulled her back, and she rested her hand lightly on Ava’s arm.
Ava glanced at Moira, a smile she didn’t feel pasted on her lips. “Of course,” she said, with the reflexive poise she’d perfected over years of social warfare. “Why would I no’ be?”
“Because ye look like ye canna breathe.” Moira’s brows drew together in obvious concern. “Take a turn in the garden with me for a moment? The air will be cooler. And I think we could both use a little fresh air.”
Ava’s first instinct was to refuse her friend, to remain out in the open and avoid any more rumors. But the walls of the room felt like they were closing in around her and the cool air would do her some good. “Aye. That sounds… sensible.”
The chill night air hit her like a balm. She breathed in the comforting sweet scent of climbing roses from the garden. Lanterns dotted the gravel paths, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Already she felt relief from the prying eyes of the guests who’d been no doubt judging her all evening.
Moira looped her arm through hers, steering them down one of the quieter walkways. “Ye know,” Moira said gently, “people will talk.”
Ava huffed a humorless laugh. “They already are.”
“I dinna mean about the solstice anymore,” Moira said, glancing back toward the house. “I mean about the way he looked at ye. During the dance. Like ye were the only person in the room.”
Oh, how she wanted to tell Moira she was wrong. But the truth had been staring her in the face on the dance floor. Even now, the heat of Gavan’s gaze burned a not too subtle trail up her spine.
They rounded a curve in the path, and Ava startled at the sight of Asher McRae walking toward them.
Moira’s entire face lit up.
“I hoped I’d find ye,” Asher said, offering Moira his arm with a charming, earnest smile. “Would ye do me the honor of another dance?”
Moira glanced at Ava. “Would ye mind terribly?”
“Of course no’,” Ava said smoothly, though the idea of being left alone in the garden should have unnerved her. But the glow of Moira’s happiness was enough to push aside her hesitation. “Go on then. Enjoy yourself.”
Moira gushed a thank you, threading her arm through Asher’s, as they rushed back to the house, leaving Ava in the lantern-lit quiet.
“Lady Ava.”
Her name, low and rough, rolled over her like a shiver.
Gavan emerged from the shadows, his expression unreadable.
“Lord Darkwood,” she said, because formality was safer than admitting her heart had just leapt into her throat. “I didna realize ye were out here.”
“I was hoping ye’d be.”
She swallowed, trying to hold back her irritation, but then she blurted out, “To humiliate me for a second time?”
Gavan's jaw tightened, the little muscle twitching the only indication that her words hit their mark. But he didn't turn away from her, instead he seemed to straighten, as if accepting her challenge. “To apologize. And to speak plainly. Please.”
Ava was grateful there was no one here to witness them. The last thing they needed was another audience for more their barbed words. Or another, dare she even dream it, kiss?
Her pulse hammered in her veins. “Say what ye came to say, then.”
He stepped closer, the garden path gravel crunching beneath his boots. “What I did at the solstice… Confronting Ferguson, kissing ye without your leave, it was reckless. And I would apologize for the rest of my life if that’s what ye wanted. But I will no’ apologize for how I feel.”
Ava sucked in a breath. “Gavan—”
“I’ve spent years pretending it was no’ there. That ye were no’ there. That whatever we were, whatever we could have been, died when we were too young and too stubborn to fight for it.” His voice was low, urgent. “But I canna pretend anymore. Ava, I want ye.”
Her heart stuttered to a halt. She should go back inside. Should tell him that his confession was absurd. That she hadn’t spent half her life burying the same damned ache.
But she couldn’t.
Because her entire soul was soaring.
He searched her face, as if bracing for rejection. “If ye dinna, or canna, tell me now, and I’ll walk away. But dinna make me keep standing here, wanting ye and wondering if ye’ll ever let me.”
Her voice failed her. Words failed her.
So she kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative, an answer and a question all at once. But the instant Ava felt his sharp inhale against her lips, the moment his hand slid from her cheek to the curve of her jaw, something in her unraveled.
Gavan groaned, quiet, low, like he’d been holding it in for years, and closed the space between them entirely, his other arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her against him.
The hard planes of his chest met the soft press of her bodice, and for a breathless second, Ava forgot where she was, who she was, only that she was in his arms, and it felt inevitable.
Her fingers, which had been clutching at her skirts like a lifeline, rose of their own accord, sliding over the broad span of his shoulders, curling into the thick fabric of his coat as if she could anchor herself there.
He kissed her like a man starved, like a man who had been waiting for this moment as long as she had, his lips claiming hers with a heat that left her dizzy.
The world fell away, the cool night air, the distant hum of music from the house, the lantern glow flickering through the ivy.
There was only the press of his mouth on hers, the intoxicating warmth of his body, the wild hammering of her heart as she gave in to something she had denied herself for far too long.
When he deepened the kiss, tilting her head just enough to claim her fully, she made a sound, soft and desperate, that betrayed every carefully crafted wall she’d ever built.
His grip at her waist tightened and he drew her closer until there was no space left between them, save for their shared breath.
There was a faint tremble in his fingers that matched the quiver in her body, as she matched his kiss with the urgency of one who’d been running from what they truly wanted for too many years.
And heaven help her; she didn’t want to run anymore.
But she also didn’t want more rumors to swirl.
Aye, they were in the garden, but they could be discovered at any moment.
Ava pressed her hands to his chest and gave a gently push.
When they finally parted, it wasn’t because she wanted to.
It was more that she was afraid of what might happen if she didn’t stop.
Her forehead rested against his, both of them breathing hard, the night heavy with all the things they hadn’t said, the intimate kiss that scorched.
“Ava,” he murmured, voice rough and unsteady, as if her name alone might undo him.
Her lips trembled, but her answer came in a whisper that was more plea than command, “Kiss me again.”
Her breath came in shallow, uneven pulls, lips tingling from the kiss, her body still pressed flush against his. She didn’t want to let go. Couldn’t.
The spell was shattered by distant laughter trailed from the path toward the garden, getting closer. A pair of guests, most likely seeking a quiet corner of their own.
Gavan tore himself away. Not roughly, but with the controlled urgency of a man who knew what discovery would mean for her, especially after already having done so in the light of the festival.
“Ava,” he said again, this time with steel beneath the softness.
Still bemused, still feeling the weight of his lips on hers, she blinked up at him. “I—”
“Come. Before anyone sees.” He caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers as if to steady them both.
Her legs were heavy, moving slow in protest, but she let him guide her, skirts whispering against the stone as they slipped down the shadowed garden path toward the side terrace.
They moved quickly, silently, the glow of the ballroom growing closer until they were once again at the edge of the gilded, laughing world that had no idea what had just passed between them.
Before they reached the terrace door, he paused, pulling her into the shelter of the shadows. His chest rose and fell like a man who’d just fought a war. And perhaps, in a way, he had.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice so low she had to lean in to hear. “About standing between ye and the rest of the world.”
The intensity of Gavan's words stunned her, nearly taking her breath.
She swallowed, unable to summon words. Against her ribs, her heart thundered, wild and unrepentant, as Gavan opened the door and ushered her inside, his hand disappeared from the small of her back, leaving a cold spot she wanted warmed.
And just like that, she was the hostess again, silk and poise and practiced smiles, while behind her, Gavan melted back into the crowd, the secret of what had passed between them lingering like heat on her skin. The tingle in her lips.
But as she stepped back into the glittering crush of music and laughter, one truth rang clear as the notes of the waltz spilling from the musicians: her heart no longer belonged to her.
The moment the warmth and chatter of the ballroom swallowed her, Ava felt as though she’d stepped into another life. A brighter, louder one where nothing at all had happened in the shadowed garden.
But her body wouldn’t let her forget a single thing.
Her pulse galloped like she'd danced a hundred waltzes in a row, and her skin still tingled where his hands had gripped her waist. The memory of his touch, his kiss, clung to her, making the bright light and smiling faces seem dreamlike and distant. She forced herself not to search for him in the crowd. To pretend that her entire world hadn’t just shifted on its perfectly aligned axis.
With trembling fingers, she reached for a glass of punch from a passing footman, more for something to hold, and hopefully steady her, than to drink.
“Are ye quite well?” Freya’s voice slid in, casual but probing, as she appeared at Ava’s elbow.
Ava forced an airy, unbothered laugh. “A bit warm. Too much dancing.”
Freya’s eyes flicked to the terrace door as if she’d spied Gavan and Ava in the garden. “Mm. I imagine so.”
Before Ava could summon a retort, or a denial, Freya’s husband whisked her away for a dance.
Ava exhaled, grateful for the reprieve. She watched the dancers, spying Moira gliding across in the arms of Asher, her cheeks flushed and her laughter bubbling up like champagne.
They looked utterly at ease with one another and smiling in a way that made the whole room feel warmer.
Longing, and maybe a little envy, twisted in Ava’s chest. Moira looked so free. No armor, no performance. Just a lass being adored by someone who saw her for exactly who she was.
And then she felt it, that pull.
Gavan. Her grip tightened on the glass before she forced herself to loosen it.
He stood near the edge of the crowd, leaning against a wall, watching her. Tension filled his shoulders, and the flicker in his gaze when it found hers was like a tether stretching between them, pulling taut.
Her heart leapt and ceased it’s beating all in the same breath.
Ava should be furious with him. She should still be humiliated after what happened at the festival. She should not be standing here, lips tingling from his kiss, pulse still hammering from the sound of his voice when he’d told her he would stand between her and the rest of the world.
But all she could think, all she could feel, was the heat of him pressed against her in the garden, the taste of something that felt dangerously like hope.
“Lady Ava,” someone called, drawing her back into the room. A gentleman wanted an introduction. Someone else wanted to compliment the evening.
A permanent smile pasted to her lips, and with every kind word, she floated through her own party like the perfect hostess.
But inside, Ava was still in the garden, her body pressed tightly against Gavan, kissing him like they were the only two people in the world.