Chapter 22 #2
“They’ll notice,” he interrupted. “They always do. They’ll whisper either way. Why are they out there, why are they no’ out there?”
She huffed softly, trying for humor but failing. “That’s reassuring.”
He turned to face her fully. “’Tis the truth.”
The silence between them stretched long, heavy, filled with all the things they hadn’t said and all the things they had. Gavan had practically declared that he loved her, that he wanted to be with her, and yet he hadn’t strung the words together.
Ava looked anywhere but at him. She looked at the lanterns, at the dark sweep of the garden, at her shoes as they peeked from beneath her gown. Her heart was beating far too quickly, and not from the waltz. Perhaps because being this close to him felt like walking willingly into a fire.
Gavan stepped closer, and for a moment she thought he might touch her, might brush his fingers along her cheek the way he had in the garden after the festival. He didn’t. But the space between them shrank all the same.
“I canna undo the things I’ve done,” he said, each word deliberate. “I’ve never wanted to hurt ye, Ava,” he continued, his tone rougher. “But the truth is, I dinna know how to be near ye without losing the part of myself that knows better.”
The confession hit like a blow. Messy, raw, unpolished, and something in her chest cracked wide open.
She wanted to say something biting. Something that would put him back in his place would restore the wall she’d been building since the Solstice Festival.
But all she could manage was a whisper. She knew everything was too good to be true.
That the feelings she had would not be returned.
That he would break her heart all over again.
“Then why did ye ask to court me?”
“Because I canna stay away from ye.”
The words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown.
What did all of this mean? What did he want? She wanted to scream the questions aloud, but something caught in the back of her throat and kept her quiet. As if her own body tried to protect her from admitting too much.
“Ye were never supposed to be just… this,” he said, gesturing between them. “An argument I canna stop having. A distraction I canna get out of my head. Ye’ve been in my life, my head, for too long to pretend it’s nothing.”
She swallowed hard, her palms damp against her skirts. “Ye sound verra sure of yourself.” And at the same time, it was making zero sense.
“I’ve never been less sure of anything,” he admitted. Then more softly, he said, “Except that I love ye.”
The world went silent. A strong wind could have swept in for as unsteady as she was on her feet and certain she’d misheard him. “What?”
“I love ye,” he said again, firmer this time. “I’ve loved ye since we were young, since ye used to ride circles around me on your mare and then tease me for taking things too seriously. I buried it because I thought it was easier. Safer. But I was a fool. I canna bury it anymore.”
Her chest ached, too full of something she couldn’t name. Was this really happening? Had he just declared he loved her? She swayed a little on her feet, and he gripped her hips to steady her.
“Ye dinna have to say anything,” he said quickly, misreading her stunned silence. “If ye canna return it, I’ll leave ye be, I swear it. But I had to tell ye. I had to—”
She cut him off with a single step forward, closing the gap between them. “Ye really are impossible.”
And then she kissed him.
Or maybe he kissed her. It didn’t matter.
The second his lips met hers, all the weeks, years, of tension, of wanting, of avoiding, crashed into that single point of contact.
Her hands fisted in his lapels, pulling him closer.
His arms came around her, strong and desperate, anchoring her against him as though letting go would undo him entirely.
It wasn’t like their first kiss, impulsive and unplanned. This one was deliberate. Claiming. Full of passion and heady desire. And Ava put her whole heart into it.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, she didn’t step away.
“Ye’re out of your mind,” she said softly.
“Probably.” He brushed his thumb along her jaw, lingering at the edge of her cheek. “But I’m done pretending I dinna want a life with ye.”
She blinked up at him, her lips still tingling. “A life?”
Gavan got down on one knee in front of her, eyes staring up at her, full of love and hope, and her heart practically soared right out of her chest.
“Marry me, Ava,” he said simply. “Please.”
The world tilted, and she swayed again, steadying herself this time with her hands on his strong shoulders.
Her first instinct was to deflect, to tease, to protect herself with wit. But the words died on her tongue. Because for once in her carefully constructed life, she didn’t want to the safe thing. She wanted him. Loved him.
“Aye,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “I would love nothing more than to marry ye.”
For half a breath, Gavan just stared at her, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Then he leapt to his feet and gathered her in his arms, kissing her again, fiercer this time, pouring everything he hadn’t been able to say into the press of his mouth against hers.
Somewhere, faintly, she thought she heard voices. Guests in the garden, wandering close. Of all the moments to be interrupted…
Gavan stilled, forehead resting against hers. “We should go back inside,” he murmured, though he didn’t release her immediately.
She nodded, dazed, lips still tingling. The last thing she wanted to do was leave the cocoon of love they’d created.
He laced his fingers with hers as he led her back toward the glow of the house, their secret tucked between them, charged and powerful.
And for the first time since the solstice festival, Ava didn’t care who might be watching.
The warmth of the ballroom hit them like a wave as they stepped back inside; their joined hands, hidden between them, slipped apart. The music had shifted to something lively, guests laughing as they twirled across the polished floor.
Ava felt lightheaded, as though she were traversing a dream. Her lips still tingled, her heart still thundered, and every glance at Gavan beside her, steady, unflinching, sent another shock through her chest. They were going to be married. She would be Lady Darkwood.
She should have been nervous. Should have been bracing for the whispers, the stares. But she wasn’t. Because for the first time in years, she wasn’t pretending. Let them whisper, what really could they say to ruin her happiness?
Moira spotted them first. She broke away from Asher on the dance floor and rushed over, her skirts swishing, her face alight with joy.
“Where have ye been? I—” She stopped abruptly, the flushed glow in Ava’s cheeks, the rare softness in Gavan’s expression, likely giving them away. Moira’s mouth fell open.
“Oh.”
Ava beamed, but Gavan only gave the slightest nod. “Oh,” Moira repeated, then clapped her hands together with such force that half the room turned to look.
“Everyone,” she called out, without hesitation, without even consulting them. “Everyone, may I have your attention!”
Ava froze, her heart falling to her feet. “Moira, no—”
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.