Page 97 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
He said nothing useful.
Ava waited for a heartbeat. Then another.
He saw the exact moment her softness began to harden. She gathered it inward, as if drawing a shawl around herself against weather that had turned colder than expected.
He knew what was happening. That was the worst of it. He knew and still could not reach across the gap in time.
The silence between them continued to grow heavy. He could still hear the water at the loch’s edge. He could still smell the grass crushed beneath the coat, but beside him, Ava had gone very still.
“Ye shouldnae think…” he trailed off.
She turned her head. “Shouldnae think what?”
His mouth went dry. The answer was there and whole, if he would only speak it plainly.Shouldnae think I regret ye.Shouldnae think I wish this night undone. Shouldnae think me apology meant that what happened between us shamed me.He felt all of it pressing hard against his teeth.
He managed only, “I didnae mean…”
Ava looked at him for a long second, and in that look, he saw her trying to make sense of half-words and silences and the old pattern he kept forcing between them.
The effort of it hurt to watch. He had asked too much of her already. He was asking for more now by leaving her to do the interpretation alone.
Her hand moved once over the front of her cloak, smoothing it down, though it needed no smoothing. Then she folded both hands in her lap and sat straighter.
That frightened him more than anger would have. The composure settling over her had cost something. He could feel the cost of itbesidehim.
“Ava,” he said.
She did not look away. “Aye?”
There was no bite in the word. No heat. Only readiness. It sounded too much like the tone of someone who had already come to a conclusion and was waiting to see whether she would have to live by it.
Under the fading comet, beside the loch, with her shoulder near enough to brush his if either of them moved, Ciaran felt the moment slipping from him and knew with sick clarity that the next words out of her mouth would wound them both.
She drew one slow breath. “I have been too selfish, have I nae?”
The question struck him before he understood it.
“Ava,” he tried.
She went on as though he had not spoken.
“It is all right, husband.” Her hands stayed folded in her lap, neat and still, though he had seen those same hands clutch him with desire only moments before. “I shall speak to me father about the annulment. I shall tell him it is what I want.”
For one second, Ciaran heard nothing. The night around them went hollow. He stared at her and felt the words land in pieces. She had taken the knife he had put in her hand and was now using it on herself with courtesy.
“Nay,” he said, though the word came out too late and with far less force than was needed.
Ava looked at him. There was so much pain under her composure now that he almost could not bear the sight of her face.
It was quite obvious from the way she looked at him that she was protecting what little dignity she had left. She was offering him freedom as if it were a kindness she still had the power to give.
“I should never have made things harder for ye,” she said quietly. “Ye were honest from the beginning, and I kept hoping.” A small, sad breath left her. “That was me fault.”
Ciaran’s mouth went dry.
Ava leaned toward him before he could gather himself. He felt the light touch of her lips on his cheek, soft and brief and devastating. The kiss held tenderness still. That shattered him more than anger could have.
“Good night,” she murmured.
