Read Online The Heir by Johanna Lindsey - Free Book Online Page A

reports on her had claimed. She might have been a bit on the stiff side, and had seemed somewhat haughty, but that could easily be attributed to nervousness on her part, in meeting her future in-law.
    And haughty pride was not an altogether bad thing, in his opinion. Neville had been known to give that impression himself on occasion. Dependingon whom he was dealing with, a certain amount of condescension could be useful. But he was sure now that Duncan, once he saw her, would be quite taken with her. And that was all that mattered, really, that the boy be happy with his bride.
    Sabrina
could
have been quite correct in her assumption that Ophelia would change her opinion about Duncan MacTavish once she saw him. She very well might have if they could have met alone, and under different circumstances.
    But as Fate would have it, Ophelia was surrounded by her friends and admirers when Duncan made an appearance in the drawing room where they were all gathered. Having just come in from his ride, he was still wearing the clothes he’d donned for Neville’s benefit, and she saw them as a confirmation of the unfounded rumors she’d started about him. Unfortunately, so did her friends.
    “Good God, he’s wearing a skirt,” was whispered next to her.
    “That’s perfectly acceptable dress in Scotland,’ someone tried to point out. “It’s called a—”
    “It’s a bloody skirt. And here I’d thought the marquis’s relative couldn’t possibly be as barbaric as anticipated, but apparently I was wrong and he is.”
    Ophelia was embarrassed, a circumstance that she abhorred. She had expected to have to ridicule Duncan MacTavish in other ways, nothave the rumors she’d spread about him end up being quite on the mark. Because of it, she wasn’t really seeing him clearly. She saw the kilt, and the red tints in his wildly windblown dark auburn hair, and she saw nothing else except that, ironically, she’d been right.
    On the one hand, she was relieved. Her parents would have to see now that a Highlander, a barbaric one at least, simply wouldn’t do for her. They had heard the rumors. She’d made sure of that. But they had scoffed that they couldn’t possibly be true. They wouldn’t be scoffing now.
    But on the other hand, it was one thing to be in control of a rumor and to have it work for your benefit, but quite another to be caught in the truth of it—and the embarrassment of it. And Ophelia hated embarrassment. Pink cheeks simply didn’t suit her a’tall.
    So she was quite annoyed when Duncan presented himself after his moment of observing the room from the doorway, gave her a flourishing—she saw it as exaggerated—bow, and said, “Since there canna be a lassie more bonny in all o’ creation, you mun be Lady Ophelia.”
    She had understood him well enough, but said, “When you can manage your compliments in English, I might pay attention to them. You might try dressing properly as well, or do you Highlanders actually prefer to look like women?”
    To imply that there was anything even remotely feminine about a Scottish kilt was as grave an insult as could be imagined. Duncan could have forgiven her, though, attributing it toEnglish ignorance, if she hadn’t said it for effect. He couldn’t miss the effect, the titters and outright chuckles from her audience, nor her smug look when she heard it.
    His embarrassment was unmistakable, though, and apparently exactly what she was hoping for. Why, he couldn’t imagine, not that it mattered now. Yet what he had felt at first—thrilled, amazed, grateful even, and resigned that he’d have to be thanking his grandfather for this magnificent bride—made the blow all the worse.
    He might have been truly surprised when he first saw her, and utterly dazzled by her beauty—she really was a bonny sight to behold. But at that precise moment, she could not have been more ugly in his eyes.
    He said not another word to her. He turned on his heel and left the room to go in