Johanna Lindsay - The Heir

"You're oout in this cold when you've been sick? Or have you no' really been sick? Why the devil would you no' see me when I came tae call on you?"

She gave him a strange look. She opened her mouth to reply, closed it, opened it again, closed it yet again, tightly this time, and walked on. Walked on?

He stared after her incredulously. But it gave him a moment to realize just how accusing he had sounded, and that anyone, even someone as carefree and effervescent as Sabrina was, or usually was, might take offense at it.

He sighed and cantered after her. "Wait up, lass." She didn't. "At least talk tae me." She stopped, said simply, "We shouldn't be seen talking together, Duncan." "Why?"

"You're engaged now. You have no business calling on other women—or detaining them on the road. If witnessed, it might give the wrong impression and get back to Ophelia, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

She walked away again, which infuriated him enough that he overlooked the bitterness he'd just heard in her tone. "Bedamned what she thinks," he growled. "I'll call on my friends if I choose tae, or are we nae longer friends?"

That brought her marching back, but only to say, "Ophelia won't allow you to have women friends, Duncan, or aren't you aware of how jealous she is, or the bile she can spew because of it?"

"Is that what happened that night tae upset you? She turned her vicious tongue on you?"

She sighed at that point. "Not really. I was upset because I lost my own temper with her and stooped to her level of nastiness. That just isn’t me, and I was appalled that I let my own tongue run away with me."

Sabrina lost her temper? He couldn't imagine it either, but he sure would have liked to see it. On second thought, no, he wouldn't. This stiff reservation she was showing him right now was bad enough, and he didn't like it one bit.

He dismounted and came to stand in front of her. "At least your outburst had nae dire consequences, lass. Try losing your temper and having it ruin the rest o' your life."

He said it so forlornly that she would have had to be completely indifferent to him not to ask, "Ruined how? What did you do?"

"I was angry that you had been upset enough tae send you running pell-mell oout into the night. That it happened after you talked tae Ophelia told me the cause for it."

"But she wasn't really why I was so upset. Her subtle insults don't usually bother me. It was my own behavior that shocked me."

"Aye, but you wouldna say what had occurred when I asked you that night," he reminded her. "And by the time I returned tae Summers Glade, I was determined tae get the answer from the source. My anger built when I couldna find her. When I did finally locate her, I didna care that it was in an inappropriate place."

"Where?"

"Her bedroom."

There were a dozen things that Sabrina could have said just then to lessen the impact of what she was hearing, but all that came out was, "Oh."

"E'en that would have made nae difference if someone hadna come upon us there." "Who?"

"Mavis Newbolt is her name. Ophelia claimed this lass hates her and would relish spreading the tale. My only hope is that isna so. But the lass has taken herself off and canna be found tae verify whether or no' she would make a scandal o' where she found us."

"Are you saying this is why you're engaged to Ophelia again?"

"Why else, lass?" he said. "You dinna think I want tae marry her?"

"And this occurred after you... took me home?"

"Aye."

Sabrina glanced away from him. He heard what sounded suspiciously like a growl, but coming from her, doubted it. When she looked at him again, a long moment later, she was without expression and her tone was matter-of-fact.

"Ophelia lies about many things, but how Mavis feels about her isn't one of them. She brought it on herself, though. They used to be friends, but only just recently had a falling out. It happened at Summers Glade, actually, but the result was, Ophelia tried her hardest to blacken Mavis's name."

"How well d'you know this Mavis? Would she want tae get back at Ophelia, e'en if it meant hurting someone else tae do it?"

"I'm sorry, Duncan, but I don't know her well enough to say. I liked her. She seemed quite nice—at

least when she wasn't around Ophelia. When she was, she became rather catty and snide in her remarks. But then Ophelia seems to have that effect on a lot of people, bringing out the worst in them. It's an amazing quality, that."

"Nae, what's amazing is that it would be assumed that I compromised her, merely because o' where we were seen t'gether, when I've ne'er touched her. And there doesna seem tae be any way tae get oout o' marrying her, unless ..."

"Unless?"

He turned around, wondering why he'd even thought of it, much less mentioned it, when it would be indirectly using her just to save himself. Not that the outcome wouldn't be infinitely more desirable, but it would still be taking advantage of her—again.

"Never mind," he mumbled. " 'Twas a wayward thought best left unsaid."

"I would think you would want to explore every option—if you really don't want to marry her."

She'd said it rather stiffly, which had him turning back to her and countering defensively, "You dinna think I have? It stands oout plainly in my mind that I havena really compromised her, but I have compromised you. If I should be forced tae marry anyone, it should be you—och, that didna sound the way I meant it."

Her voice went from stiff to much stiffer, even though she allowed, "However you meant it, it's not an option, Duncan, because it wouldn't alter the fact that Ophelia would be ruined if it gets out that you were in her bedroom alone with her. Doesn't matter that you've never touched her. A scandal is just that, and I know firsthand how detrimental one can be. Perception is everything where scandal is concerned, with truth and fact having little to do with it. And much as I have come to not like Ophelia, I will not be a party to her ruination, indirectly or otherwise."

She walked off yet again after that. Duncan didn't try to stop her this time. The uplift in spirits he had hoped to get from an encounter with her hadn't occurred. If anything, he felt worse now. That she had seemed as down in spirits as he was the cause.

It was raining, hard enough to conceal most of the view outside. Duncan stood at the drawing room window watching the downpour, and wondering if Sabrina was watching it, too. She liked the rain, liked storms, liked anything to do with nature apparently, no matter the time of year. He remembered the joy in her expression when he'd taken her out onto that terrace in the rain ...

"You can't keep avoiding me."

It was distinctly jarring, hearing that particular voice behind him, even though he'd had warning that Ophelia might be approaching him, had seen her reflection in the window. The rain had darkened the late afternoon enough to cause the lamps to be turned on in the house, but he would probably have seen her reflection even without the light behind him, since she seemed to glow with her own internal light, her

white-blond hair and pale skin only partly responsible.

He didn't turn around. He really didn’t want to have a conversation with her, of any sort, but least of all on the subject of avoiding her. He simply hadn't decided yet how to deal with her.

He could tell her the truth, that he could barely tolerate her, but that would no doubt lead to their living estranged once they wed, which, all things considered, sounded like an ideal arrangement— for him anyway. Or he could try to get along with her, to make the best of an unwanted marriage. He wasn't sure he could do that, but he could at least try. However, she was bound to sense, sooner or later, his true feelings, and that would probably lead back to an estranged relationship anyway, so why bother?