Duncan couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked the lass for her name yet again, nor did he even realize that he hadn’t until Neville asked him who she was. He was rather embarrassed at that point. He’d sought out Neville this third time, fully expecting to have an argument when he told the old man he’d invited someone to Summers Glade who wasn’t gentry. But that was the conclusion he’d come to when the lass had given her reasons for why Neville wouldn’t consider her for his guest list, that and that she and her aunts lived in a cottage.

It made no difference to him, her social status. He still liked her, and especially her knack for the absurd, which could so easily disperse any anger he was fretting with. And it wasn’t as if he were looking to marry her, so what, really, could Neville object to? But he was deceiving himself.

He knew very well that the class of people who had been invited by Neville, lords and ladies all, might be offended by someone not of their own class being at the same gathering as they were, not in a serving capacity, but as another guest. He knew also that that would be Neville’s objection, which was why he’d come expecting an argument.

But he wasn’t going to get the argument he’d come for, when he couldn’t even tell Neville who the lass was. He supposed he could have mentioned that she wasn’t gentry, but decided to wait and let Neville discover that on his own. It was an excellent opportunity, after all, to see just how the old Englishman would react in such a situation. Duncan would find out whether he was an aristocrat of the old school who were mostly snobbish beyond belief, or if he was of the more enlightened school and realized that a title did not represent a man’s worth.

But he probably should have opted for the argument, which he had hoped might relieve some of the tension he was feeling. That tension just got worse as he approached the inn in Oxbow. He’d been distracted from it only briefly, when he’d tried to figure out just where the lass’s “cottage off the road” might be, when he hadn’t seen a single small dwelling, only one manor house and a few farms, on his ride there.

Perhaps she’d meant on the way to Oxbow coming from the other direction, or right on the edge of the small town—there were plenty of cottages along the narrow lanes off the main street, after all. But as a distraction, it didn’t last long, not when it didn’t take all that long to ride to town.

He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to speak with Ophelia Reid, when he had hoped to never lay eyes on her again. What purpose would it serve, other than to relieve the guilty conscience that she might be having? Any apologies from her would have little meaning to him. She had shown her true colors. There was nothing she could say to excuse the extent of her insults to him. And now he even knew, if he could believe that Rafe fellow, that she had herself started the ridiculous “barbarian” rumors about him.

She wasn’t there yet. He allowed he was five minutes early himself, but for someone eager to make amends, he had expected her to be there early, to make sure she didn’t miss him. Now he had to wait, and even five minutes was too long to give her, in his opinion.

He waved the innkeeper away, and waited before the large fireplace in the common room. He would have preferred a shot of whisky, but wanted to be absolutely clearheaded when dealing with this particular lass.

She entered from the back. So she had been there early, after all, and just wanted to make an “appearance”? It was quite an appearance. With a white fur cap about her blond head, and a powder-blue long coat of velvet, topped by a short cape trimmed in the same white fur, she cut a dazzling figure, actually, near blinding when she spotted him and cast a smile his way before walking toward him. She did that slowly, giving him ample opportunity to be mesmerized by her beauty. The white fur and the lighting combined seemed to make her glow with an ethereal beauty.

He wasn’t the only one in the room who couldn’t take his eyes from her. The few patrons who were there were staring at Ophelia with their mouths dropped open. Duncan wasn’t quite that bedazzled, though he did have a hard time for a moment keeping in mind that for all her beauty, this lass had a vicious streak. Impossible to tell, looking at her, but hard to miss once she opened her mouth.

She was still wearing the smile when she reached him. There had been the briefest moment when it altered and went a little stiff as she noticed his kilt. He’d worn it deliberately. If she had any sense at all, she’d realize that the kilt was his way of telling her, without words, that this meeting was pointless.

“I see you got my message,” she said. “Aye, and why was the lass the one tae deliver it?” he replied.

He hadn’t meant to ask her that, had meant to bring it up later with the violet-eyed lass, so he was actually relieved that he didn’t really get an answer. Don’t distract her. Let her have her say and he could be gone the sooner. He needed to keep that in mind.

She shrugged. “Why not? Most people feel privileged to assist me.”

He said nothing to that, but then it was hard to think of a reply when he was concentrating on not laughing. That single statement of hers said so much about her, and the irony was, she didn’t even realize the impression it gave. Beyond mere condescension, beyond self-pride, it was so far into the upper reaches of vain conceit that Duncan couldn’t think of an exact word to describe it, if there even was one.

His silence, though, disconcerted her, putting her on the spot, as it did, to get what she had to say said. He wondered if she even had anything in particular to say to him. An apology had been stated as the purpose for this meeting, yet did someone like Ophelia Reid even know how to apologize? Wouldn’t that be an impossible concept for someone who felt she could do no wrong?

When she still said nothing, at least not quickly enough to suit him, he shrugged and walked away from her. He didn’t consider that rude, not to her, anyway. Her insults had put her into a “not worthy of his notice” category, and that was being kind. Were she a man, she would most definitely be considered an enemy.

But his action did prompt her to speech. “Wait! Where are you going?”

She actually sounded confused. He paused long enough to tell her, “I didna come here tae stand aboot and gawk at your beauty, lass, as everyone else in the room is doing. If you’ve something tae say tae me, then be saying it.”

She blushed prettily. “I wanted to explain why I wasn’t very cordial at our first meeting.”

“So that’s what the English call it? Not being very cordial? I’ll have tae remember that the next time I deliberately insult someone.”

“It wasn’t deliberate,” she tried to tell him. “I was shocked.”

“Were you now?” he replied, his skepticism so obvious even a child couldn’t miss it. “O’er what? That I talk like a Scotsman? That I look like one? You werena expecting either, I suppose?”

She sighed. “I wish you would try to understand. I was so sure you and I wouldn’t suit”

“And that I’d be a barbarian?”

“Well, yes, I did fear that. But I realize how silly that was now. You aren’t barbaric at all.”

“I wouldna be sae sure o’ that, lass,” he replied, turning on the thick brogue just for her benefit.

“The point is, I was mistaken in my assumptions.”

Duncan had a feeling that was as close as she was getting to an apology. The concept really would be too foreign for someone like her, who no doubt felt she could do no wrong, to actually mention the word “sorry.”

“Verra well, so you were mistaken. Was there any other point you were wanting tae make?”

His impatience to be gone was a tangible thing, yet somehow, she didn’t notice it.

“Well, actually, I thought we could start anew,’ she told him. “You know, simply forget about that first meeting, as if it had never occurred.”

“As if we were still engaged tae wed?”

She perked up and gave him one of those brilliant smiles. “Indeed. Isn’t that a grand idea?”

He had been joking. She was serious. He was now incredulous. Did she really think he could just forget the embarrassment of her insults? What she had said to him that day had been not just for him, but for the amusement of a whole room full of people. Had a man said those things, Duncan could have laid him out on the floor and been instantly satisfied. But because she was a woman, he’d had to leave with his tail tucked between his legs, something he’d never forget.

Not that that was the only reason he wouldn’t marry her, and he gave her another, replying, “I dinna think I’d care tae be competing wi’ m’wife for her own attention.”

“Excuse me?”

He wasn’t surprised that was lost on her. Self-centered people were usually the last to own up to being self-centered, but those in love with themselves, as Ophelia so obviously was, were a definite lost cause.

He’d heard her out. She hadn’t even offered a real apology. As far as he was concerned, he’d given her all the time she deserved.

“Good day.”

Ophelia stared after him in shock. Men didn’t walk away from her unless she wanted them to. And what had happened to him groveling at her feet in his gratitude that she had changed her opinion about him?

The meeting had not gone as it was supposed to. She had been giving him a second chance to marry her, so why weren’t they engaged again? She was beginning to suspect that he really was a barbarian. What other excuse could there be for his not being smart enough to realize what she’d been offering him with this meeting?