Page 25 of Kidnapping Cordelia

“She’s been terribly kind to me,” Delia replied, though she was suddenly all on edge again, her posture ramrod straight, her cheeks blazing a deeper colour than before.

“Aye, though Mrs Baillie will murder her with her bare hands if she discovers she asked Mrs Paterson for her shortbread recipe, and then she’ll murder Mrs Paterson. There’s a wee bit of rivalry between the two, ye may as well ken.”

Delia didn’t reply, and Muir got to his feet. “Would ye like to have a look about the place, then?”

She nodded and put her teacup down before accepting the hand he offered her. Muir placed it on his arm and escorted her out of the room. “We’ll nae visit the lion’s den for now as Luella is keeping her busy,” he said confidentially, showing Delia instead the dining room and family parlour, his study and the music room.

“You have a piano!” she exclaimed in delight, hurrying over to it.

“Aye, but I thought ye said ye had nae talent for such ladylike accomplishments?”

“Oh, I don’t,” she admitted, with such candour he could not help but smile. “But I love to play all the same, and I adore listening to those who are more accomplished, too. Do you play, then?”

“Aye, a wee bit,” he admitted. “It was my punishment, actually.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked at him in confusion and Muir laughed, settling himself on the stool and lifting the lid over the keys. “I was a wicked boy, I am ashamed to tell ye, Delia. I had a grand sense of adventure and fancied myself an explorer or some such nonsense. I’d get myself lost or stuck up a tree and everyone would waste hours searching for me. Ach, I was always in trouble for one thing or another, and my da did nae care to birch me. Our grandfather was a violent man, ye see, and so it gave him a disgust of laying hands on a child. But though he’s formidable, is my da, his ranting and bellowing had nae effect and I kept on making mischief until Ma came up with an idea. My mother is an evil genius, ye may as well know, and she brought a music tutor here, all the way from Edinburgh. I was forced to do half an hour every day and, for every misdemeanour, another half an hour was added to my time. So, in a very short time I became very accomplished,” he said, grinning at her unrepentantly as he began a complicated piece she recognised at once.

“Un Sospiro,” she exclaimed in delight, and Muir preened a little at the admiration in her eyes.

He rarely played in front of anyone. He always felt rather awkward about doing so, for usually it was the ladies who played, as it gave them an opportunity to shine. Sometimes at family events, his parents or brothers would harangue him into playing for them, but mostly he did it for his own pleasure, usually when he was blue devilled and nothing else would soothe him. Playing for Delia made him feel rather pleased with himself, though. He brought the piece to a premature end, not wishing her to think he was showing off, but her disappointment seemed genuine when he closed the lid.

“You play wonderfully well,” she said, gazing at him in such a way his pride swelled a little. “I shall never dare to play for you, though, I’m afraid. You will put my meagre talents to shame.”

“I doubt that, and I should like to see ye sat at the piano, for ye would make a pretty picture, of that I have nae doubt.”

“Perhaps, so long as I don’t actually play anything,” she replied, laughing. “I used to pretend to be an explorer too,” she blurted out suddenly, blushing at the admission.

“Did ye now?” he said in surprise. “I’d think ye would prefer to be a princess stuck in a tower.”

She gave him such a look of disgust he could not help but laugh. “Ach, I didnae mean it. Yer are nae the sort to sit about awaiting rescue, that much I ken well enough. I can see ye as an explorer too. A wee girl with yer skirts tucked up and dirty knees, aye?”

She blushed harder but her mouth twitched. “An accurate description, I fear,” she said dryly. “And a stolen bun from the kitchens stuffed in my pocket,” she added with a smile.

Once more his gaze drifted to her mouth, a stir of interest flickering in his loins as he wondered what it might be like to take her in his arms and kiss her. That he ought to find out sooner rather than later was an idea he was all too ready to accommodate. After all, if they did not suit, if she did not enjoy his attentions, that would certainly bode ill for their future.

For now, he got to his feet and took her hand in his. She had removed her gloves to take tea, and her hand was slender and soft, the skin so fair he suspected it had never seen the sun. She swallowed as his larger, weather-browned hand wrapped about hers, and he found himself surprised by the thrum of connection he felt, by the increasingly insistent tug of desire that urged him to kiss her, but he did not wish to frighten the girl out of her wits.

“Is this all right?” he asked, squeezing her fingers gently.

“Y-Yes, quite all right,” she replied, though she sounded breathless with nerves.

Muir watched her closely, aware suddenly of the scent she wore, or perhaps it was the soap she had washed with. Chamomile, he thought, something fresh and innocent. It suited her. He looked into her eyes; they were a remarkable shade of blue, darker than any he ever remembered seeing before.

“Are… Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, surprising him.

“Would you like me to?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, considering the idea. “Are you very good at it?”

Despite himself, Muir burst out laughing. “Well, I have had nae complaints,” he remarked, noticing too late how mortified she looked.

“I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed, covering her hand with her mouth. “Oh, please forgive me. I am not usually so bold, only the thought came into my head—”

“And so ye said it out loud,” he said, still chuckling. “I dinnae mind that, lassie, though I can see how being out in society might be a trial to ye.”

“Oh, it was. I was forever putting my foot in my mouth,” she said, looking so wretched Muir could not help but feel sorry for her.