Page 32 of Kidnapping Cordelia

Muir shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I dinnae ken why. I like her well enough, it’s just… I suppose I still feel a wee bit resentful towards her, and aye, I ken it is nae her fault, but it’s how I feel, trapped in a cage someone else made.”

“I suppose that’s understandable,” Luella said with a sigh. “But it’s cruel to lead her on if you think you can’t give her a future here. Not to mention her reputation will be further damaged, the longer she stays.”

“I’m nae leading her on,” Muir said crossly. “I’m just… ach, I dinnae ken what. I’ll be better, aye. I promise.”

“Very well,” Luelle said, giving him a hard look. “I shall hold you to that. Now come along, dinner is ready.”

The two men followed Luella out of the room and Muir glanced up at the staircase, just in time to see Delia come down it. Tonight, the gown she wore was blue, and a mad confection of ruffles and lace and bows.

Muir blinked, thinking she looked like a Christmas fairy and not disliking what he saw in the least. She looked adorable, like a beautifully wrapped gift just for him. Muir wondered then just how long it might take him to unwrap her and found his mind returning to the kiss they’d shared. Ye great numpty, ye could have kissed her again if ye were nae such a blithering idiot!

“Good evening, my lady,” he said, smiling at her as she descended the last steps. He held out his hand, uncertain of the look she gave him but relieved when she placed her hand in his. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing her fingers before glancing up at her. “Forgive me for nae having been to visit ye. I promise ye, I am regretting it sorely in this moment, for yer the prettiest thing I ever did see.”

“Are you trying to fleech me?” she asked, a sceptical glint in her eyes.

He laughed, pleased as he always was by her frankness. “Nae, lassie, and who taught ye that?”

“Mrs Baillie,” she said, and he was relieved that she was now smiling at him. “I’m learning a good deal, you see.”

“Aye, so it seems, but nae, I didnae seek to coax or flatter ye, it was only the truth. Ye look bonnie.”

Colour pinked her cheeks, and she seemed to glow at the compliment, making him wonder if she was unused to such praise. Surely not, for she was a beautiful woman and that much must be evident to at least the meanest intelligence.

“My brother was thoughtful enough to forward some of my things so I’m not beholden to Luella,” she said, stroking a hand over the skirts of her gown.

“Ye looked very well in everything I’ve seen ye wear, but that is rather splendid. Ye look like a fancy French dessert.”

“Oh,” she said, apparently quite taken by this description. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. Most people think I wear too many bows and frills, but I like pretty things and it makes me happy to wear them, so—”

“So ye should wear them and to the devil with what anyone else thinks,” he said firmly. “But if ye want my opinion, I think ye look very fetching indeed.”

Much to his surprise, she lifted onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Muir.”

Her voice was soft and seemed to wrap around him, a caressing sound that soothed away sharp edges. Muir gazed down at her, transfixed and finding he could not look away. “Ye have the bluest eyes,” he said, almost to himself, for he felt momentarily adrift, like he’d been swept away by a warm Mediterranean tide.

“If ye dinnae come now, it will all be ruined,” said a tart voice from farther along the corridor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Baillie, we are coming,” Delia said hastily, hurrying past Muir and breaking the spell she seemed to have cast upon him.

Shaking himself and wondering what had come over him, Muir followed her into the dining room.

The meal was an excellent one, which was hardly surprising for Mrs Baillie took a deal of pride in her work and, knowing her rival’s master would eat at her table, had excelled herself. Having known Muir and his brothers since the day they were born, she knew their favourites off by heart, so he was pleased but not astonished when his favourite pudding appeared before him.

“Ach, Mrs Baillie is hoping ye will tell Mrs Paterson how good the fare was tonight,” Lyall said with a laugh, watching the footman spoon a generous serving of Clootie dumpling onto his plate.

“Well, she’ll be sorely disappointed,” Muir said, pulling a face. “It may be the best thing I ever ate, but I’ll still nae tell Mrs Paterson. That woman is terrifying enough as it is. I’m feart of what she’ll do tae me if I say such a daft thing.”

Delia laughed, accepting her own serving of pudding with interest. “What’s it called?” she asked him.

“’Tis a clootie dumpling,” Muir said, grinning at her. “It’s a kind of spiced fruit cake but boiled instead of baked in the oven. Ye have made it a time or two, have ye nae, Luella?”

“Yes, and I’m waiting to see if Lyall thinks it’s better than mine,” she said, smiling sweetly at her husband, who froze with a spoonful suspended before his mouth.

“Aye, now ye see the difficulty,” Muir said to him, snorting with laughter.

“Of course, ’tis nae better,” Lyall said, holding her gaze.

“You haven’t tried it yet,” Luella pointed out dryly.