Page 35 of Kidnapping Cordelia

Muir considered her for a long moment, before shifting to kneel in front of her. He braced his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned in. “I kissed ye the last time,” he murmured, never taking his eyes from her. “Reckon ye owe me one.”

Delia’s eyebrows shot up. “Owe you?” she repeated, startled.

“Aye. ’Tis yer turn to kiss me,” he said, a challenging note to his words.

The temptation to tell the arrogant lout to go to the devil warred with her own desire to do just as he asked. Deciding she’d not cut off her nose to spite her face, she gathered her nerves, not a straightforward task as they seemed to be leaping about like mad rabbits. Leaning in, she pressed her mouth firmly against his, and then remembered how he had kissed her over and over… tiny, soft kisses that had melted her from the inside out. So, she softened her lips against his, and repeated his actions, finding heat washing over her as he met each kiss with one of his own.

He did not move, nor try to touch her, just held still as she kissed him. Emboldened, she remembered next the shocking touch of his tongue, and the beguiling slide and caress as it moved against her own. Wondering how she dared, she ran her tongue over his lower lip, her confidence soaring as she heard his breath catch. His mouth opened and though she had instigated the kiss, she felt the moment when he took control of it, demanding more of her and deepening the kiss to something she felt to her very bones.

Delia was hardly aware of him pressing closer. At first, she did not realise he had insinuated his body between her legs, that she had opened her thighs to let him move closer. She realised it now as his body pressed against hers, the heat of him blazing through his clothes. A large, warm hand wrapped around her ankle and slid higher up her calf, where his fingers toyed with the sensitive skin at the back of her knee. Giddy with sensations she did not know what to do with, Delia was uncertain how to respond. She did not want him to stop, yet she was aware she had swum into deep water. This was turning into far more than a kiss, and yet she wanted him to want her, wanted him to want the future they might find together if only he would not keep underestimating her.

His left hand followed the same path the right had taken, and her mind tried to sort out the jumble of feelings, the pleasure of his kisses that turned her mind to warm honey, the distracting heat of his hands sliding up her thighs that seemed to make tiny fireworks explode deep inside her. The whole experience was so diverting, she did not hear the turn of the doorknob, and apparently neither did Muir, for the two of them leapt apart at the sound of a voice in the doorway.

“Oh! Beggin’ yer pardon. Excuse me, sir! I thought ye had gone to bed and came to clear up. So sorry…”

Delia watched in dismay as a maid darted from the room and firmly closed the door behind her.

“Christ,” Muir said furiously, raking a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, Delia. I ought not to have taken the chance. Damn Mrs Baillie, she’s a sight too efficient in keeping the maids on their toes.”

“It’s fine, really,” Delia said shakily, though her cheeks were blazing with mortification, her lips pink and swollen from his kisses. The sight only made him feel more wicked, for desire still ran in his veins, making him unsettled and frustrated with himself, her and the blasted maid.

“It’s nae in the least fine! Scandal in England might nae touch ye here, but gossip runs wild in a place like this, and the girl saw me with my hands under yer skirts. ’Tis nae good at all, Delia. Damn me, but I ought to ken better than that when the staff are still about. I do!” he added furiously.

“It’s not your fault. It was my idea, after all. I ought to have stopped you,” she replied, frowning. “Only I couldn’t,” she added sadly, making him feel worse than ever.

“I ken that well enough, and I beg your forgiveness, lass.” He sighed, shaking his head, knowing there was no choice now, he’d made his bed. “I’m afraid ye will have to marry me now.”

There was a taut silence which set his instincts prickling.

“No,” she said, the word stark and hard, and she sounded quite in control again, which was more than he could say. “There is no need for that. I’m ruined already, so it hardly matters.”

“It hardly matters?” he repeated, aghast, wondering how she could be so calm when she had ruined herself in the one corner of their world where her reputation had not been entirely shredded. He shifted closer to her again, still on his knees, trying to reach for her hand but she removed it from his grasp. “Dinnae talk such rot. Ye ken well enough what people will think of ye after everything that happened to get ye here. Dinnae be so damned foolish, Delia. I may no’ be yer choice, but I’m considered a fine catch, ye ken. Ye could do worse.”

“I know very well what the situation is,” she told him, and he noticed the glint of anger in her eyes but was too overwrought to heed it.

“Says the girl who, by morning, everyone will ken let me put my hands under her skirts,” he retorted, and immediately wished the words unsaid as she flushed scarlet. “Delia,” he began, but she got to her feet, pushing past him in such a rush he fell back on his arse.

“Goodnight, Mr Anderson,” she said coldly, stalking toward the door.

Muir hurried after her, catching hold of her hand. “Forgive me, Delia. I ought never to have said that. I… I’m sorry, lassie. The truth is, I want ye something fierce, which is the reason my brain has gone begging.”

She glared at him, her eyes so bright they put him in mind of driftwood fires he’d made on the beach as a lad, watching the blue flames dance against the sky. “It seems to me that you only want the things you cannot have. Goodnight, sir,” she said, and left the room with the dignity of a queen.

Muir stared at the door before cursing himself soundly for making such a hash of what had been a wonderful evening.

“Ach, ye great gowk, now ye have ruined everything!”

For one thing was certainly true, she was right. He had avoided her the past days because he’d felt trapped and annoyed. Now he wanted her badly, and knowing she’d have none of him now was enough to make him mad as fire at his own stupidity. Well, she would simmer down, and he would make it up to her, he told himself. She wanted him right enough, that much was clear. So, all he had to do was grovel a bit, and he’d be back in her good graces.

Thank the lord she was a kindly and forgiving sort, a woman who would not hold a grudge nor be unfair. She’d be a wonderful mother, he realised, suddenly picturing a domestic scene with little ones playing at his feet. The idea pleased him more than he’d bargained for, giving him a warm sense of wellbeing that he’d not expected.

“Aye, well, tomorrow is another day,” he said, determining to come back in the afternoon, bearing flowers and a dejected expression that was bound to touch her tender heart.

Chapter 9

Dearest Cissy,

I received your letter just this morning and cannot tell you how much it cheered me. It was indeed a trying ordeal, but I am perfectly well and unharmed. For the moment, I shall spend some time with Lord and Lady Buchanan at Wildsyde Castle, and I must tell you it is every bit as romantic and beautiful as you might imagine. I love it here, Cissy, and I want to stay with all my heart, for I feel it is a place where I could be myself and have a happy life if I had a husband I could be content with. As for marrying Muir Anderson, however, that I cannot tell you.