My Heart's in the Highlands (13 page)

Rolling his eyes skyward, Ian nearly choked on the thought, fighting the truth of it.
  Hero was coming to care for him, true.  When he looked into her brilliant mosaic eyes, there was more than desire.  There was affection growing.  Respect.  Perhaps even blossoming love.

Is that what he wanted, Ian asked himself.
  The thought would have nauseated him a month ago.  He would have thought himself rattling the cage of insanity.

Ian wasn’t a romantic.
   No matter what the fairy tales said, love didn’t happen overnight or even in a week’s time.  For a man who had never believed in it at all, the idea was ludicrous.  After a sennight’s acquaintance, the very idea was preposterous.  Lust and desire, for certain.  Growing affection, reasonable.  It was impossible not to be enthralled by a woman in possession  of Hero’s intelligence, caring, and quiet humor.

He might have considered taking her for his wife, but did he truly want Hero’s love?

Cradling his head between his hands, Ian laughed in derision.  Who was he fooling?  The truer miracle would be in denying the inevitable.  He had seen a great love between his parents before they died.  He knew what it looked like. 

It w
ould be so incredibly easy if he allowed it.

“My lord?” a voice called from his own bedchamber
, and Ian left the marchioness’s rooms, closing the doors behind him.  It wouldn’t do at all to have his staff know that he had been in Hero’s old rooms.  A reluctant grin lifted the corner of Ian’s mouth.  Even to him, those moments seemed vaguely prurient, an invasion of her privacy, though Hero resided there no longer.  “The dinner bell has sounded, my lord.”

Chapter Fifteen

The striking of a jarringly erroneous note made Hero lift her fingers from the keyboard with a cringe.  Aware that both Ian and her father had turned with a surprised wince at the discordant note, she forced her attention back to the piano and abandoned Franz Liszt’s
Dream of Love
for Benjamin Carr’s much simpler Scotch ballad
Thou Art Gone Awa’
.

Hero had been playing the piano in the Blue Drawing Room for hours
since dinner had ended while Ian and her father played cribbage.  Her fingers were cramping but if she stopped, what excuse would she have to remain?  It was getting late, surely too late for a polite evening’s gathering.

Tapping her foot impatiently, she glanced at the clock once more.
  Where was Cooper, she wondered for at least the tenth time.  Her father’s night nurse should have been here at least an hour ago to fetch him.  To lead the duke off to bed so that Hero might have her time with Ian.  The only time in the course of the day she had him truly to herself.

If Cooper didn’t show up soon, Hero would surely sack him.

As if he knew the thoughts in her head, Cooper tapped on the door and entered.  Hero was hard put not to throw her hands into the air and yell ‘Halleluiah,’ though she did whisper it under her breath. 

“My apologies, my lady, for my tardiness,” the nurse said sheepishly.

Though Hero didn’t think the man looked at all apologetic, she was too anxious to have him gone to make a fuss over the matter.  She bid her father a goodnight with a kiss and waited until the door closed behind them before turning back to Ian, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.

“Anxious, are we?” Ian teased as he ambled toward her with his hands hanging loosely in his pockets.
  He had loosened his cravat at some point and run a hand through his hair, giving him a relaxed, rumpled look that Hero loved.  In the dim light cast by the gas sconces, Ian looked so incredibly handsome that Hero could hardly respond.  Anxious?  She wanted to be the one to run her fingers through that dark hair and stare up into those warm cocoa eyes. 

“Not at all,” she responded primly
, and Ian grinned wolfishly at her.

“No?
  I thought you were going to strangle the ivories at any moment.” 

Humor laced his brogue but Hero didn’t feel that Ian was at all disappointed by the idea that she was anticipating their time alone.
  “It was a difficult piece.”

“You’re a difficult piece,” Ian replied.

Uncertain whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Hero merely inclined her head and boldly asked.  “Shall we take our evening stroll, my lord?”

“Much to my regret, it has begun to rain,” he answered.

Surprised, Hero turned to the windows to ascertain the truth for herself and within moments was inwardly cursing Cooper for his delay in the most unladylike terms.

“Perhaps there is an alternative, however,” Ian went on silkily.
  “If you’re not too tired?”

With her curiosity roused by his mysterious tone, Hero shook her head.
  “What do you have in mind?”  The query startled her as it emerged from her lips, not so much because of the question itself but because of the ideas it brought to
her
mind.  Was Ian going to suggest they retire together?  Or perhaps she might lead him to her rooms, Hero thought boldly.  She might whisper in his ear how she longed for his kiss and so much more.

Ian set her hand in the crook of his arm and led Hero into the hall.
  Much to her disappointment, he led her not to her room or his but to the stairs, urging her to descend.  Stifling her frustration as they descended, Hero asked, “Where are we going?”

“Did you know that I have a music room?”

“I did,” she answered, wondering at the innocence of his chosen topic.  “I take it, you did not?”

“No,” Ian said as he led her to the room below and to the left of the Round Drawing Room above.
  Dropping his arms, he indicated that she should precede him.  “I discovered this just today.”

“It’s directly next to your study,” she
pointed out.

“Makes it that much more surprising, doesn’t it?” The corner of Ian’s lips tilted in a decidedly rog
uish half-grin that made Hero’s heart skip.

“So many instruments.
  A pianoforte even finer than the one above.  A harp, horns, and much more.  But I am curious, what is that thing?” Ian tilted his head and Hero tore her gaze from him to study the orchestrion, taking a few deep, steadying breaths.

About four times as large as an upright piano with a heavily carved wooden shell, the orchestrion held a complete woodwind orchestra inside.
  Multiple horns fanned along the back like the pipes of an organ, but there were kettledrums, side drums, cymbals, tambourines, and even a triangle inside this model as well, explaining the clamorous sound it produced.  “It is an orchestrion,” Hero explained.  “The bellows power it.  Those big cylinders hold the music.  I believe there are ten songs on each one? In any case, the Queen and Prince Albert have one and Robert felt it a compliment to their good taste to acquire one as well.”

“It is a monstrosity.”
  Ian spoke the words softly, his tone at odds with the words.  And he was not looking at it at all but rather at her. 

“There is no other word better suited for it,” Hero agreed as he
neared.

“But it is made to play music, aye?” he asked.
 

Ian’s eyes were dark and intense as he looked down at her
, and Hero felt anticipation skitter across her.  She felt unnerved and inexplicitly jumpy.  “Yes but it is better suited to a larger venue.” 

Ian looked oddly disappointed by that
, so Hero ducked under his arm and crossed over to another wooden box that was set on a side table near the fireplace.  This one was of smooth burly maple set with brass.  Hero ran her hand over it lovingly before lifting the lid.  “This one is perfectly suited to play in a room this size, though.”

Gooseflesh lifted on her skin as Hero felt Ian approach behind her until he was just inches away.
  She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, nearly feel the change in the air pressure between them with every breath he took.  The tempo of her heart raced once more, quavering unsteadily in her chest until it felt as if her ribs encased a flock of butterflies.

“A music box?” he whispered into her ear.

“Yes,” she said as Ian reached around her to pick up one of the brass scrolls from their stand next to the box. 

“Is this one a waltz?” he asked softly, his breath tickling the back of her neck
, arousing her even more.

Hero released a shaky breath and took the scroll from him.
  She replaced it on the stand before reaching for another.  “No, but this one is.”

“Play it for me?” he murmured
, settling his hands on her shoulders.

She inserted the scroll and wound the box before turning to him as
Strauss’s waltz
Snowdrops
or
Schneeglöckchen
softly filled the room.  She hadn’t realized that it was so dark in the music room, with only one oil lamp left by the servants to light the room.  Ian was cast in shadows, making it impossible to read his expression, but his deep brogue was thick. “I owe you a waltz in the moonlight, I believe.”

“It’s raining,” she pointed out.

“Does it matter?”

Her head was already shaking before Hero had a chance to respond.
  “No.”

Ian took her hand and led her with a twirl to the center of the small room.
  Placing his other hand at her waist, he began to move her in a languid waltz.  Hero followed his lead, her hand lightly on his shoulder, the other on his forearm as he bent over her.  “How is it that Shakespeare’s Claudio referred to his Hero?” he whispered in his seductive brogue as he moved against her.   “Sweet?  Lovely?”

“Fair, I think,” Hero said.
 

“Merely fair?” he asked.
  “That would not do at all for you, I think.”

“Am I not?”
  Her hand drifted up his shoulder until she was able to run her forefinger along the edge of his collar.  His eyes locked with hers and his nostrils flared at the subtle contact.

“You are much more,” he murmured, his own hand rising from her waist until he brushed the underside of her breast with his thumb and Hero’s breath caught.
  “You, Hero, are so much more than fair.”

“Very sweet words,” Hero responded, lifting a finger to brush against his earlobe.
  “Very quixotic.”

Ian frowned.
  “Yet you seem oddly disappointed by them.”

“Not disappointed,” Hero countered.
 
Merely impatient.

“Do women not desire sweet nothings and romance any longer?”

“I desire you,” Hero said then bit her lip.  She couldn’t imagine where those words had come from unless they rose from deep within her.  Not that they weren’t true.  They were.  They were also boldly forward.  “My apologies.  I didn’t mean …”

Stopping in midstride, Ian’s hand tightened on her ribcage.
  “You don’t desire me?”

“No,” Hero stuttered, shaking her head.
  “I mean, I do.  It’s just so …  What are you waiting for, Ian?”

Hero bit her lip once again.
  Now
that
was bold.  She could feel a flush flooding her cheeks.

“You might need to explain that
to question,” Ian finally said tightly in a tone that sent Hero’s already fluttering nerves soaring.  She tried to step out of his arms but he held her tight.

“Oh, dear.”
  Hero looked down, to the side.  Anywhere but at Ian.  She hadn’t meant to say anything and this was the reason why.  She had no experience in seduction.  No practice luring men to her bed.  “You—you’ve been most charming this week.”

“Charming?” he repeated with raised brows.

“Yes,” she nodded.  “And—and I’ve … enjoyed our evenings together very much.  I simply wonder if perhaps I might have misinterpreted your intentions.”

“My intentions?” he parroted incredulously, his brogue becoming nearly incomprehensible.
  “Are ye not aware of my intentions, lass?”

“Well, I thought after what Papa said the other night that you felt as I did,” Hero stammered nervously.
  “That notion of living for the moment.  Embracing opportunity.”

“Carpe diem?” Ian scowled.
  “’Tis not a day I want to seize, lass.  I thought ye understood that.”

No, Hero didn’t understand that at all.
  She didn’t understand anything of what he was saying.  Surely, he wanted her?  Even if she had mistaken the intensity of their mutual attraction, even if his affections did not run as deeply as hers, Ian had still given every indication of desiring her person. “I thought you were seducing me.”

Ian laughed at that, running his hands up her body until he cradled her face gently between them.
  “Aye, lass, I was seducing ye but moreover I was trying to court ye as a woman should be courted.”