"She demanded to see ye and then turned her back on me. Now she willnae speak, and she's better at silence than ye ever were." Marjorie allowed herself a brief smile. "Oh, dear. She's given you the cut direct. It's the greatest show of disdain a lady can give a gentleman." He lifted a straight eyebrow. "Ye've nae cut-directed me," he returned. "I recall a slap direct, though." She'd begun to wonder if he was baiting her on purpose. "There's no such thing. And a slap isn't ladylike. I blame you for inspiring my misbehavior, though." His grin warmed her insides. "I'll accept that responsibility. And I'll be encouraging ye again, I imagine." Desire touched her, heady and welcome. But she was still a prisoner, and until that altered, she couldn't be certain how much of this was her free will, and how much she merely wanted it to be. "Perhaps a cut direct would teach you some manners, sir." With a sniff she preceded him up the stairs. Graeme caught hold of her elbow and pulled her around to face him. With her a step above him, for once they stood eye to eye. "Ye can turn yer back on me, , but dunnae stop talking. I like the sound of yer voice." On the tail end of that, he leaned in and kissed her."