And, furthermore, he didn’t think he could ever grow weary of looking at Gwen Cassidy.
18
She was going to seduce him.
That was the solution.
When he’d kissed her yesterday, she’d glimpsed a tiny bit of her Drustan in his eyes. She was simply going to have to kiss him back to his senses. Perhaps with each caress he’d reclaim a dim fragment of memory.
She rather liked that idea.
And his fiancée? her conscience whispered.
All’s fair in love and war, her heart growled. Sorry, Anya, she appended apologetically. I’m not really a man-stealing girl, but I’ve fallen in love with him and I’m not giving up without a fight.
Eyeing herself in the mirror, she smoothed the silk gown and examined herself. The deep-indigo dress made her eyes look bluer than usual. With her cosmetics bag in God-only-knew-what dimension (the scientist briefly pondered a sort of Flatland, wouldn’t that be a hoot?), she was grateful her lashes were thick and dark and her skin smooth. But she’d give a lot for her Chap-stick, her toothbrush, and even one pair of panties.
Not bad, she decided, turning from side to side. She fluffed her bangs with her fingers, tousling them. She felt rather…soft and curvy and pretty. She hadn’t realized that wearing a long silky gown might affect a woman’s attitude. It made her feel far more inclined to be feminine than a lab coat ever had. It accentuated all her curves and emphasized her slim waist. The scooped bodice made much of her cleavage.
Drustan had adored her breasts, and she planned to make certain he got to see a lot of them today.
Whatever his feeling for his fiancée, it didn’t seem to have diminished his attraction to her one bit.
Bending over at the waist, she cupped her hand beneath one breast, then the other, fluffing them higher in the snug chemise. When she stood back up and looked in the mirror, she blushed.
One must work with what one has, she reminded herself. He’d said so himself only yesterday.
“Good morning, Silvan. Where’s Drustan?” Gwen asked brightly as she slid into a seat next to him at the table.
Nose buried in a book, Silvan didn’t glance up, merely finished swallowing a bite of his porridge, then mumbled, “Be with you in a moment, m’dear.”
Gwen waited patiently, knowing how much she hated being disturbed when she was reading. Hoping Drustan would saunter in soon, she tipped her head back and admired the elegant balustrade that encircled the upper floor of the Greathall, then dropped her gaze to skim the brilliant tapestries adorning the walls.
The castle was lovely and every bit as lavishly appointed as any of the modern-day castles she’d seen on the tour. Each piece of furniture she’d seen—from the dining table to the assortment of serving and end tables to the towering armoires, chests of drawers, and beds—was fashioned of burnished cherry and painstakingly embellished with intricate designs. The chairs were high, with carved arms and tall backs, topped with bright cushioned pillows and draped with soft woolen throws. The rugs were silky lambskins and woven woolens. Fragrant flowers and herbs were stitched in lace packets, tied with ribbon, and strewn about window ledges.
When she’d come down, she’d passed dozens of maids scurrying through the corridors, airing out down mattresses and beating rugs. Castle Keltar was efficiently run and well-maintained.
All in all, it was amazingly cozy and inviting. The only major difference she could see was a lack of plumbing and lights, and in the winter, of course, lack of central heating would be a nuisance.
But, she mused, with so many fireplaces—most of them tall enough to stand in—and a big brawny Highlander in her bed, a woman might forgive a lot of things….
She wiped the dreamy smile off her face when Nell sailed in and placed a platter of soft poached eggs and fat strips of ham on the table beside a bowl of peach slices, berries, and nuts in a lake of sweet cream. Next, she plunked down a tray of warm oatcakes and honey.
Gwen’s stomach growled as she eyed the laden table. If she had Scotch tape, she could forgo eating and just tape the stuff directly on her hips and thighs, ceding to the inevitable. Her usual bowl of raisin bran before work had never inspired appetite, nor had it inspired the scales to tip heavier.
“Put yer book down, Silvan,” Nell chided. “Ye have a guest at the table.”
Gwen bit her lip to hide a smile. Everything Drustan had told her about his father and the housekeeper was true. They had a unique relationship, wherein Nell didn’t mince words or defer to his position. When Nell glanced at her, Gwen smiled and asked hopefully, “Is there coffee again this morning?”