No, surely not! Yet she insisted that she had gone to university there, educated herself. One did not do that without money. And she had also said she owned a camera of her own. It hadn’t seemed an unusual thing to her so perhaps extravagance was a habit of hers. Her long legs were still encased in those tight trousers that flaunted body and bottom. Through her thin silk blouse, he could almost see the color of her skin. It was indecent yet alluring and he had to wonder again, had she invented stories to cover years of degradation and humiliations? He wanted badly to know the answers but at the same time dreaded the response he might receive. Anger and a jealous rage tore through him and he wondered at that as well.
He had not loved Heather when they had wed. It had been his father’s arrangement for him to wed the daughter of a friend he had served with during the Crimean War. Connor had not even met her until she and her father arrived at Duart in the days before the wedding. She had been pretty then, nothing compared to the more mature beauty before him now. She had been shy, withdrawn but haughty years ago and critical of Duart and its lack of refinement. But here she was now, forthright and outgoing and, despite the harsh welcome she had received from him, rather pleasant. Humorous if somewhat sarcastic.
She angered him. She intrigued him. In just a single day, she had enflamed him with both anger and lust until he did not know what to do with her. The physical attraction between them was powerful and explosive…he did know what he wanted to do with her, but could he take such a chance?
Connor traced her full lower lip with his thumb relishing the tingling warmth that spread up from his digit with that simple contact. She made a low moan in the back of her throat and raised a hand to brush away what disturbed her sleep. Unable to help himself, Connor leaned forward lightly brushing his lips across hers and wondered at his boldness. Even so subtle a touch was as stimulating as their first contact earlier in the day. Electric. He pulled back as she opened her eyes. She rubbed her lips and stared up at him in surprise. “What? Connor? What are you doing in here?”
“This room is shared between your bedchamber and mine,” he indicated the doors to the right, hers standing open, and the left, his closed. “It is part of our shared apartments.”
Her mouth formed a silent “O” that sent his thoughts again toward kissing her but he shook them off and headed briskly toward his room offering shortly as he went, “It is nearly time to dress for dinner. Your maid should be attending you shortly.”
Emmy stared at his bedroom door in confusion as it slammed behind him. He was running hot and cold without warning. It was hard to keep up with him. When she had awoken to find him so close after avoiding her the length of the day, the look on his face had been almost…tender? His voice soft. It had set off a trembling response in her chest. Then it seemed as if he had been angered by it or her? She was not sure. What she did know was that he was as physically attracted to her as she was to him and he wasn’t happy about it.
Of course, Emmy wasn’t pleased by their attraction either. She was lost from her own time and place, trapped in the past. She should be concentrating on finding a way out of this regardless of the fact that she had no idea what to do about it. Her focus should be on home. The last thing that should be occupying her mind was a man. Even if he was the most incredible man she had ever met. She longed to touch him, feel him. Her own response should have angered her. But it did not.
Emmy shook her head. They just didn’t build them like that in her time. Connor was…amazing, she sighed. Physically he was beyond compare. Beyond the clichéd tall, dark and handsome. His broad muscular build didn’t come from a twice a week workout at the local gym. Connor’s ruggedly gorgeous face was dark and weathered from the sun and elements, not from a beach or, worse, tanning bed. All of it suggested hard labor showing a dedication to his work, though specifically she wasn’t sure what that was, Emmy admired commitment in people. Beneath all that angst there obviously lurked a dependable man.
A rarity.
Very intriguing.
Dorcas arrived then with Margo drawing Emmy from her thoughts with a blush. When Dory inquired whether the dresses she had sent earlier fit, Emmy apologized and admitted that she had not thought to try them on and followed the pair back to her bedchamber firmly closing the door of the behind her. Laid out on the bed were the four dresses Margo had brought earlier. She hadn’t thought to look at them at all!
Her jaw dropped as one after another was held up and presented to her. Each one was a stunning piece of art. “Lovely,” she whispered as she held one gown of heavily embroidered ivory satin against her swinging it side to side as she looked in the full-length mirror. “I feel like it’s speaking to me,” she laughed to Dorcas. She bent her cheek toward the dress and whispered in singsong, “Put me on, put me on, we’ll be gorgeous together.” A giggle escaped her.
Even as dour as Dorcas had appeared, she couldn’t help but smile in the face of Emmy’s childlike enthusiasm over the gowns while the servant laughed merrily. “Come, we’ll help you put it on then.”
“I can dress myself,” Emmy objected. “I’m a big girl now.”
“Nonsense and I do mean nonsense,” Dorcas injected sternly. “No woman can get in one of these be herself.”
“Alright then.” Shrugging, Emmy peeled off her jacket. Jeans went next with a little work. The maid looked intrigued as she picked them up off the floor, but as her blouse fell open, both the maid and Dorcas gasped. “What?” Emmy asked, puzzled.
Dorcas recovered first shaking her head. “I apologize. I had assumed you to be wearing the proper garments. We were not expecting you to be bare.”
Emmy glanced at what she was wearing and frowned at her perfectly acceptable lace demi-bra. “I am not bare.”
“Bare enough,” the other lady sniffed with scorn. “I will have Margo fetch you the proper foundations.”
“The proper found…?” Now it was Emmy’s turn to gasp. “You don’t mean a – a corset, do you?” She stuttered out the word in horror. At their synchronized nods, Emmy shook her head clutching her shirt to her midsection and backing away. “Are you kidding me? I don’t think so! I am not contorting my body for you or anyone!”
“It is what a proper lady wears,” Dorcas argued looking emphatically determined to have it done.
“Well, call me a peasant then, because I won’t do it. I will wear my own bra and it will be just fine.” Emmy crossed her arms determinedly. Really, time travel was one thing but a corset!
“I’m afraid the gown will not fit you without the corset, mum,” the maid, Margo, offered uncertainly. “Your waistline is trim, but your bosom is too big this way.” She held her hands out in front of her.
Again, Emmy found herself looking down and shrugged dismissively. “That’s just a push-up bra. They don’t do that all by themselves. Without it maybe we’ll be ok.”
Remaining solid in her stand that she would not wear the corset they offered, Emmy managed to get into the dress without it but soon found out there was no way it would fastened around her torso. So much for being a thin woman! Resigned to give the alternative a try after much cajoling from Margo and a near lecture from Dorcas, Emmy stripped off her bra while Margo lowered a thin shirt, a chemise, over her head. The corset came next, again over her head as it was already partially laced. It was a beautiful creation of pale pink satin and lace and embroidered around the edges with tiny roses and cherubs.
‘Hiding the devil inside’, Emmy thought. “Are we talking whalebone or steel here?” she asked nervously as Margo adjusted it.
“The supports are steel bands,” came the answer. Emmy knew it was true as she felt its weight settle on her hips. The first pull of the strings brought a surprised grunt.
“This is so…not...good...for you,” she gasped as the chuckling maid continued to pull and tighten the garment. It wasn’t precisely painful, but uncomfortable to say the least.
Dorcas was examining Emmy’s discarded bra with interest. The ivory satin cups
seemed to intrigue her as did the tag when she found it. “Victoria’s Secret. Heather? What is the secret? And what does 3, 4, D, D mean?”
A flush grew on Emmy’s cheeks despite her inability to take a deep breath. She had always been large-breasted but well proportioned for her build. After all she was tall and while narrow around her rib cage, had wide curving hips and broad enough shoulders to carry off her cup size nicely. She had been teased by nickname ‘Double D’ since the 7th grade. Occasionally past boyfriends commented that ‘more than a handful was a waste’ making Emmy feel slightly self-conscience though she was otherwise proud of her body. “It’s ummm, an item number, so you know which…ummm color you like,” she responded feebly.
“It is a very interesting garment.”
“It seems that this thing does about the same job but with ten times the pain.” The corset was finally in place. Although tight, Emmy supposed that she had her natural thinness to thank for the little oxygen she was receiving. The corset pushed her up, out and held her firmly. When prompted, she stepped into a pile of fabric Margo laid out on the floor. It was all pulled and tied about her waist. Petticoats, she realized. Then some sort of wire basket as tied on over her back side. What was that all about?
“So, Dory, what’s the deal with Connor?” Emmy prompted as the gown itself was finally lowered over her upraised arms.
“What do you mean?” Dorcas asked as she and the maid twitched and adjusted the gown until it hung as it was supposed to. Dorcas nodded to Margo who began the process of fastening the multitude of buttons up the back.
“Why is he…him?” was her reply. “I get the feeling he’s like the boss or something. Is it the laird thing?” The low neckline of the gown pushed her already upthrust breasts up even more until they felt as if they would spill out over the top of the dress. Well, that was a Saturday night in college not all that long ago. She could live with it.
“It is his life’s work to provide for the earldom and his clan. It is all he does,” Dorcas responded tartly.
“Ever?”
“It seems so,” Dory pursed her lips. “The laird doesn’t have much time or tolerance for anything else.”
“What does that mean?” Emmy asked.
Dory only shook her head. “I should not have spoken so candidly. I will leave you now to prepare myself for dinner. Margo will help you finish.”
“Candidly? You didn’t tell me anything!” Emmy sighed at her departure but was quickly distracted when she turned to the mirror again. She was stunned by the vision she beheld. The gown was amazing. The front panel of ivory satin was heavily embroidered with leaves and flowers, though the rear gathered over the wire basket in the back making, she thought, and her butt look much bigger. The tiny sleeves fell off her shoulders while the bodice nipped at the waist flattering the outrageous hourglass figure they had cinched her into and, despite her reservations, she felt ridiculously feminine in it. Feminine and beautiful. “This gown is…gorgeous. I feel like a princess, if you don’t mind the cliché. But I have to ask…what is with the big butt thing? I feel like my butt is sticking out a mile behind me.”
Margo giggled. “It is the tournure, m’lady.
“The torture what?”
“The big bottom…that is what it is supposed to do. It’s the fashion.”
Emmy released a snort of disbelief. “Well, I can tell you right now, I know tons of women who would scream ‘hallelujah!’ if a big ass were fashionable.” Margo gaped in shock over her language but Emmy ignored her and turned to the side again and back to the front examining the outward thrust of her rear in the mirror. “How do you sit down with this thing on?
They practiced several times with Margo coaching her to the proper method of sitting to hit the edge of the seat with the tournure behind her but not under her. When she sat the corset kept her erect but put more pressure on her stomach. “I’m starving! But how am I going to be able to eat?”
“It’ll work out in the end, m’lady. I did not have to lace you very tightly to make the dress fit.”
“This isn’t laced tightly!?” she asked in disbelief.
Margo shook her head with a smile. “Not at all, m’lady.”
“Well, Lord help me then,” Emmy muttered as Margo led her over to the dressing table.
“Now for your hair,” the maid announced.
“Oh, I got that covered.” Emmy pinched the claw clip that held her hair where she had twisted it. As it was released, it fell in a long shimmering mass to her waist. Her hair was her pride and joy. She cut it only to keep it healthy, highlighted it only to give it depth and texture. Only the long sweep of bangs she kept did not meet the rest at the lightly layered length.
“It is lovely,” Margo complimented as she stroked it through her fingers. “Very soft as well.”
“Nothing better than a good conditioner and hot oil treatment.” After a quick brushing, Emmy grabbed up the mass of hair a wrapped it around her fist. Pulling the ends through, she knotted it, then wrapped it around her hand and knotted it again. She bound the remaining ends around the base of the double knot and using the claw clip secured with whole. Although not a loose topknot the other women seemed to favor, the process took 15 seconds and looked elegant with only her cheekbone length bangs remaining free and swept to the side. Digging in her tote, she pulled out her favorite tinted lip gloss and applied it. She had no other makeup with her and felt a pang of regret that she couldn’t do her face up to match the elegance of the dress. “Okay, I guess that’s it then. Let’s eat. Not sure how I’m going to manage it in this thing though.”
Chapter 8
It seemed that dinner in turn of the century Scotland was not just a sit down and eat affair, nor was it formal extended restaurant affair. Dinner was indeed like the prom. First everyone was supposed to get together and socialize before actually moving on to the dining room and eating. Ian and Dorcas met her at the top of the stairs and guided her to the large drawing room Emmy had toured with Margo earlier. Emmy was introduced around by ‘her twin’ to the few people already gathered as “Heather MacLean” as in “You remember Heather MacLean, don’t you? Yes, the laird’s wife.” She was referred to as “countess” and “Lady MacLean.” She kept forgetting who she was supposed to be and tried instead to concentrate on the other people present.
There was Ian, who she discovered was Dorcas’s husband and Connor’s younger brother. If she had paid more attention the previous night she would have noticed the resemblance though Ian was slighter in build than Connor. There were a few of aunts and uncles, cousins whose names all blended together. It took several moments for it to sink in that all of these people lived in the castle but not much longer for her to realize that they all lived off laird’s good graces. Tidbits of conversation she overheard included comments about a person’s allowance, how another was trying to move into a larger apartment in the south wing. Not once did she hear anyone mention a job of their own. In the end, it appeared there were seventeen people beyond the paid servants in the castle all supported by the laird.
Emmy wondered why it was that no one was being required to supply anything, be it money or service, into the deal. If she had to provide for so many people, she might get a little cranky, too, and wondered if that was Connor’s problem.
When Connor finally entered the room, Emmy was awed by the impossibly handsome picture he made framed in the doorway. He was stunning in his formal evening clothes. His suit black and his shirt and vest snowy white with a white bow tie as well. She’d seen the movie Age of Innocence years ago. As far as clothing for men went, it was pretty much spot on there. Gorgeous elegance and Emmy was also immediately aware that he hated it. He gave an outward appearance of nonchalance, but Emmy could just see him on the inside twitching and itching and yanking at his collar.
As he crossed the room toward her, he was bowed or curtsied to by all present. He would nod in return but no one spoke to him at all and he offered nothing either. But all eyes watched him
as he approached her and it seemed to Emmy that they were all in awe of Connor or perhaps simply afraid of the man who held their relaxed lifestyles in the palm of his hand. Like he was their king or somewhat godly. Untouchable. Yet, he did provide for them. Hmmm, it made her think.
His eyes captured hers as he neared. Emmy could easily see the desire and heat in them. It was astonishing to know that he felt the same unwilling attraction that she felt for him. It was a powerful thing. Undeniable…though she was sure they would both do their best to deny it anyway.
“Ye look lovely this evening, my love,” he offered by way of greeting taking her hand formally and raising it to his lips. She did indeed. The gown she was wearing heightened the natural bounty of her figure accenting her tiny waist, full hips and glorious bosom pushed to the edge of the square neckline of the bodice.
“Thank you,” Emmy responded curling her hand and surreptitiously scratching the tingling palm that had just been teased by his lips. “I feel lovely this evening,” she confessed and rocked side to side to set her skirts swinging a bit. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
A surprised grin jerked at the corner of his mouth and almost raised itself into a smile. “Thank ye, I think.” A footman arrived with his drink and he held it up to her. “To yer return,” he toasted softly.
Emmy held up her own wineglass and shook her head. “To my…something.” She clinked her glass to his and took a quick sip. Responding to his raised brow, she said only “I’m not really sure I can call it a ‘return’.”
“Still trying to refute who ye are, my love?” Why did she insist on preserving this charade? Any fool could see that she was Heather. She was Dory’s identical twin. What point was there in denying it?
“I believe I have asked you not to call me that,” she replied throwing his thoughts back to him. “Besides why would I come here and try to deny it? It doesn’t make any sense.”
A Laird for All Time Page 5
