An Invitation to Pleasure (3 page)

‘But we are not courting,’ Susanna said stupidly. Except, of course they were. Or they were pretending to be.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way now, but before you arrived here this afternoon, I didn’t think the bed would be a problem at all. I’ll sleep on the chair.’

Susanna eyed Fergus’s large frame sceptically, unsure how to react to this most backhanded of compliments. ‘You will be very uncomfortable.’

This time, his grin was positively wolfish. ‘I already am. At least we’ve proved we can put on a persuasive show when we need to.’

She did not blush delicately, but turned a fiery red. ‘Will we need to?’

‘It will be expected, you’re the laird’s affianced bride.’

‘Until Hogmanay.’

‘Until Hogmanay, aye. Do you think you’ll mind a few kisses, lass?’

Susanna stuck her nose in the air. ‘If it keeps your tenants happy, I expect I shall be able to force myself to bear them. What else have you not told me?’

Fergus chuckled. ‘Isn’t Christmas the time for surprises?’

Chapter Four

The stirring of the pudding which would be eaten on the night before Christmas was the first of Fergus’s surprises. ‘It’s called Clootie dumpling because it’s cooked in a cloth. This is the same recipe as belonged to Mrs MacDonald’s grandmother,’ he translated for the cook, who beamed and nodded at Susanna. ‘We stir six times one way, and six times the other.’

‘Together,’ Mrs MacDonald, the doyenne of the huge stone-flagged kitchen, said in English, handing Susanna the wooden spoon.

It was very hot, down in the basement, thanks to the huge open fire with its collection of spits and cauldrons, one of which contained the pudding ingredients. Fergus put his hands over Susanna’s. ‘Don’t ask me why it is six times and not five or seven. I’m sure there is a reason for it but I’m not sure that I want to spend the next hour listening to it. Are you ready?’

She nodded, and they began to stir the thick mixture of suet and flour and dried fruit. She was fascinated by the contrast of their hands, his tanned, wholly covering hers, which seemed so pale. Perspiration beaded at her hairline, and trickled down the small of her back. There were surely enough ingredients in this pudding to feed an entire village. She very much doubted she’d have been able to move the spoon without Fergus’s help.

Two times, three times, clockwise they stirred. Already Susanna’s arm ached. She braced herself, bending over the iron pot. Before she could straighten, Fergus put his free arm around her waist to hold her there. This time when they stirred the pudding, their bodies rotated together. Five times, then six. They paused to change direction, but he did not let her go. They stirred, and their bodies moved together, her bottom nestled into his thighs. Slower, round again, and she forgot about her aching arm and thought only of the way he felt against her skirts.

His hand tightened on her waist. His breath was sharp and shallow on her neck. Was he as enthralled by what they were doing now, in front of the kitchen staff, as she was? Their stirring slowed to a mesmerising, arousing rhythm.

The applause startled them both. Susanna dropped the spoon, Fergus dropped Susanna. His cheeks were bright with colour. ‘I had not thought a pudding could be so captivating,’ he whispered amid the cheering. Handing the spoon back to the cook, she caught the woman’s knowing glance. Mrs MacDonald said something to Fergus which made him laugh, but he would not translate it. Instead he bowed, Susanna curtseyed, and the crowd dispersed.

‘Those kitchens were hotter than hell,’ Fergus said to her as they made their way through the warren of still rooms and pantries to the green baize door which marked the end of the servant’s quarters. ‘Though not as hot as the company.’

‘Indeed,’ Susanna replied with eyes downcast.

‘I doubt I’ll be able to eat a slice of Clootie dumpling again without thinking of you, now.’

They were in the great hall, which was deserted save for the four sleek deerhounds snoozing at the fire. Susanna turned, trying hard to bite back her smile. ‘If that is meant to be a compliment, Laird, allow me to tell you that it is one of the most backhanded I have ever received.’

‘Aye, but it has the distinction of being the most unusual too, you’ll admit. And a mite more respectable than telling you what I was really thinking.’

He had a wicked gleam in his eye. Susanna had not thought herself the type of woman who enjoyed flirting, but this was flirting that could lead nowhere. She liked the edge of it, and she liked that the edge held no danger, so she surrendered to the teasing look in his amber eyes and his curving smile. ‘What then, were you really thinking?’

‘That you have the most delightful curve to your rear. I was wondering if it was even more delightful without all those petticoats between us. That is something I’d dearly like to find out.’

‘A rounded rear being an absolute requirement for a laird’s wife?’

‘Such a necessity, I think I should maybe just see whether you fit the bill,’ the laird said, putting his arms around her waist.

‘Fergus, we are in the great hall, someone might see us.’

‘Isn’t that the point?’ he whispered wickedly.

His hands slid down to cup her bottom. Susanna’s back arched of its own accord as his hands buried deeper into her skirts. Something that sounded shockingly like a whimper escaped her as his lips brushed the sensitive flesh just behind her ear. It was delightful. Too delightful. She wriggled free from his embrace. ‘Well, do I pass the test?’

‘With flying colours. But you are quite right,’ Fergus agreed, ‘we must not waste our act playing to an empty house. A walk in the snow will do us both good, and they are expecting us in the village.’

Over the passing days, there were many customs and rituals, plenty occasions for public shows of affection. Kisses under the mistletoe that stopped only when their audience cheered. The throwing of the lucky horseshoe made by the smithy which, like the pudding stirring, seemed to require Susanna to be twined in Fergus’s arms, her bottom pressed to his thighs.

Such a contrast to the nights. At first she could not sleep for the rustle and thump of Fergus trying to make himself comfortable. For several nights she listened to him shift about on the chair, then the floor of their chamber. Finally, telling herself she was simply being practical, she had ordered him to share the bed. ‘It is big enough to sleep an army,’ she’d said, ‘and I for one have no intentions of risking a skelf by crossing that bundling board thing. I am astonished that any courting couple do so.’

Now, the mattress sagged when Fergus joined her, and it took her even longer to fall asleep. For some reason, she liked to listen to him breathing. She liked the solid weight of him beside her. But he made no move to cross the board, for which she told herself she should be grateful he seemed interested only in their public performance. As for her, the thrill she got from his kisses, from the brush of his hand, his thigh, the outrageous things he whispered in her ear, that was because she too was enjoying the performance. It had nothing at all to do with the man himself. Nothing.

Lust fed on deprivation, that’s what she was feeling. Though never, not even in the first months of her marriage, had Susanna felt this tingling sense of anticipation. Even as she said her vows, she had withheld a part of herself. Jason’s expertise in the marital bed brought her no satisfaction, for it confirmed that these most intimate of caresses had been shared with any number of other women. Duty forced them to share their bodies, but there had been none of this constant urge to touch for the sake of touching. None of this wanting to know how would this feel, and this, and this.

It was all delightful, this Highland Christmas, beguiling, like the scenery and the people and yes, like the man who was laird of it all. But it was not real, and soon it would be over. She may as well enjoy it while it lasted.

* * *

Day after day of passionate kisses and bodily contact were taking their toll on Fergus, as night after tortuous night he lay there beside her in bed, with only a bundling board and a nightgown between them. He feigned sleep, and he was pretty certain Susanna did too. Her breathing was too even. She lay too still.

The night before last, he had woken near dawn to find he had worked his way over the damned board to drape an arm around her waist. Last night, it was his leg that had breached the barrier to lie over hers. He had the skelfs to prove it. She had slept through his incursion. Or pretended to.

He had not forgotten his purpose in keeping her here, but he no longer believed in it. The more he knew of her, the more he realised that she meant it when she said she had no need of his rescue. She was witty, attractive and more importantly she seemed happy enough in her own skin. If he thought it a waste that such a woman should be so very set upon being alone, that was her business, not his. Where that left him, he had no idea, save that he was pretty certain Hogmanay was approaching far too quickly, and he was pretty sick and tired of the frustration he had to cope with as each night fell, and the day’s kisses left him like a pot of water kept continually simmering and never allowed to boil. There were times, usually towards dawn, that Fergus wished he could be just a bit more unscrupulous.

Tonight was the feet washing. In the cottages and crofts, this was a ritual involving soap and scrubbing brushes which took place separately for the bride and groom, but in the castle the tradition had evolved somewhat. Fergus smiled to himself as he tried to picture Susanna’s reaction. His imagination moved on, to anticipating her slender feet in his hands, and once again, his blood rushed to his groin, as it seemed to do so often these days in her company.

They dined formally in the great hall. After dinner was cleared, those of his villagers and tenants who wished to witness the ritual—and drink his whisky—arrived. Susanna, looking even more luscious than ever in a gown of her favourite midnight blue, turned to him questioningly as the crowd formed a circle.

She stared in puzzlement as a large porcelain bowl was filled from a stone pitcher and placed at the foot of an ornately carved chair. ‘Is that wine, Fergus? Is this another toast?’

He smiled at her, one of those wicked smiles of his that sent her pulses racing, and warned her to expect the unexpected. ‘It is wine, but it is not for drinking,’ he said, taking her hand in his. ‘This piece of whimsy is known as the Dooking Throne. You must curtsey to our audience, and place that most delightful rear of yours upon it.’

She did as he bid her. Another of his surprises, this was. Was she to be crowned? But no, Fergus knelt at her feet, and to her utter astonishment and no little embarrassment, he removed first one, then the other of her evening slippers. ‘Fergus!’

Another of those smiles. Cheers and stomping from their audience. His hand slid up her calf under her skirts, his fingers tickling the back of her knee. ‘Fergus, what on earth…’

‘It is called the feet washing,’ he replied, casting her a mischievous glance as his fingers untied her garter. ‘I do like these stockings. Are they silk?’

‘Yes.’ Susanna bit her lip to catch the tiny sigh that escaped her as his fingers left a trail of sensitised skin, unrolling her stocking back down her leg. He held the delicate item up for the audience to see, causing a burst of laughter when he draped it around his shoulder. She took a deep breath as he cupped her other foot, trying to ignore the shivering sensation as his fingers trailed up her stockinged leg, untied her garter, then went back down her bare skin. The second stocking joined the first around his neck. He took one of her feet in each of her hands.

‘Lift your skirts just a little, if you please. I would not like to stain them.’

Her feet looked pale and narrow in his hands. What was it about a naked foot that was so intimate? Susanna cast a nervous look around the circle of the audience, but they all seemed to be finding the ritual amusing. She hoped they put her blushes down to maidenly modesty. Modesty was the last thing she was feeling as Fergus dipped her feet into the wine and his fingers worked their way over her toes. She no longer heard the laughter and shouts of encouragement which were probably inciting him to scrub harder, as he took a large cloth and began instead to stroke her instep in little circles.

Her eyes drifted closed. There seemed to be no purpose to this ceremony, but she did not care. When Fergus finally lifted one of her feet out of the wine, Susanna jerked awake from her delightful daze. Her eyes flew open, meeting his. Dark, lambent and blatantly aroused, his gaze was. There was no doubting now, the purpose of the feet washing. She was hot and tingling herself, and it was not just her feet which were damp.

The large square of linen turned pink as Fergus dried her feet. He surprised her once more when he fished in the bowl and what she had taken for a piece of wine sediment turned out to be a ring. ‘You must throw and whoever catches it will be the next to wed. Aim for Eilidh Fraser over there. I know she is courting, and there’s no harm in having it said that the laird’s lady has great foresight.’

Once again, she did as she was bid, and was rewarded by a beaming smile from the girl, and a great cheer. Fergus made a sweepingly theatrical bow. From the doorway, a pair of bagpipes gave their warning groan before bursting into a skirl, and Fergus scooped Susanna up into his arms, leading the way to their bedchamber.

Chapter Five

Fergus leant against the door, clutching Susanna’s shoes, her stockings draped around his neck. In the corridor, the skirl of the pipes was replaced by raucous singing. It was as well they sang in the Gaelic, though judging from her expression Susanna had a very clear notion of its bawdy content. She was laughing as she sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Is it over, or are they going to burst in and strew us with—I don’t know—herbs to encourage potency?’

‘Dear God, I hope not. I assure you, I need no encouragement. Since you arrived here at Kilmun, I have been made aware of my potency on a daily basis.’

‘I am sure you meant that as a complement, but let me tell you, Laird, it is not one fit for a lady’s ears. What’s more, I am very sure that
any
lady—with the appropriately curved rear, of course—would have the same effect on you as I do.’

She had a way of blushing and smiling provocatively at the same time which he adored, all the more so because he knew that
her
delight in teasing him was something new. As it was for him, too. He had started it as part of their game of flirting publicly, but it had become a habit he did not want to break.

Her hair was escaping from its pins. At night, it spread across the pillows, over the bolster that separated them. It smelled of flowers, and it tickled his nose. He took a long tendril, winding it around his finger. ‘For nigh on two years after the wars, I was in no fit state to look at any woman. To tell the truth, I thought I’d lost interest for good until I set eyes on you, all dark hair and red mouth and grey eyes, on the pier at Kilmun village.’ Susanna looked as surprised as he felt at this confession. It was the truth, but he had no idea why he’d told her.

He unwound her curl from his finger and made to get up when she caught his hand. ‘Until I came here, I was fairly certain I had no such feelings either,’ Susanna whispered. ‘Do you think the wanting is stronger for having been asleep so long, Fergus?’

‘It’s an idea. Like a creature who has slept the winter over, and worked up an appetite, you mean?’

Susanna’s laugh had a breathy quality that made his own breathing quicken. ‘When I’m lying on this bed, with that horrible plank of wood between us, I sometimes feel as though I’ve been feasting my eyes all day on a banquet I’m not allowed to eat.’

‘When I was washing your feet, I wanted to lick them dry, but I fear that would have been a step too far for our audience. If you’ll forgive the pun.’

‘They still smell of claret.’

‘Most likely they taste of it too. It was the very best claret, I’ll have you know. I wonder if it travels well.’

Before she could ask him what he meant, Fergus dropped to his knees before her for the second time that night, and did what he had wanted to do the first time, cupping one of her slender feet in his hand, and sucking on her toe. He was rewarded with one of those telling intakes of breath, and with a widening of those speaking grey eyes of hers. He licked his way along each of her toes, then sucked his way back.

‘And does it?’ she asked. ‘Travel well?’

‘I’ll need to make sure.’ He picked up her other foot, licking each of the toes before kissing his way up to her ankle to the fluttering pulse there. Susanna slumped back on the bed with a soft sigh, and Fergus continued kissing, up her calf, to her knee, his hand following the same route on her other leg. Her petticoats rustled seductively as he pushed them aside to expose the lacy edge of her pantalettes. The salty, vanilla scent of her arousal was as unmistakable as his own urge to keep kissing his way up, until he could taste her.

He hesitated, stroking the soft flesh of her thigh through the thin linen of her undergarments. Susanna gave another of those unbearably erotic little moans, stirring restlessly beneath him. Her pupils were enlarged. Her face was flushed. All these days spent in what seemed like a perpetual state of arousal, nights spent in aching frustration, were suddenly too much to bear. Fergus pushed up her skirts, he parted the legs of her pantalettes, cupped her bottom to tilt her towards his mouth. There was, after all, more than one way to heaven.

Susanna cried out in surprise, then cried out in pleasure as Fergus kissed the soft flesh at the tops of her thighs. Then the creases at the tops of her legs. And then inside her. A slow, languorous lick it was, parting her, and then another, sliding up and over the swelling nub of her. She shivered, her muscles tensed, heat pooling between her legs.

Fergus licked again, and she felt the familiar tightening, save that it was not at all familiar because it was much more, a stronger, deep pull. So quickly. And so much. It was not at all what she was accustomed to. She tried to think, to hold on, to hold back, to prolong. Not yet, she thought, as he licked again. And then he kissed her. Or suckled her. She did not know what he was doing, but she lost the power to concentrate because what he was doing was so, so, so…

Hot, wet, tight, she felt. She could hear his breathing, ragged. His fingers dug in to the flesh of her bottom, holding her when she arched and bucked, wanting more, wanting to wait, wanting more. She moaned. He did something else with his tongue, a swirling and licking at the same time, she could feel herself tightening, tightening, and tried to clench hold, and he stopped as she cried out, and she heard his low laugh of triumph as he licked her again, there, in precisely the right place, and she climaxed, wave after wave pulsing through her. She clutched at the sheets, at his hair, at his shoulders, pulling him up towards her, thrusting herself unashamedly at him.

He kissed her mouth. She tasted herself on his lips and wrapped her arms and legs around him. She could feel the hard length of his erection through his trews, against the damp between her legs. He still had all his clothes on. What’s more, so did she.
What were they doing?

What was he doing!
Fergus hesitated, breathing heavily. This, this woman, what she did to him, it was too much. Too good.
She
was too good for him. Much as he wanted her, what he wanted more was to let her live the life she had set her heart on. He cursed. His timing could have been a hell of a lot better! It took every ounce of resolution, but he rolled away from her. ‘No,’ he said, more to himself than Susanna. ‘No.’

* * *

The next day, which was Christmas Eve, saw the lighting of the Yule log in the great hall, where the Clootie dumpling was served to the castle’s servants. Custom demanded that the laird and his lady do the waiting, a practice which Susanna took seriously, descending to Mrs MacDonald’s domain to lend what assistance she could.

In the kitchens, she rolled up the sleeves of her Turkey-red gown and threw herself into the cooking and setting out of the night’s feast. This was much to the cook’s surprise and she unwittingly earned herself the approval of the household, who had naturally been suspicious of a London lady likely to think herself above getting her hands dirty. Though the gruff man in charge of the household laughed at her attempts to pronounce the Gaelic, he did not mock her, and the arduous hours of work had the benefit of distracting her from thoughts of the night before. Until she stood, smiling and tired, by Fergus’s side in the great hall, as their health was drunk.

‘Mrs MacDonald has nothing but good words to say of you,’ Fergus said, slipping an arm around her waist. ‘I did wonder though, if you worked so hard in those kitchens of hers in order to avoid me?’

She could not look at him. An image of herself, crying out in abandon beneath him, flashed into her mind. Fergus brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her temple. ‘No need to answer. Your silence speaks volumes.’

She shook her head helplessly and caught his hand in hers. His knuckles were scored with small cuts from hacking away the brambles which had been growing around the tree which became the Yule log. She kissed them and slipped away up the stairs, leaving Fergus to socialise and, more importantly, ensure that the whisky did not run dry before the men did.

Susanna lay awake with the bed curtains open, a candle burning low on the night table at the side of the bed. Sick of the bundling board, yet unwilling to cause an uproar by removing it, she had wrapped one of her shawls around it, and covered it with a bolster. When Fergus entered the room, she feigned sleep.

He stood over her for a long moment, looking down, then set about undressing. She watched from between her lashes as he shrugged out of his coat, then sat by the fireside to pull off his boots and stockings. His waistcoat and stock came next. Then his shirt, tugged free from his trews and pulled over his head. His torso was pale compared to the tan of his arms and throat. As he stretched his hands over his head and rolled his shoulders, his muscles rippled. She must have made a sound, for he froze. ‘Did I wake you?’ The mattress sagged as he sat on the edge of it.

Susanna pushed herself up. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

He flashed a smile. ‘Tell me about it.’

She plucked at the scalloped embroidery which edged the sheet. ‘Fergus, do you regret last night?’

‘I wish I could say I did, but if I’m honest I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day.’

‘Nor I.’ Susanna began to tug at a loose thread. ‘Fergus, why did you stop?’

‘Because I knew I would regret it. No, not the way you think.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Since we’re being very honest, I’ll tell you now that I asked you to stay here in the hopes of changing your mind.’

‘Change my—you mean make me marry you?’

‘Not make you. It was just that I had it in my head—och, I don’t know if I can explain. After Waterloo, when I was lying wounded in that field hospital, plotting my revenge on Mountjoy kept me alive. I wasn’t right in my head that day I visited you, though I thought I was. I suppose being at war for nigh on ten years takes its toll on the mind as well as the body. Anyway, I blamed Mountjoy because I had to blame someone, and he made it easy for me, being such a callous bastard. I knew the moment you slammed that drawing room door in my face that I’d made a huge mistake, and for the best part of the past three years I’ve been wishing it undone. When I read his death notice, it was like the answer to my prayers. Finally, I’d get to make it up to you.’

‘Had you not called that day, I’d have married Jason in complete ignorance. It would have taken me longer to discover his true nature and his true feelings for me—or lack of them—and perhaps I would have tried harder to be the wife I thought he wanted for longer. You saved me from wasting my time. When I finally worked up the courage to ask him what became of the child—Maria’s child, the woman you told me of—do you know, he laughed. “What do I care about one more little bastard,” he said. And even after I had traced them, he was not relieved, but furious. I grew up that day, Fergus, and I’ve been growing ever since. You are not responsible for ruining my life, far from it.’

Fergus eyed her in astonishment. ‘You found Maria? You mean you sought out Mountjoy’s mistress and child?’

‘I did, and I took care of them. If you had not informed me of their existence, I hate to think what would have happened to them. So you see, you played your part in saving them.’

This was pushing it much too far for Fergus. ‘I did no such thing. All I was interested in was ruining Mountjoy.’

‘Well, he ruined himself in the end.’

‘But he did not ruin you.’ Fergus leaned over to touch her cheek. ‘I can see that. I do see that. And that’s why I stopped last night. I wanted you to stay here so I could persuade you to marry me, but I realise now that I know you, that I’m the last thing you need. You’ve made a far better fist of the hand life has dealt you than I, Susanna.’

‘Rubbish. I simply had to come to terms with a drunken libertine of a husband, while you— I cannot imagine what you suffered during the wars. If you do not remember the state you were in that day, I certainly do. You were like a ghost of yourself. I was astonished when I met you again. I did not expect you to recover so completely. Our acquaintance has been only a few weeks, but I only have to look at the way your tenants behave towards you. You’re loyal and you’re hard-working and you’re honest and you’re fair. You’re a good laird, Fergus, I have no doubt you were an excellent captain. You have made a very good hand indeed of the cards life has dealt you.’

Fergus shrugged. Touched as he was by her defence of him, he was a man accustomed to giving orders rather than receiving praise. Maybe what she said made sense, maybe not, but he was too tired to deal with it right now. ‘What I wanted to say was that we should forget all about that stupid idea of mine for us to marry, and make the most of this last week of your visit.’ He leaned over to touch her cheek again. ‘You’re a fine woman, Susanna. Too fine for me.’

‘If I wanted a husband, Fergus, I could not do finer than you. But I do not. Now shut up and come to bed.’

He laughed at that. ‘An invitation I cannot resist. You should thank the lord for that bloody board, for you are quite adorable.’

She made a strange little sound he could not understand. Until he blew out the candle and climbed into bed after discarding his trews. Instead of splintery wood, there was something soft between them. His palm flattened over soft pillow and something silky underneath. ‘Susanna?’

‘I was sick of getting splinters. Skelfs.’ She leaned over to press a kiss to his temple. ‘Go to sleep, Fergus.’

He pulled her over towards him, flattening her palm on his belly. ‘I love the way your hair tickles my nose,’ he mumbled. And then he slept.

Susanna lay awake, feeling the quiet rhythm of Fergus’s breathing reverberate on the skin of her palm. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. A week after that was Hogmanay, and somehow they would have to persuade all the Kilmun villagers and tenants, and all Fergus’s neighbours, that they had fallen out, with no hope of making it up. She wouldn’t see Fergus again after that. The new year would be the beginning of her new life, whatever that was. It was true, the beauty of this little village had captured her heart, but there were many other little villages in England equally beautiful in which she could live. Once Jason’s estate was settled, there would be enough for a cottage, so the lawyer said. Other villages where she could help build a school, just as Fergus planned. And though they would not have anyone like Fergus in them, there would be other friends to make. She did not want a husband. She most certainly did not need a husband. This lust, passion, desire, wanting, whatever it was, that existed between her and Fergus, it was a product of the circumstances, merely. Though it felt so real, it would pass.