An Invitation To Pleasure

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An Invitation To Pleasure
Marguerite Kaye

Susanna Hunter once ignored Captain Fergus Lamont's warnings not marry a fortune hunter –a decision she lived to regret.Three years later and since widowed, she's surprised by his unexpected invitation to spend Christmas with him in the Highlands. But even more shocking is Fergus's new proposition: that she pretend to be his fiancée, with all the accompanying pleasures….

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Susanna Hunter once ignored Captain Fergus Lamont’s warnings not marry a fortune hunter—a decision she lived to regret. Three years later and since widowed, she’s sur­prised by his unexpected invitation to spend Christmas with him in the Highlands. But even more shocking is Fergus’s new proposition: that she pretend to be his fiancée, with all the accompanying pleasures….

About the Author

Born and educated in Scotland, MARGUERITE KAYE originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practice. Instead, she carved out a career in IT and studied history part-time, gaining a first-class honors and a master’s degree. A few decades after winning a children’s national poetry competition, she decided to pursue her lifelong ambition to write, and submitted her first historical romance to Harlequin Mills & Boon. They accepted it, and she’s been writing ever since.

You can contact Marguerite through her website at www.margueritekaye.com (http://www.margueritekaye.com).

An Invitation to Pleasure

Marguerite Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Contents

Chapter One (#u53a5bccf-d471-5c78-8f09-2c2cf46e530e)

Chapter Two (#u393f502a-e567-5dfb-8131-94affb62ee71)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

August 1815

London

‘Jilt him!’ Susanna Hunter repeated the stranger’s demand in utter disbelief. ‘You wish me to end my betrothal to Sir Jason Mountjoy!’

She eyed the soldier seated on the edge of one of the gilded chairs which were set in carefully casual clusters around the large drawing room of her parents’ London town house. Captain Lamont’s uniform was ragged, hanging far too loose on his large frame. His boots were much patched and covered in a film of dust, as if he had marched here all the way from Waterloo, for goodness sake. His hair was cropped, auburn and what there was of it stood up in short, angry spikes. Aside from the vivid red welt of the scar on his forehead, his skin had the ashen pallor of suffering, stretched so taut over his cheekbones as to give him the look of a cadaver. His eyes though, a strange colour between tawny and gold, burned with the light of a man on a mission.

Susanna peered nervously over her shoulder at the drawing room door. Charles, her father’s footman would be hovering just outside it, she knew, for he had been loathe to leave her alone with Captain Lamont in the first place. Was he dangerous? He had obviously been grievously ill. In fact, he looked as if he should be on his sickbed still. Despite the outrageous demand he had made of her, she softened. ‘May I get you some refreshment?’

‘I did not come calling to take tea, Miss Hunter,’ he replied, drawing her a scornful look. ‘I came to tell you…’

‘Not to marry the man to whom I have been betrothed for two years,’ Susanna interrupted tartly. So much for compassion.

Surprised by the sharpness in her tone, Fergus Lamont surveyed the young woman afresh. In her pale yellow gown, with her dark hair scraped back from her face, she had seemed to him every bit the prettily insipid debutante Mountjoy implied. He was no expert of feminine furbelows, but even he could see that the colour of her gown made her olive skin seem sallow, and now that he looked more closely, it looked as if her blue-black curls were fighting to escape their pins. There was, however, nothing at all insipid about her eyes. No longer demurely downcast, they were her best feature, a grey that was almost silver, thickly fringed with black lashes. And right at this moment, flashing fire. Perhaps after all he could rile her into the defiance he so badly needed in order to exact his longed-for revenge on Mountjoy. ‘He calls you his sweet-tempered heiress, did you know that?’

His tone was deliberately insulting, and Fergus was rewarded with a flush which might well be temper, staining Susanna Hunter’s pretty neck. His hopes rose as her lip curled, but fell as it just as quickly straightened. ‘Jason says it is one of things that he loves most about me, that I am not the type of female who must forever be hearing my own voice.’

‘’Tis a pity he does not feel the same about his own,’ Fergus responded bitterly. Those big grey eyes had lost their spark. He was losing her. ‘Do you love him?’

‘Jason is handsome and charming. Mama assures me there could be no better match.’

‘Don’t you care that he is marrying you for your money?’

‘It would be foolish of me to pretend that my fortune is not significant, but men like Sir Jason Mountjoy do not marry for money,’ she replied with a dignity that would have impressed Fergus were he not certain she was simply parroting her mother. She smoothed the folds of her gown, once more refusing to meet his eyes.

The flush had crept up, staining her cheeks now. Her eyes were bright, not with defiance but unshed tears that under any other circumstances would have given Fergus pause. But not today. Fergus thumped his fist on his knee, and leapt to his feet. ‘Do you know what he’s really like, this man you intend to marry? An aide, he calls himself. A messenger boy is what he actually is, and a damned poor one at that. Do you have any idea of the carnage he wrought? Och, but why should you care any more than he that his carelessness cost God knows how many lives! By God, lassie, if I could shake sense into you I would.’

Susanna flinched, only just resisting the desire to flee. Far from the walking cadaver he had been a few moments ago, Captain Lamont now seemed lit from the inside. There was something both intimidating and magnificent in the way he threw those caustic words at her. His Scots accent broadened as his temper took hold. As he stood there, shoulders back, glaring at her, she saw the ghost of the man he had been, proud and bold, with a natural authority and a rather barbaric charm.

Awareness of this hit Susanna with a shocking jolt. Under different circumstances, she would have found him extremely attractive. Mortified, she straightened her spine. ‘Captain Lamont, I can see that you have suffered much....’

A harsh crack of laughter greeted this remark. ‘Not half as much as some, and not near as much as that blackguard Mountjoy deserves.’

Susanna’s temper, a very small and timid creature which rarely saw the light of day, began to stir. It irked her that Jason insisted that the war was no topic for a lady, but that did not mean she wished Captain Lamont to educate her. She took a deep breath and got to her feet. ‘It is obvious that you hold some sort of grudge against my betrothed. However, I fail to see what it has to do with me, and more importantly, I cannot understand what possible business of yours you think my marriage is. I am sorry for your suffering and wish you a sound recovery, but I must ask you to leave.’

She turned towards the door, upon the brink of congratulating herself for having managed such a difficult situation, when he grabbed her by the arm. ‘I haven’t yet told you why you must rid yourself of the scoundrel.’

The sleeves of Susanna’s gown were long, beribboned and fitted tight to the wrist, but she could feel the burning heat of his fingers as if her arms were bare. Captain Lamont’s grip was tight enough to bruise. Close up, his eyes had a golden rim around them. His stubble too had a golden glint to it. Despite his grubby appearance, he smelled of soap. She was acutely conscious of him, not as a soldier but as a man. ‘Release me at once.’ Her voice sounded pitiably unconvincing.

‘You have to listen to me.’

Whatever lies he wanted to impart, he obviously believed them. The desperation in his voice made Susanna even more convinced that she must quiet him for her own peace of mind. She tried once more to shake herself free, only to find herself in what felt shockingly like an embrace. ‘If you do not release me, I will call a servant.’

He ignored her. ‘It was a bloodbath, you know.’ Captain Lamont swallowed compulsively. Sweat beaded on his brow under the line of the bandage. ‘He blamed me for it all,’ he continued harshly. ‘Said I was the one who had misinterpreted the orders, not him. But it’s not just on the battlefield he avoids responsibility, that’s what you need to know. If it was not for your being promised to him, he’d have been clapped in the debtor’s prison months ago, and what he owes to the tradesmen is doubtless nothing to what he has lost on the tables. He’s counting on you to make it all good, his sweet-tempered heiress.’

‘Stop it! Stop calling me that. All gentlemen have debts. Jason loves me.’

Another of those harsh cracks of laughter. ‘You and a hundred others.’

Susanna froze. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He has a pretty way with compliments, does he not? He uses it to very good effect, charming the officers’ wives and making their daughters sigh over him. Of course, he saves his most intimate of favours for those who cannot complain when they are left dealing with the consequences of his passion. As they must, Miss Hunter, for Mountjoy will not.’ His grip on her arms tightened. ‘Mountjoy left at least one of his side-slips on the continent when he returned to London, did you know that?’

‘How dare you! Stop it. I will not listen.’

‘You must jilt him. You have to make him pay. Mountjoy has hurt too many innocents already. Don’t let him make you his next victim.’

Disbelief, shock and outrage sent Susanna’s head spinning. She could not think straight. All she wanted was to rid herself of this man who for reasons best known to himself seemed bent upon her destruction. Unwilling to admit to the horrible premonition of truth underlying it all, she turned her anger upon the bearer of tidings. ‘Do not insult me by trying to pretend that you give a—a damn about me. All you want to do is to hurt Jason, and if you have to use me, trample over me or any other innocent party in the process, then you will. Spare me the noble gesture, if you please. I am simply a pawn in your game, and I have absolutely no intentions of changing the course of my life because you wish me to.’

Her visitor looked genuinely aghast. ‘You cannot possibly mean to marry Mountjoy after what I’ve told you.’

‘What do you suggest I do instead? Marry you?’ Susanna spoke without thinking, caught up in the wholly unfamiliar and strangely heady fire of fury which possessed her. The need to hurt this man in return for the hurt he was inflicting made her reckless. ‘Judging from the sad state of your clothing, Captain, you are obviously in dire need of funds. Marriage to a sweet-tempered heiress might be just the thing for you.’

To her surprise, the jibe made him smile faintly. ‘Not so sweet-tempered now though, are you? Don’t do it, Susanna.’

His tone had a sense of urgency which gave sickening credence to his accusations. His use of her name made her abruptly conscious of the intimacy of their stance. She could feel his breath on her cheek. There were muscles of steel under that gaunt frame of his. The smile gave her another fleeting glimpse of the man he must have been. Powerful. Confident. Charismatic. Attractive. Extremely attractive. Her mouth went dry. Her skin prickled with heat. ‘You are being ridiculous.’

‘Susanna, don’t do it. You could do so much better than Mountjoy.’

His hand slid down her arm, snaking round her waist and pulling her against him. Hard body, surprisingly solid. His thighs brushed hers. She felt hot, cold, giddy. Jason had never held her so close. She looked up, trying to think of something to say, and met Captain Lamont’s eyes. Tawny and gold, no longer despairing but something else, something that made her heart beat faster, that made her belly clench. She opened her mouth to speak, felt herself jerked tight against him.

He was going to kiss her. She was certain of it. Her heart hammered in shocking anticipation. His mouth hovered over hers. Too late, she realised she should be protesting, but there was no need to struggle, for he had already cast her from him, his expression all the more mortifying because it reflected what should have been her own horror. Susanna pointed at the door. ‘Get out.’

The captain stood his ground. ‘If you marry him, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’

‘Get out!’ Realising that she had covered her ears like a child made Susanna even more furious. How could she have allowed him to take such liberties? She would have allowed him to kiss her, had he not stopped. Jason never attempted to kiss her, not like that. This man did not even know her, but he had made her feel as Jason never had. No. She would not think about it, and she would certainly not listen.

Susanna strode over to the drawing room door, startling the footman by throwing it wide open. ‘I wish you a complete recovery from your wounds, Captain Lamont. Let me assure you once and for all, that those you have attempted to inflict upon me have missed their mark. Good day.’

She slammed the door in his face before he could reply, leaning back against it and breathing deeply, listening to the two sets of steps retreating down the marble staircase. It was lies. He was quite deranged, and it was all lies. Or perhaps gross exaggeration would be more accurate, for it was to be expected that a gentleman set up a few flirts before he settled down. Marriage would put an end to such minor indiscretions, for Jason was an honourable man. Everyone said so.

Her heart was beating like a wild animal seeking escape. She would put this last hour to the back of her mind. Tonight she and Jason were to attend a victory ball. Tomorrow, she and Mama would be shopping for bride clothes. The wedding date was set. There was no question of doing anything other than going through with it, Susanna told herself firmly. No question at all.

Chapter Two

December 1818

Argyll, Scottish Highlands

The crossing yesterday, from the bustling port outside the city of Glasgow across the River Clyde to the head of the Holy Loch, had been tempestuous, but at least the boat, like its six brawny oarsmen, had been sturdily built. This morning, when Susanna had first laid eyes on the frail craft which was to take her on the last leg of her journey, through the narrow stretches of Echaigh waters to Loch Eck and finally Loch Fyne, she thought the landlord of the Cot House ferry inn was making a joke at her expense.

It was snowing as the boatman cast off. Susanna’s travelling pelisse of royal blue kerseymere with its elaborate satin scrollwork piping, the matching poke bonnet and the chinchilla muff which her mother had lent her, had seemed more than warm enough when she set out from London. Five hundred miles north, she wriggled her numb toes inside her kid boots as she balanced precariously on the narrow plank of wood which passed for a seat on the boat, and wondered if she would ever feel warm again.

The boat scudded and bumped over the waves. Excitement and apprehension made Susanna feel slightly sick. Fergus, Laird of Kilmun, Captain Lamont had signed himself in his letter. These past three years had seen his star rise if the title was aught to go by, while most would say that hers had reached its nadir.

Three years. So much time for her to regret her marriage to Jason, to dwell upon the consequences and to count the cost. She had done so many times, castigating herself over and over for failing to listen to the captain’s words of warning as she discovered, in those early, most disillusioning months as a bride, that all Jason wanted was her money and her compliance. Until that morning, their first anniversary, watching Jason stagger up the stairs, looking every bit the drunken debaucher that he was, she resolved to be done with regrets.

Her husband refused to countenance the shame of a formal separation. They continued under the same roof, he continued to work his way through her inheritance, but the “sweet-tempered heiress” who neither thought nor acted for herself was long gone. That very morning two years ago, Susanna had extinguished the naive and dependent creature who was Jason’s wife. From her ashes emerged a woman who prided herself on her strength in the face of adversity. Destitute widow as she now was, she was looking forward to her independence. She would never again allow a man to shape her life.

Susanna smiled to herself as she imagined Captain Lamont’s —goodness no, the Laird of Kilmun’s—surprise at the changes in her. His unexpected invitation to spend Christmas in the Highlands had arrived out of the blue. She could not deny it had piqued her curiosity, and was all the more welcome since the alternative was to spend the festive period with her parents in London. Her parents mourned their son-in-law as his wife could not. Susanna had abandoned her widow’s weeds after three months. She would not be Jason Mountjoy’s relic.

How astonished her host would be when she told him, as she had often wished to, that his harsh truths had eventually found their mark. True, she had still become that most absurd of clichés, the heiress wed by a feckless and charming fortune hunter, but in the same circumstances she doubted very much that any gullible girl would have done other than opt for the path of least resistance. She had married, and for a while she had been miserable, but she had no doubt at all that her misery would have lasted a great deal longer had she more illusions to cling to. There was even a chance that she would be clinging to them still. Her widowhood could easily have been the ending most seemed to think it, instead of the beginning Susanna was eager to embrace. For planting those first seeds of doubt, she owed the Laird of Kilmun a debt of gratitude, and so she would tell him.

The boat scudded its way towards a tiny jetty, and Susanna’s thoughts turned to her host. The Laird of Kilmun, indeed! She hoped the husk of the man had managed some sort of recovery, but he had been so far gone, she doubted it was possible.

The wind let up and the snow eased, laying the landscape open as if a curtain had been drawn. She gazed around her with the disoriented feeling of one who has travelled too far in too short a time, catching her breath at the unexpected beauty of the place. Wild the Highlands were, but they were also staggeringly lovely. The village, with its white-washed cottages, their thatched roofs glistening with snow, lay in a crescent around the harbour, the church taking the slightly raised ground at the northern end. In the distance, gently rolling hills gave way to craggier peaks, snow-frosted and sharply defined against the pale blue of the winter sky. The waters of the loch had calmed to a gentle lapping onto the pebbled shore. A gull soared high above the fishing nets which were hung out to dry on the beach above the line of the tide. The air was salty, clean and painfully cold, unlike anything Susanna had ever breathed. Everything in view seemed to be painted with the crisp, clear lines of an amateur painting.

As she clutched the calloused hand of the ferry man to climb ashore, she saw him striding towards her. A tall, broad man he was, who exuded strength and vitality with every step. Long, muscled legs clad in tight trews covered the distance between them so quickly that his hair, worn long and loose to his shoulders, flew out behind him. Auburn hair, it glinted fire in the weak sunlight. A rough growth of stubble gleamed the same colour on his chin. Tanned skin he had, and a mouth curled into the hint of a welcoming smile.

Susanna’s stomach did a little flip-flop. It was the eyes. Though the lines at the corners seemed less pronounced, and the hard edge of pain was no longer there, they were his eyes, a strange colour that must be hazel but looked amber. Was it really him? The man she had known had been tense to the point of breaking, as if he were held together by wires, his face hollowed out by suffering. She had forgotten, but it came back to her vividly now, the way he had looked out at the world, as if from a long distance away.

This could not be him, this wild-looking, vital Highlander. Nerves, a faltering of her hard-won confidence, surprise, admiration and a sharp twinge of attraction wrestled for dominance. She was still trying to form her thoughts when her hands were clasped in his, a rough cheek pressed to hers, and the scent of wool, leather and man enveloped her.

‘Lady Mountjoy,’ Fergus said.

‘Captain Lamont?’

‘Aye, but it is actually Laird Kilmun now.’ She looked dumbfounded. Fergus wanted to laugh, but he was fair dumbfounded himself, for she seemed quite transformed. The female he remembered had been coltish, unsure of herself. He recalled downcast eyes and clasped hands, a mouth prim with the effort not to cry. The woman before him had a distinct air of confidence about her. He remembered her as a pretty wee thing conventionally turned out. Now she stood on the jetty, looking nothing like. Memorable rather than beautiful, she was all high cheekbones and wide-open grey eyes. Those he did remember.

The wind had whipped several wispy tendrils of hair out from under her bonnet. Her skin was very pale, her lips very red, her hair blue-black, the starkly contrasting colours giving her a touch of the exotic. A most unexpected stirring of his blood made him remember something else from that first meeting of theirs. He had kissed her. Or he had only just stopped himself from kissing her. It was the way she’d stood up to him, challenging his tirade, that had roused him. For a demure wee thing, she’d packed quite a punch. Now she was no longer a demure wee thing, but quite clearly and very delectably grown into her skin, it would be amusing to see if he could stoke her fire. It had been a long while, too long a while, since he’d had either the inclination or the opportunity for a bit of verbal sparring, but damn, there was something about this woman that made him want to forget all about taking life seriously and do just that.

Fergus smiled. ‘Has the cat got your tongue, Lady Mountjoy? No, I can’t call you that, it sticks in my craw. Since our acquaintance is of such long standing, perhaps you would allow me to call you Susanna, and you may call me Fergus?’

She simply stared, as if he had asked her to call him the devil, and damn, if it didn’t make the devil in him react. ‘I wonder now, though you would not kiss a mere captain all those years ago, have you a kiss for the laird?’

She looked as if she was torn between slapping him and doing as he was bid. Then, to his astonishment, she laughed. It was a wonderful sound, like the gurgling of a stream. ‘You are quite outrageous, Captain—Laird! And in one sense, wholly unchanged, for you must still be taking enormous liberties. In every other sense, however, I barely recognised you.’