Page 20 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

She knew this was what men and women did when they were married and sometimes before, but she had never done it. Just as Donal had been saving himself for Mary, she had hoped one day to share her bed with Richard. Which was strange because Agatha knew now that she would much rather be sharing a bed, or even a chair, with Donal.

She felt the gnawing ache in her belly growing while at the same time the building response between her thighs was driving her on. She couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, and she definitely didn’t want to. She felt herself begin to soar and she clung to him, holding her breath, while he grasped her bottom with firm hands, thrusting quickly now, as if there were no clothing between them. Even so the pressure against her sensitized flesh was exquisite.

“Don’t stop,” she moaned against his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. “Donal, please don’t stop.”

“Want you,” he growled, taking her mouth in a deep devouring kiss. “Agatha . . . my Agatha . . .” He was thrusting up against her as if he wanted to tear away their clothing and be inside her, and she wanted that too.

And then she reached an impossible peak, gasping and writhing against him as she lost all control. He let out a deep groan. Another flash of pleasure and she could hear the beat of her heart, and his, as they pressed close. She felt replete.

They began to kiss again, slow brushes of their lips. She nibbled his jaw and he cupped her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple, and she moaned in her throat. If they had been in bed then she might have asked for more, but they were not, and the longer they stayed like this the more dangerous it became.

Voices drifted from another part of the house.

They both lifted their heads, still dizzy with satisfaction. Thankfully, the sounds were still some way off, and Donal was already lifting her from his lap and setting her carefully on the floor. He ran a hand through his hair but he only looked more disreputable. And handsome. Agatha stood shakily, clinging to the chair back. Had they just . . .? Had she and Donal just . . .?

He met her eyes with a rueful smile. “I think Old Henry will need to burn these breeches,” he said. “I’ve jazzed . . . spent in them.”

Agatha’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said as understanding dawned. “Is that my fault?”

He grinned. “Aye, it is.”

She caught her breath. “Do you want to do it again?” she asked, leaning against him.

“God, yes,” he growled.

“You’re both awake!” Hattie stood in the doorway.

They sprang apart.

Hattie watched them with a curious frown. “You were both asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“What is the time?” Agatha asked, and suddenly the enjoyment of moments ago was lost as she remembered their predicament.

“It isn’t very late,” Hattie reassured them. “’Tis only six o’clock in the afternoon. There is a storm coming so you should go now if you want to get home without another drenching. I have dried your clothing. I’ll fetch it for you.”

When she had left again, Agatha turned anxiously to Donal. “Father will be wondering where we are,” she wailed. “The picnic will be long over.”

“Aye, you’re right.”

“Do you think anyone else noticed we were gone?” she asked him in a small voice. “Perhaps they were having such a good time they didn’t give us a second thought?”

Donal didn’t seem to know how to answer that but she saw her alarm mirrored in his eyes. “Let’s get dressed and then we can away,” he said. His gaze traveled to her bodice and then away again, but she knew he was remembering kissing her and tasting her, and suddenly so was she. Her body still felt a little wobbly from her climax, but there was no time to dwell on it.

“Donal . . .” she began, not sure what she was going to say. The strange thing was that she didn’t feel self-conscious and embarrassed, not at all. She felt as if being with him was right.

But then Hattie returned with the clothing and took Agatha off to another room to dress while Donal stayed in the kitchen. Her muslin dress seemed almost as good as new, and Hattie even supplied a brush so that Agatha could tidy her hair. She thanked the housekeeper. At least, Agatha reassured herself, she did not look as if she had been indulging in debauchery, even if she had.

When she returned to the kitchen she saw that Donal was standing at the window, and to her dismay it had begun to rain again. Big drops knocking against the pane. Donal turned and gave her a sympathetic look.

“We will wait until this passes,” he said. “There’s no point in setting out in our nice dry clothing. Dinna worry, we will be home in no time.”

But it was another hour before they were able to set out at last. Old Henry, who was Hattie’s husband, had previously unharnessed the horses and put them in the stable. Agatha guiltily realized she hadn’t given the poor creatures a thought. Now he brought them out again and harnessed them to the carriage. It all took time, but finally it was done. Agatha took a relieved breath when at last they were able to set off.

“It will be all right,” she said aloud, more to convince herself than Donal. “I know it will be.”

He squeezed her hand, but he did not reply.

Chapter Twelve