Page 33 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

“I want to be yours,” she said. “In every way.”

Donal groaned. “I want that too,” he said, his voice gravelly. “But we can’t. Not here.”

He was being the sensible one. That made a change for Agatha.

“Please.” She gasped as his hand closed over her breast, the thin cloth of her bodice making the sensitized flesh throb even more.

He looked away and then nodded at the summer house. It was enclosed, not open to the elements, and the best thing about it was that there was a door. “If you are sure, Agatha?” he asked her. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” she said eagerly. “I feel as if this is a moment I cannot ignore, because if I do, it may never happen again. You might decide you want Mary after all, or your father might refuse his permission for us to marry, or—”

He took her hands in his and they stood up together. “Agatha, believe me. None of that is going to happen. We are going to be married.”

She sighed happily. “Yes.”

“But we can wait until the vows are spoken.”

“I don’t want to wait,” she whispered. “I want you now.”

“And I want you.” He said it with such purposefulness that she believed him completely.

The door into the summer house was unlocked and Agatha was pleased to see the inside was kept clean and spider free. There was a wicker lounge and chairs, as well as a small table. The lounge had cushions and a coverlet for those cold days, which to Agatha’s mind looked perfect for sharing with the man she loved.

Donal must have thought the same thing because as soon as the door was closed he began to unhook the back of her dress. “If I dinna touch you soon, I will go mad,” he muttered.

She laughed breathlessly. Her dress loosened and a moment later she slipped her arms out of the sleeves, leaving her naked from the waist up. In the next instant Donal’s mouth was upon her.

Sucking and kissing, licking her flesh as she gasped and arched against him. He reached down to cup her bottom, pulling her up against him, as he bent his head to lathe her nipples. Pleasure rose in waves, and she squeezed her thighs together, wondering if it was possible to reach her peak from his touch on her breasts alone.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since the rainstorm,” he growled. “I’ve been dreaming about it.”

Her voice broke. “So have I.”

Her answer seemed to only increase his passion, and he dropped to his knees before her. He lifted the hem of her skirt, his hands sliding up her stocking-covered ankles and calves until he reached her bare thighs. When he leaned forward she felt his warm breath on her naked skin, and when he pressed his mouth to that heated ache that was begging for attention, she cried out softly. He was kissing her, open mouth kisses, and then his tongue was lapping at her.

It felt exquisite and she stumbled back, ending up sitting on the lounge. He followed her, still kneeling, and when her legs fell open he was lavishing her with the attention of his mouth again. Agatha’s her head fell back against the seat. When she opened her eyes and looked up she could see there was a small glass dome instead of a ceiling and she saw the moon above her. The golden orb looked down upon her from a blue, velvet sky and there seemed to be a smile on its face.

Pleasure roared through her, making her gasp and push against his busy mouth as her body throbbed and spasmed. She was boneless, drifting. She felt him sit down beside her and dropped her head to his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck.

“You are very good at this,” she said when she found breath.

He wrapped an arm around her. “Years of listening to Rory’s boasting.”

Agatha laughed softly. “I still want you. Do you still want me?”

He groaned. “More than anything,” he said. His face was grave in the moonlight and so handsome.

She wanted to weep with joy. She loved him. They had come together through heartbreak and found love. It was unexpected and miraculous. She had been quiet for too long.

“Agatha?” Donal said gently. “I dinna hurt you?”

She gave a laugh that was almost a sob. “No, but I think I am about to hurt you.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“My father is penniless. He has lost everything. He says when he goes home he will not have a home to go to, and the sanctuary . . . my mother’s beloved sanctuary . . .” She began to weep in earnest.

Donal wrapped his arms about her. “Agatha, my poor sweety.”