Chapter Six
Agatha really did enjoy dancing with Donal MacKenzie.
For two people who barely knew each other, their steps and movements were surprisingly perfect.
She had never had this experience before.
Richard was always stepping on her toes and turning her the wrong way.
She had forgiven him, of course she had, but now those memories came back to her.
Why was partnering with Donal so perfect while partnering with Richard wasn’t? When it was Richard whom she had loved?
After their night at the Belvoirs’ ball, they had attended another ball and had danced again.
Once more, they had been seamlessly in tune.
And then there was another ball with more dancing.
Agatha began to look forward to dancing with Donal and discussing what they had learned in the interim about their lost loves, although she did not enjoy that quite so much.
Because the news wasn’t good. Richard was still completely besotted with his fair-haired Charlotte, and Mary had been seen out with Belvoir on several occasions, so there was no reason to believe Mrs. Robinson’s attempted warning had borne fruit.
Agatha suspected Mary knew very well what she was doing and had set her sights on Belvoir with every intention of marrying him.
She felt sorry for Donal but irritated too.
Why had a man with so much to offer allowed himself to fall for a person so far beneath him?
Not in rank, although there was that, Mary being the daughter of a factor and Donal the son of a duke.
But the real difference was in Mary’s character and conduct and lack of generosity of spirit, while Donal was kind and thoughtful and loyal. Too loyal, unfortunately.
She had told her father so, and Kilsyth had nodded and agreed. “He could do so much better,” he had said, looking at his daughter with a speculative gaze which she chose to ignore.
Tonight’s ball was a crowded affair. Too many guests meant there was a lack of fresh air, which was not helped by the warm evening. A sudden summer shower had required the windows and doors to be closed, and after fanning herself vigorously, Agatha decided she had had enough.
“I think the rain has stopped,” she said, peering out of the window and into the garden. “We could go for a walk. There are lights strung through the trees.”
Donal agreed—he was always very agreeable when it came to her wishes—and they opened the door and slipped out.
So far, there had not been much gossip about the two of them.
Mrs. Robinson, who kept up with the latest gossip, had said that although society had noticed how close they had become, no one seemed to think it worthy of comment.
Most of the ton’s interest circled around Mary and Belvoir, and there were rumored to be bets in the clubs on whether or not she would ensnare the man who was known as a perpetual bachelor. It would be big news if she did.
Outside, the air was humid after the rain, and the garden was dripping. Light shone out from the ballroom, while the noise was muted. Agatha took a deep breath, taking in the scent of flowers and greenery.
Donal slipped her arm through his and they set off down a winding path. He lifted aside a wet branch that hung down in front of them, and she smiled her thanks. After a time, she said pleasantly, “My father appears to enjoy Mrs. Robinson’s company.”
“Yes.” Then, with a sideways glance he added, “Are you no’ happy about that?”
It was surprising that he read her so well, because it was true, she wasn’t happy about it. She knew she was being selfish, but she couldn’t help it.
“My mother has been gone for five years now, so I suppose it is understandable that my father is looking for companionship. It is just . . . My parents were so deeply in love. I never believed anyone would replace her in his heart.”
They walked on a little farther, and the music and chatter from the ball receded into the silence of the garden.
“That must be hard for you,” Donal said sympathetically.
“But I dinna think your mother is being replaced. I canna imagine my father ever replacing my mother if she were to die, which I hope she will not. No’ for a long time.
He would be heartbroken and lonely, and mabbe that is why he would look for some company with someone else. ”
Agatha suspected he was right, but it still hurt to see her father moving on.
Especially now when Richard had abandoned her for someone else.
She knew she was being self-centered wanting her father to remain alone and miserable too.
If she could not win Richard back, would she stay single and pine for him for the rest of her life?
No, that sounded awful. She would want to find somebody else, or at least fill her time with pleasing distractions.
She glanced at Donal who seemed lost in his own thoughts.
He was good company when he wasn’t moping about his Mary, but then she was hardly one to talk when it came to moping.
And he was handsome, with those sparkling blue eyes and dark hair and his tall, athletic body.
She felt guilty for noticing how much better looking than Richard he was, but she couldn’t seem to help her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders and long legs.
Richard was shorter and thinner than Donal, and he had often made a joke of saying he could eat anything he liked and never became fat.
Unlike Agatha, who had to watch what she ate and was not at all athletic.
And yet Richard had not seemed to mind her curves, and had often commented on how pleasant it was to share meals with a woman who did not pick at her food.
Did Charlotte Elliot pick at her food, or was she one of those naturally slim women who did not have to watch every mouthful?
“You are very gloomy tonight.” Donal interrupted her thoughts.
“Am I?” Agatha turned to him. “I am wondering what will happen to me, which seems selfish I know, but until now I have been my father’s sole companion. I am in charge of our home in Setholm. I have grown used to it. If he were to marry again, I would no longer be needed.”
It hurt to say it, and she swallowed sudden emotion.
She would miss her childhood home, and the charity her mother had started for abandoned donkeys.
Her father did his best, but who would know all their names and give them the love they deserved if Agatha were not there?
And she could not stay in London forever—their house was only leased until the end of the Season.
“You would always be needed,” Donal scoffed. “I can see how fond of you your father is. Mrs. Robinson too. Even if they were to marry, you would still be a valued member of your family.”
How did he know that? Was he just being kind? Agatha wanted to argue with him, but just as she opened her mouth to do so, a drop of cold water fell onto her nape and began to roll down inside the back of her dress. She gave a soft shriek and began to squirm, trying to reach it.
“What is it?” Donal’s voice was sharp, his expression concerned as she contorted herself.
“Water,” she gasped. “Down my b-back.”
He looked at her, hesitated, and then reached to rest his hand between her shoulder blades. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “You’ve stopped it traveling south at least.”
His eyes seemed to darken. Suddenly she was very conscious of the warmth of his palm on her back.
Agatha found herself wondering what it would feel like to have his hand on her naked skin, which was an exciting and rather shocking thought.
Perhaps Donal was thinking inappropriate thoughts too, because suddenly he was very close, his face inches from hers, and his gaze dropped to her lips, and he licked his.
Just like that, Agatha’s stomach swooped, and heat rushed through her. She felt as if a fire had been lit, and although she knew she should damp it down, she really didn’t want to. She moved at the same time as Donal, and their lips made contact.
Donal’s mouth pressed to hers. His lips were so much softer than she expected, and the sensation of them brushing against hers was very pleasurable.
Agatha had not been kissed often. Richard was always very respectful, and lately she had begun to regret that, because if he never returned to her, then she would probably die a virgin.
The awful idea of never knowing what it was like to have a man in her arms, in her bed, led her to reach out as Donal began to draw back.
She looped her arms about his neck, causing her body to be pressed to his in an intimate way that made her very aware of his hard chest and the strong clasp of his arms. She was startled by the strangeness of it and may even have changed her mind, but he was holding her now, one arm about her waist while his other hand was still pressed to her back where the water droplet had been captured.
Her lips brushed against his again. This was different to being with Richard, and she suspected that Donal was more accustomed to kissing.
He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, which caused her to open her mouth in surprise.
As soon as he had access, he plundered her like some hero in a swoony romance novel.
Agatha had never understood the word before.
Plunder. She knew what it meant, but to have one’s mouth plundered .
. . This was what it was like. That sense of intimacy, the taste and heat of his mouth, his tongue, the feeling that she might run out of air.
It was all rather wonderful, and she found she liked it. She liked it very much.
Perhaps she wasn’t quite as proper as she had always believed herself to be.
The kiss went on until she felt quite lightheaded.
She had to pull away, her heart pounding and the blood rushing in her ears.
Donal was looking at her, and even in the dim lighting of the lanterns in the trees, she could see his lips were swollen and his eyes were dark.
He appeared very different to his usual mopey self—more like a man who was thinking of kissing her again.
“Should I apologize?” he asked in a quiet, husky voice.
Agatha shook her head slowly. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said, and was surprised how normal her voice sounded when her head was spinning.
He smiled. Good heavens, that smile did things to her! She swallowed. “Perhaps we have been going about this thing in the wrong way,” she heard herself say.
A pinch appeared between his dark brows. “What do you mean?”
“Well, thus far, your Mary doesn’t seem to think I am a threat to replacing her in your heart, no matter how much we try to persuade her. Perhaps we need to be more . . .”—she sought for the right word—“more forceful in our efforts.”
His brow quirked, and his eyes lit with amusement. “You mean more kissing and less talking?”
Agatha gave a puff of laughter. “Something like that.”
He looked thoughtful. “I’m no’ sure we can kiss on the dancefloor.”
“But we can touch.” Agatha tapped a fingertip against her lips. “A brush of the hands here, a squeeze there. You know what I mean. We need to show affection even in public.”
Donal nodded. “I know. My brothers and their wives touch all the time. I usually leave the room.”
“That is exactly what I mean!”
Donal looked over his shoulder, back toward the house. “Should we try it now?”
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”