Chapter Seven
No one inside the ballroom seemed to have noticed their absence, which only went to show Agatha had been right.
Donal was sure if Mary and Belvoir had slipped outside alone together, there would have been an uproar.
He was still reeling from their kiss in the garden, but the music was already starting up for the next dance, and Agatha was giving him a meaningful look.
This time Donal held her much closer, enjoying the sensation of her soft and voluptuous body against his.
Mary was slender, and he had never really thought about his preferences when it came to women, because for him it had always been Mary.
Now he had discovered he enjoyed looking at Agatha and thinking of her without her clothes on. Not that he would ever tell her that.
She gave him a little smile, and now he noticed how soft and full her lips were, and how long her dark lashes were as they swept down over her pale eyes.
There was a blush in her cheeks as if she were remembering that kiss in the garden too.
The kiss that Donal found himself reliving in intimate detail as they danced.
His fingers tightened on hers and he rested his hand on her back and drew her in even closer.
Her bosom pressed to his chest, and once again he found himself wondering what she would look like naked.
As if his cock agreed that she would look very nice indeed, it began to grow firmer than he would have preferred in a public situation.
His breath hitched as he told himself to behave, and now she was looking up at him with that direct questioning stare.
“Are they watching?” he asked, his voice gravelly. Jings! What was wrong with him? One kiss and he had become a ravening lustful beast.
Agatha shot a quick look over his shoulder. “Not yet,” she said. “We need to try harder.”
Harder? If he got any harder people really would begin to notice!
His tight pantaloons left nothing to the imagination.
Something about her scent was so enticing that he was thinking ever more lustful thoughts.
Donal found he wanted to bury his face in her hair and then kiss his way down to her toes.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles through her glove. Agatha’s eyes widened and she seemed to be holding her breath. He smiled the sort of smile he imagined Belvoir was smiling at Mary, full of desire and want. And lust, oh yes, definitely lust.
“Dear me,” Agatha whispered shakily. “You are far too good at this.”
“You inspire me,” he whispered back.
This time it was she who smiled, and the glow in her eyes made him want to kiss her again. It was a struggle to control the impulse, and if they had been alone he wasn’t sure he would have been able to.
Agatha’s face stilled, and then her smile grew. “They are watching now,” she said in an excited whisper. “Your Mary and my Richard.”
For a moment he was confused, because he had forgotten what this was all about, but then he remembered.
It was a plan with the ultimate goal of winning back Mary.
Mary who was his one and only love. How had he forgotten that?
Flirting so blatantly with Agatha, and behaving in a way he could never remember behaving before, not even with Mary, was for one very important reason.
Donal clasped Agatha’s hands in his and tucked them against his chest, swaying with her.
They were not even dancing properly now, just moving to the music.
Around them the other guests chatted and laughed, but he hardly noticed.
A lock of Agatha’s brown hair had come loose and rested against her pink cheek and he found himself wondering what it would feel like to wind it about his finger.
To tug it gently so that she lifted her face to his to enable him to do what he really wanted to do: ravage her mouth.
He swallowed. The situation was getting out of hand. In a moment he would have to excuse himself and find somewhere to cool his passion.
“Oh,” Agatha’s soft gasp brought his attention back to the moment. Donal could feel someone standing at his back. He turned and there was Sir Richard Leslie, staring at him with angry eyes.
“May I cut in?” the other man said with rude abruptness.
Donal wanted to refuse. He opened his mouth to say no and then felt Agatha’s fingers squeezing his urgently. He read the excitement in her eyes. It’s working, she seemed to be saying. He’s jealous!
That was what this was all about, he reminded himself yet again, and stepped away. Then stood and watched as Richard whirled Agatha off among the other dancers.
He knew he should be pleased how quickly their efforts had borne fruit, for Agatha at least, but he wasn’t sure pleased was what he felt.
It was perplexing. He caught Agatha’s eye over Richard’s shoulder before her partner turned her and they vanished into the colorful melee.
Her eyes were wide and a little shocked, and Donal wondered if she was feeling as perplexed as him.
“Donal?”
That familiar and beloved voice made his heart jump like a fish in a pond.
He looked around and Mary was there, gazing at him with an unfamiliar degree of uncertainty.
As if she weren’t sure if he was the same Donal, the boy who had declared he would marry her one day, and the man who still felt the same.
“Mary,” he declared with pleasure before he remembered their situation was different now. “Where is Belvoir?” He had seen that smug and unpleasant gentleman earlier, holding Mary’s arm as if he owned her.
“He’s somewhere about,” she said stiffly, refusing to meet his eyes. “I am not chained to him you know.”
Donal tried his best not to look skeptical. He ignored all the things he wanted to say, and instead asked, “Will you dance with me?”
She automatically reached for her dance card before changing her mind and putting it away again. “I think I am supposed to be dancing this dance with a very boring lord, but I shall pretend I forgot and dance with you instead. That will be much more comfortable.”
Comfortable? Was that all Donal was to her now? Someone who didn’t really matter but was comfortable? Why not exciting or amazing? But she had given him an opportunity and he wasn’t about to refuse it. He took her in his arms and they joined in the frolic.
She was smiling up at him, and for a brief moment it felt as if nothing had changed between them, and she was very lovely.
So it was strange that a moment later he stumbled and stepped on her toes.
She clicked her tongue and shot him a look of exasperation.
Donal decided that his clumsiness was her fault and not his—why had her foot suddenly moved in the way of his? He apologized anyway.
You didn’t step on Agatha’s toes, said a teasing voice in his head. Why is it different with her? He quickly shut it off.
“You seem to be enjoying your acquaintance with Miss Kilsyth,” Mary spoke after a lengthening silence.
He could tell she was curious. Maybe even a little jealous, which would be flattering.
That was the point of this, after all. He had wanted her to think of him as a man who was desired by other women, who was not prepared to sit waiting for her to skip home when she had finished enjoying herself.
Or, worse, to choose him only if there was nothing better on offer.
“I am enjoying myself,” he said mildly. “Agatha and I are very compatible.”
Mary appeared to consider this. “She does no’ know you like I do,” she said at last, sounding conceited. “I have known you for years, since we were children. I know your family too, so I think it would be unlikely Miss Kilsyth understands you as well as I do.”
Was that true? Did Mary understand him, really?
She had treated him very cavalierly for someone who was supposed to be fond of him.
Did she think it wouldn’t matter to him if she hurt him?
That he had no feelings? Donal had thought he knew her well too, but seeing her here hobnobbing with London society had made him wonder if he had ever known her at all.
“Mabbe she isn’t as old an acquaintance as you, but that is half the fun. She wasn’t there when I skinned my knees and went howling to my mother, and she didn’t see me when I ate too much fruit cake and had to go to bed with a stomachache.”
That made her laugh. Her beautiful face lit up, her brown eyes sparkling, and suddenly the thought of losing her to a man like Belvoir was just too much. Even if she never came back to Donal, he still wanted to keep her from the sort of hurt that man was capable of.
“Mary,” he blurted out, “I wish you would no’ spend so much time with Mr. Belvoir. I have heard that he is no’ a good man.”
Instantly, the laughter left her face, and now she was glaring at him.
Her pretty mouth pinched into a hard line, and her dark eyes narrowed.
“We may have known each other since we were wee, but that does no’ give you the right to tell me what to do.
’Tis none of your concern what Mr. Belvoir and I do,” she informed him in a harsh voice.
Her accent, which she had obviously been trying to lighten into something more acceptable to London society, was suddenly very strong, “And I refuse to hear Mr. Belvoir maligned by you just because you are jealous, Donal MacKenzie.”
Donal felt his face redden. He was jealous, but that wasn’t the point. He was trying to be a caring friend to her because he did not want to see her hurt, but he could tell she wasn’t going to listen to him. Her determined ignorance made him impatient and angry.
“Dinna expect me to pick you up when he injures your reputation then,” he retorted. He knew he sounded bitter, and that bitterness would not help in his quest to win Mary back, but she had pushed him too far.
She glared. “Dinna you worry, I willna. Ne’er again.”
Then she pulled free of his arms and left him there, in the middle of the dance floor, making a spectacle of herself and him as she strutted away.
Donal stared after her in angry dismay. Well, that told him!
And yet her anger had seemed rather extreme, so perhaps he had touched a nerve.
Perhaps Mary knew deep in her heart that he was right about Belvoir. So maybe there was hope yet.
Agatha returned to his side not long after the dance finished.
She was flushed and smiling, as if her time with Richard had gone a great deal better than his time with Mary.
He wanted to be happy for her, but that flicker of emotion inside him felt more like jealousy.
Donal told himself he really was a terrible person.
And was he jealous because Agatha might get her sweetheart back, or jealous because he had enjoyed kissing her so much he wanted to do it again without the bother of Richard?
“Perhaps we should go now,” Agatha said, “before we garner too much attention. What did Mary say to you? There seems to be a lot of whispering going on.”
“I warned her about Belvoir, and she didn’t like it,” he said bluntly. “She said I was jealous.”
Agatha eyed him sympathetically. “Of course you are! And hurt. She is very silly if she doesn’t understand that.” She bit her lip, as if regretting her plain speaking. “Donal—”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “You should always tell me exactly whatever is in your heart. I much prefer it to lies and deception.”
She was blushing. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “Richard hates my bluntness, as he calls it.”
“I love it,” he said, and then wondered at himself. He was beginning to love a great many things about Agatha. “Where are your father and Mrs. Robinson?” he said quickly.
The older couple were waiting outside for the coach, and once Agatha and Donal joined them, they set off through the darkened streets of London toward Aunt Jennie’s Mayfair home.
Donal hoped she wasn’t sitting up, waiting to hear about the ball.
She seemed to be taking a great deal of interest in his efforts to reclaim Mary, as well as his many social engagements with Agatha.
Now he would have to tell her that he was beginning to think it was all a big waste of time, for him at least. Mary would never be his again, and suddenly he longed to go home to Bonnyrigg with the sort of ache that went deep into his bones.
Bonnyrigg. Donal had been only twelve when his brothers and his father and mother and little sister returned to take up residence there, so that Maxwell could assume the dukedom.
He hadn’t found the transition quite so difficult, not like Callum and to some extent Rory.
He fell in love with his home and had planned never to leave.
If Mary had stayed, they could have made a life there, raised their children, and lived out their days.
Now he didn’t think that was going to happen, and if he went home, it would be alone.
A warm hand covered his, and he realized Agatha was watching him with those knowing eyes. “Donal? Will I see you the day after tomorrow?”
“The day after tomorrow?” he repeated, his mind a blank.
“We agreed to go on a picnic by the Thames,” she said gently. “Remember?”
He hadn’t remembered. His head was full of other things, none of them good, but he made himself nod and then when the coach reached Aunt Jennie’s house, he bid them farewell.
Aunt Jennie wasn’t waiting up for him, but Bothwell was watching him from the top of the stairs.
The cat didn’t move as he approached, staring at him in silence.
When he reached it, he bravely rested his hand lightly on its furry head.
Donal knew it was a risk, but he desperately wanted some comfort, and Bothwell was all that was available to him.
“What would you do, eh?” he said quietly to the creature as it looked up at him.
“Go home and be miserable, although my family would rally around me because they are expecting me to lose Mary. They’re waiting for me to give up and slink back so they can give me a hug.
Or would you stay and keep trying, and mabbe even enjoy yourself a wee bit?
Agatha isna like anyone else I have ever known, and I like her. I like her a mickle lot.”
Bothwell seemed to be considering the question and then he yawned, loudly, and trotted down the stairs.
Donal smiled. “Stay then, do you think? All right, thank you, I will.”
That night he expected to toss and turn, full of regrets and sorrow, but to his surprise he didn’t. He slept very well, and it was Agatha he dreamed of and not Mary, replaying that kiss in the garden over and over again.