Chapter Eleven
When Agatha awoke, she did not know where she was.
The dim room was unfamiliar, the only light the fire in the hearth that had burned down low.
Her neck was stiff from the uncomfortable chair she was sitting in while the cloth her dress was made of felt coarse and was making her skin itch.
As she moved, a strand of her hair caught, and when she reached up, she could tell it was a tangled mess.
She remembered then. The rowboat and the rain shower, the awkward journey to her friend Susan’s house only to find she was not at home, and then the kindly housekeeper who had allowed them to stay.
What about the picnic? How late was it?
She half rose, her body stiff from sleeping in the hard chair, and looked about her.
Donal was by her side, still asleep. His mouth was slightly open and as she watched he gave a soft snore.
Should she wake him? The slight scruff on his jaw was as dark as his hair and his lashes, and she had the urge to reach out and run her fingers over it.
Richard was always perfectly shaved and groomed, and it was a novelty to see a man who was not perfect.
Except he was, Agatha decided. To her, at least.
Those thoughts were not helpful, and Agatha leaned in closer and whispered loudly, “Donal? Donal, wake up!”
His eyes rolled beneath their lids, and his lashes flickered. “Agatha?” he slurred. “Beautiful Agatha.”
At that, her heart gave a jolt. He thought she was beautiful? She swallowed down her surprised pleasure—there wasn’t time now to consider what his words might mean. She tried again to rouse him. “Donal, we need to go. It is late.”
This time he did wake, although when he opened his eyes, he stared at her as if he weren’t sure she was real. “Sometimes I dream about you,” he said, the words sounding as if he was still half asleep.
Good lord! Agatha wondered if her heart could take any more. “Then I hope they are pleasant dreams,” she managed somewhat shakily.
He smiled a wicked smile. “Verra pleasant,” he said, his voice deepening in a way that made her skin tingle all over her body.
She found she was now standing very close to him and she wanted to get even closer.
Her breath hitched as he reached up one hand, sliding it around her nape beneath her untidy hair, and drew her down.
She wasn’t unwilling, so he didn’t have to try very hard, and the next moment their lips brushed together and clung.
“Agatha,” he said with a groan, and deepened the kiss as she opened to him.
He tasted of man, of Donal, and she pressed in against him, trying to get as close as possible. He shifted and she felt his hands grasp her firmly about the waist, and then he lifted her onto his lap. Now she was straddling him. All of this without their kiss being interrupted.
When she had to take a gasping breath, she nuzzled against his throat, absorbing his scent and the taste of his skin.
Some part of her brain was yelling at her that they needed to go back to the picnic, that it was late, that their absence had surely been noticed.
She ignored it. Because nothing was as important as what was happening right now between Donal and her.
When she lifted her head again, she saw that he had noticed her gaping bodice, and the fact that her breasts were on perfect display.
She supposed she should have been upset but she wasn’t.
She wanted him to look. Was he going to .
. .? Oh, yes, he was! Donal ran his fingertip across the tops of the creamy mounds, and when he looked up to meet her eyes, only inches away from his, she saw that the normally deep blue was dark and turbulent.
“Will you allow me to explore?” he said in a hoarse voice. “I promise I will stop if you say no, Agatha.”
“I don’t think I have ever wanted anything more,” Agatha told him shakily.
With a heartfelt sigh, he bent his head and put his mouth to her skin.
She shivered from the heated sensation and reached to hold him in place as he tasted her with his tongue.
Her fingers threaded through his soft, dark hair.
He tugged down the coarse cloth of her dress farther, and his mouth closed over the hard bud of a nipple.
His mouth was warm as he began to lick and suck. Agatha’s senses leaped wildly.
This was beyond anything she could have imagined.
There was an ache between her thighs, echoing the pleasurable throbbing of her breasts.
She pressed down on his thighs, wriggling with the sort of urgency she had not dreamed existed.
Now he had moved on to administer to her other breast, giving it the same delightful treatment.
“I like that,” she told him breathily, although she was sure he already knew that.
“So do I,” he murmured, lifting his mouth from its delightful work. “You’re making me hard.” He sounded as breathless as her.
Was she? Was he hard? His body was certainly hard, and she ran her hands over the muscles in his arms and his wide shoulders.
But that was not what he meant. Agatha pressed down on him again, and he groaned.
She could feel him in the notch between her thighs, the solid shape of his shaft in the loose breeches.
It seemed to rear up toward her, growing impossibly hard.
He began to rock against her as if he couldn’t help himself and she responded by pushing down, increasing the friction between her legs, in her most intimate place.
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.