Page 16 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

Agatha wasn’t sure what “maukit” was, but it sounded very disagreeable. “She wasn’t being very polite,” Agatha agreed. “I suppose being the hit of the Season means she doesn’t have to worry about manners.”

Donal laughed without humor. “No, I dinna think good manners are her concern right now. What she wants is for me to be away back to Scotland and never to return. That’s no’ going to change. She doesna care how badly she treats me. She has her sights set on Belvoir, and no matter how you and I plan and plot, we are wasting our time.”

Agatha felt her heart sink. “Don’t say that!” she cried. “Donal? Please, don’t.”

He met her worried gaze, the action of the oars slowing and then stopping all together, leaving them drifting in the river’s tidal pull. He shook his head in what looked like real despair, and despite her sympathy for his predicament, she wanted to reach out and give him a good shake. How could he let himself be affected by that awful girl? He deserved so much better.

Agatha sought for words to convince him they still had a chance. “Maybe she wants you to go home because she knows she is in the wrong and you are in the right,” she said earnestly. “While you are here and she sees you, she cannot hide from her actions. You make her doubt herself, and justly so! Why does she have her sights set on Mr. Belvoir? Because he is rich and handsome? But so are you!”

He smiled and looked down, a flush in his cheeks, as if her words had pleased but also discomfited him.

“You can’t give up now,” she went on when he didn’t speak. “If anything, we should redouble our efforts. Push her into acknowledging her mistake. Show her you don’t care what she thinks and that your world doesn’t revolve around her. Challenge her. That is the way to deal with the Mary Davidsons of this world.”

Although the real problem was that his world did revolve around her. While Agatha was coming to the realization that even if Richard returned to her, he would never make her happy, Donal still mourned wholeheartedly for his lost love. No matter how fickle Agatha thought her.

Now his shoulders heaved as he gave a deep sigh. “You’re right, I know you are,” he said in a low voice. “But . . . redouble our efforts? How do we do that, Agatha?”

She gave a funny laugh. “I don’t know. Kiss me when you know she is watching. Try to shock her out of her silly infatuation with Belvoir.”

Donal lifted his head and met her eyes. His expression was considering. “It would have to be carefully done,” he said. “So that only she sees and no one else. We don’t want to cause a scandal.” Suddenly he grinned, and it took her breath away. “My brothers have caused enough scandals in London to last a lifetime.”

Agatha managed a weak laugh. “No, we don’t want to ‘out-scandal’ your brothers.”

“Mabbe if I did cause a fuss, my family would think more of me,” he grumbled. “I’m sure they expect me to fail at whatever I try to do. Callum is the heir, and Rory is the rascal, and I am . . .” He shook his head. “I dinna know what I am.”

“You are the best of them,” Agatha said boldly. “There is no one else I would want by my side if I were in need of a friend.”

He shot her a look from under his lashes. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do!”

He looked at her properly now, and there was something in his blue eyes that made her heart begin to beat faster. “Agatha, I’ve been thinking that—”

There was a sudden crack of thunder, and they both looked up. Donal muttered something under his breath and began to work the oars, turning the boat around, but it was too late. The heavens opened and rain poured down.

Agatha shrieked and held her arms over her bonnet, trying to protect it, but it was useless. For five minutes the heavy rain continued relentlessly, and then just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. But by that time she was drenched, her bonnet a sodden mess and her hair hanging about her in dripping ringlets. Donal’s shirt was transparent and she could see the shape of his chest, the dark hairs that grew there, and every curve and dip of his muscular torso.

Despite being cold and wet and miserable, she discovered the sight of him made her warmer than she had any right to be.

They were nearing the dock—Donal hadn’t stopped rowing, despite the rain—but there wasn’t a sign of anyone else. The rest of the picnickers had abandoned their strolls and sensibly taken shelter in the pavilion. Donal helped her from the boat, his hand cold against hers. Water dripped into his eyes from his hair and he gave his head a shake which sent droplets flying.

Water from Agatha’s dress was sopping, and it was only when Donal looked at her and his eyes widened that she realized that her white gown was just as transparent as his shirt. The flimsy muslin was no barrier against a summer rainstorm and now it clung to her every curve. When she glanced down she could see her breasts outlined in minute detail, her nipples jutting against the cloth. With a squeak she crossed her arms in order to hide herself, while Donal quickly looked away.

He fumbled with his jacket, draping it around her shoulders to give her some protection. It hung on her, as wet as the rest of her, but at least it wasn’t see-through.

“Should I fetch your father?” he said, looking uneasily in the direction of the pavilion, which was hidden by trees.

Agatha didn’t want him to do that—she was too embarrassed to let her father or anyone else see her in this state. Besides, it was starting to rain again. She stood, wringing wet and feeling utterly wretched. “Just take me home,” she cried with a shudder. “We can send the carriage back for Father and Miriam. I want to go home, Donal!”

“Are you sure?” He looked up at the sky, water running down his face and his hair plastered to his head. “Do you really want to ride through London like this?”

“What choice do I have?” She sounded hysterical. “What if Richard sees me?” She didn’t add that she was certain Mary would enjoy witnessing someone she might secretly think of as her rival brought so low. And Agatha didn’t want to be the talk of the ton with everyone sniggering at her behind their hands.

“Agatha, I am so sorry,” Donal began, as if this were his fault.

She wasn’t listening. Just then she had remembered something, and now her expression cleared. She reached out to clutch his hand, which was cold and damp. “I have a friend nearby! We went to school together, and I have visited her family’s home several times over the years. And I wrote to her recently. I told her about my stay in London. She hasn’t replied yet but, Donal, I’m sure she will help if I ask her.”

His fingers closed on hers and he looked relieved. “That is a verra good idea. Come on then, let’s go before we get any wetter.”