Page 17 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

Agatha wondered if that were possible, as they hurried toward the vehicles and found their carriage. Donal helped her up into the seat. There was a folded blanket but it was wet too, although by now Agatha was just happy to cover herself with anything she could. When she looked down she discovered that her skirt was transparent too, and the shape of her legs was perfectly visible.

“You’d better have this back again,” she said, handing him his jacket.

He thanked her and shrugged it on with some difficulty—it seemed to have shrunk.

Donal took up the reins, and the horse broke into a fast trot, as glad to be leaving the scene as they were.

“How far is this place?” he asked her, ignoring some urchins who were sheltering under the eaves of a shop, and pointing and laughing at them.

“Not far,” she assured him, pushing the woeful remains of her jaunty feather out of her eyes. “I will direct you.”

At least she knew the way well enough to do that, Agatha told herself, and hopefully they would soon be welcomed inside. She remembered Susan’s home as being cozy, and she knew her friend would be sympathetic. Agatha was desperately in need of some sympathy and understanding. Not long now, she told herself, and she would be able to put this miserable day behind her.

Chapter Ten

Before long, Donal was drawing up outside a large red brick house with gables. Uneasily, he noted the shuttered windows and general air of dereliction. That didn’t bode well. In fact, the place appeared to be abandoned and he had a bad feeling that they may have to brave the streets of London after all.

“Did you say you wrote to your friend and she hasn’t replied?” he said.

“Yes, but she could be busy,” Agatha said, but it sounded to Donal as if she were trying to convince herself.

He jumped down to the ground and reached to help Agatha. Her hands were icy and she stumbled against him. Donal held her a moment, feeling how cold she was in his arms. He would have liked to continue to hold her, but he supposed that wasn’t a gentlemanly way to behave, so he released her but kept a grip on her hand as they made their way to the front door.

Agatha still had the blanket wrapped around her, and she had taken off her pretty bonnet which was now nothing but a sodden lump. Donal was soaked from his hair to his shoes, and he wondered if any of his fashionable clothing was salvageable. The truth was he’d be happy not to see it again. Neither of them had dressed for a torrent, and he had not even considered the possibility they would end up like this. It would be different if they had been at Bonnyrigg, where the weather was dubious at the best of times. At least there he would have brought an umbrella. Two umbrellas!

There were compensations though, although he was ashamed to admit it. The sight of Agatha near enough to naked beneath her wet dress had given him a jolt of sensual pleasure he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. The white cloth clinging to her full round breasts, the jut of her nipples and the darker circle of her areolas had perked up his senses. He’d had a strong desire to touch her, put his mouth to her, and warm them both up that way. Now he could still feel that ache of lust drumming in the background like a stallion bolting, even as he did his best to pull it up.

It was wrong of him, he knew that, and he was sure Agatha would have hated him if he had done what he really wanted to do. Which was to pull her into his arms, all bedraggled as she was, and share more of those passionate kisses. Show her how much he desired her, and how beautiful she was to him despite the rain. Even if it gained him a rebuke and a stinging slap across the face.

Had he ever desired Mary with such fervent yearning? He was sure there had been times when he had wanted her physically, but he had been happy to play the gentleman and so had held himself back. Mary had never suggested or shown any sign that she wanted to preempt what he had believed would be their wedding day. And he had been satisfied to obey her. But when he had seen Agatha just now . . . That barely controlled urgency to make her his? No, that was something he had never felt before.

Agatha was using the heavy brass knocker on the door. She rapped twice, and then gave another desperate rap, before the door finally opened. An elderly woman stood there staring at her, rheumy eyes wide in her lined face.

“Miss Kilsyth?” she said in amazement, recognizing Agatha despite her saturated appearance. “Is that you? Oh, you poor thing, did you get caught in the rain?”

Donal wanted to shake the woman or at least demand she let them come inside immediately. It was beginning to rain again and the woman was blocking the way into a warm, dry house.

“Yes, Hattie, it is me,” Agatha said in a strained voice. “We were at a picnic on the river and then we got so—so wet. I didn’t want to drive home like this and then I-I thought of Susan. Is she here? Are her parents here?”

Hattie shook her head sorrowfully. “No, indeed they’re not, miss. They’re away in the country for at least another fortnight. The house is empty apart from me and old Henry.” She gave Donal a sideways glance, as if she were doubtful of his character. Perhaps he was the reason she wasn’t letting them inside? He supposed he did look rather disreputable.

Agatha seemed shocked by this news but managed to stammer out a response. “Oh, that is t-too bad. We were hoping . . . That is, I know Susan would help me if she were here, and I am in desperate need of somewhere to dry my clothes. Lord Donal too.” She shot him a look and gave a lopsided smile. “I think he is wetter than me.”

Donal suspected this was the moment he should speak up and reassure Hattie, so he did. “Hattie, is it? How do you do? I am Lord Donal MacKenzie, a friend of Miss Kilsyth. I’m no’ sure if I am wetter than her, though. I think perhaps it is a draw.”

Hattie simpered a little and then gave a little curtsy. “Lord Donal, ’tis a pleasure to meet you.”

Donal tried not to groan with impatience. “Hattie, as you guessed, we were caught in the rainstorm,” he said with a grimace down at his dripping self. “We canna go home like this. I am verra sorry to intrude, but would it be possible for us to come in and dry off? Miss Kilsyth does no’ believe her friend would mind coming to her house uninvited.”

Hattie seemed to ponder this for far too long before she finally nodded. “I’m sure that will be acceptable,” she said, “though I daren’t let you into the private areas of the house. The master is very strict on that. You would have to make do with the kitchen, if that is all right?”

“The kitchen would be perfect!” Agatha declared with heartfelt relief.

Donal wasn’t exactly sure how that was going to work, but he was happy to follow Agatha inside. It turned out that there was a fire in the kitchen which was being used for cooking. A large pot of stew simmered in the hearth, and the meaty smell made Donal’s stomach growl. He remembered then that they hadn’t eaten their picnic. Agatha, who was still shivering, quickly moved closer to the warmth and held out her hands.

Hattie was standing nearby, eyeing them as if she was measuring them up. “I think I have something that will fit you while your clothing dries, Miss Kilsyth,” she said. “And Lord Donal, my husband has some things that should fit you. If you are agreeable to that?” she added uncertainly.

Donal was more than agreeable. His shirt was wet through, his jacket had suffered a similar fate although he had not been wearing it at the time, and his pantaloons felt as if they had attached themselves to his skin. He hated to think how transparent everything was.