Page 25 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

Agatha was still watching him, obviously fretting that he was about to say no. “Donal? What is your answer? Will you agree to become engaged to me? There is just one thing. My father . . . I don’t want to worry him any further. If we do this, then let’s pretend we are engaged for real and keep our secret from him. For now at least.”

Donal knew what he had to do, what he wanted to do. He took her hands in his. “Yes,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

At least he had meant to kiss her cheek, but she turned her head, and his lips brushed hers instead. Soft and warm, and then it was impossible not to deepen the kiss and, when she gave a little gasp and circled her arms about his neck, take another taste of her mouth. Donal knew they shouldn’t be doing this right now, but if not now, then when? Besides, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Agatha?”

Unbeknownst to them, the door had opened. They jumped apart. Agatha turned to face the fireplace, tucking her hair behind her ear, while Donal went to the window and wondered if it would open wide enough for him to climb through.

The reflection in the glass allowed him to see Lord Kilsyth and Mrs. Robinson share a smile. When Kilsyth finally spoke he sounded genuinely pleased. “I am assuming the engagement is on?”

Agatha gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, it is. But Father—”

“Thank goodness!” Kilsyth exclaimed, as Miriam murmured her congratulations. “We told Richard he could go and thanked him for his concern. But let me tell you, Agatha, I am glad you did not agree to marry him. I know I once said I liked him, but recently I have come to appreciate that he is not the man for you.”

And Donal was? He was cheered to hear this and moved to join Agatha. “I am sorry for today,” he said with genuine regret. “The rain and—”

“Nonsense,” Agatha said sharply. “It wasn’t your fault. We should have just driven home as wet as we were, then no one would be able to accuse us of anything.”

Lord Kilsyth seemed not to hear them. He was rubbing his hands together in delight. “Shall I send the notice to the Times? I think we should announce the engagement as soon as possible. Put an end to the gossip, eh? There are some nasty tongues in the drawing rooms and boudoirs of London.”

“Oh, if you think so,” Agatha said, looking questioningly at Donal. “But we don’t plan to marry for a long time yet. There is no hurry is there, Donal?”

“No, no hurry,” he agreed. “And I will have to tell my parents before you put the notice in. That was how they found out about Rory’s marriage, after the event. and they were no’ happy.”

The thought of explaining his current situation to his parents made Donal feel sick. Would they accept a hasty betrothal, and would they forgive him? Although his brothers had made hasty marriages and been forgiven, so why not?

Surreptitiously he watched Agatha, her round cheeks flushed and her lips a little pinker from their kisses. They were compatible in most ways, on and off the dance floor, and after today, he knew they would be well suited in the bedchamber. Although Donal had never put his skills as a lover to the test, he thought Agatha would enjoy being practiced upon.

Yes, she was a good choice as his wife, and she was Scottish. What was there for his parents not to like?

At some point, they all sat down to supper, and Lord Kilsyth ordered champagne, and they drank toasts to the engagement until they were tiddly. Miriam took Agatha up to bed when she began to fall asleep, and Kilsyth walked Donal to the door.

“I saw you kissing my daughter earlier,” he said with mock disapproval.

“I apologize,” Donal said quickly, although he wasn’t sorry for the kiss. He always enjoyed kissing Agatha.

“No need.” Kilsyth assured him. “You are engaged now. I know my daughter, and I think you will make her very happy, Donal. Do you plan to live at Bonnyrigg? I think that is a better idea than my home in Setholm. I’m sure you would find it cramped and uncomfortable.”

“We have not discussed it,” Donal said, surprised by his unflattering description of his home. “But I think she will like Bonnyrigg.”

Kilsyth had ordered his coach to drive Donal home, saying he was too under the weather to drive himself in the carriage, and he couldn’t have anything happening to his daughter’s future husband. Donal was beginning to think Lord Kilsyth was far too pleased with the engagement. He no longer seemed very upset about the possible scandal that had forced this decision upon them. It was almost as if Agatha becoming engaged to Donal had been his aim all along.

On the way back to Mayfair, Donal thought about what could go wrong. For instance, what if Mary wanted him back after all? Most likely she wouldn’t, but if she did, he would have to find a way to reject her. It was now his duty to marry Agatha, he told himself sternly, whatever Agatha might think.

But was it all about duty? He felt strangely happy being engaged to Agatha, knowing he would eventually marry her and live out his life with her. He was happier than he had been in a long time. And that seemed to suggest that Mary had never been the right fit for him.

When he reached the house, Aunt Jennie wasn’t waiting up, thank goodness, but when he began the long climb up the stairs to bed, she called out to him. He sighed, and then squared his shoulders and set off in the direction of her bedchamber. He found her propped up in bed with Bothwell on her lap and a book in her hands.

“You are very late,” she said. “I had begun to wonder if this picnic was held in another country.”

He stumbled and then leaned against the door jamb and her eyes widened.

“Good heavens, Donal, are you foxed?”

Bothwell lifted his head and fixed him with those disdainful yellow eyes. Donal stared back, but the cat had his measure and refused to be put out of countenance.

“Donal!”