Page 34 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

“You will think I got engaged to you because you have money!” she burst out. “But I didn’t, truly I didn’t. My father wants me to marry you because you can look after me. But Donal, I do not need looking after. That is not why I want to marry you.”

She looked at him earnestly, tears still dripping off her chin.

“Aye, I know,” he agreed, and removing a handkerchief from his pocket began to mop her face. “And I dinna care if you are penniless. I still want to marry you. How can you think I wouldn’t?”

“If that is true,” she said in a muffled voice, “then I will be so happy. So very happy.”

He laughed and tipped up her chin so that he could kiss her. For a time they were lost in the intimacy of lips and mouths, and the discovery of how much joy that intimacy gave them. Eventually, they came to their senses. He helped her to do up her dress and straighten her skirts, but there was no hiding the glow in her cheeks.

“I’m not sure I can go back inside,” Agatha said. “Everyone will know.”

“I will take you home and send the coach back for your father and Mrs. Robinson.”

“Send a servant to tell them I have a headache. In case they think the worst like last time,” she added wryly.

It seemed only moments later that he was back, her arm tucked into his as led her discreetly around the side of the house to the street where the coach was waiting. They climbed in, and the vehicle rumbled off slowly over the cobbles.

Agatha could hear Donal shuffling uncomfortably. Of course he was uncomfortable. She may have had a lovely moment just now in the summer house, but he hadn’t. She wondered if she should help him, and then decided it would be selfish of her not to.

“Shall I sit on your lap?” she asked him innocently, at odds with her wicked smile.

He groaned, his hand cupping the front of his breeches. “Don’t tease,” he begged. “I’m hard enough as it is.”

“I’m not teasing,” she assured him.

He eyed her a moment and then seemed to make up his mind. “Come here,” he growled.

Agatha scrambled across the coach to him, arranging herself on his lap so that she was facing him. She wanted him again, that ache was back between her thighs, and when he reached to ruck up her skirt, she quickly helped him. His fingers began to stroke and delve into the places that made her gasp and squirm.

“You feel wonderful,” he said. “I want to be inside you.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Please.”

She felt him hard against her thigh as he began to unbutton his satin breeches. Reaching down eagerly, she touched that solid length of flesh, causing him to catch his breath and mutter words she did not understand as she stroked him. Donal might even have rolled his eyes back, she wasn’t sure, she was enjoying herself too much. This was what it was like to be with the man she loved. To trust him completely with her body as he trusted her with his.

“Agatha,” he said hoarsely, “I canna wait.”

He lifted her, so that the head of his cock was right at her entrance. He seemed to hesitate, but she was so aroused, so slick, that as soon as she pressed down, he was sliding inside of her. There was a slight resistance, but it was hardly anything, and it wasn’t enough to stop her impatience to be fully penetrated by him.

Agatha clung to his shoulders, opening her mouth to his kisses as her body opened to his shaft. “I feel so full,” she said in wonder.

“You feel so tight,” he muttered. He seemed to be having trouble controlling himself, his hands gripping the flesh of her bottom one moment only to caress her soothingly the next.

He began to move inside her, at the same time brushing against her swollen and sensitized flesh so that tingles ran over her skin. She was already recognizing the signs of that impending, wonderful release, and she pushed back, arching against him. His mouth closed on her breast over her bodice and she gave a soft shriek. Her body convulsed against his, and that seemed to do the trick for him too, because he gave a great groan and at the same time thrust deep inside her.

Afterward, they were incapable of doing anything. Her body felt too limp to move, and he was breathing heavily against her shoulder as if he had run up a mountain. She held him close, stroking his hair, letting her thoughts drift. Donal had made her his, and now he was hers. They were to be married. Perhaps they would have a child. She had always wanted children.

Her father wanted her to marry Donal because he was penniless. And even knowing that, Donal still wanted her. He loved her. The idea of being without funds made her feel uncomfortable, and she was sad at the thought of losing her home but especially of losing the sanctuary. Could she raise money through her own efforts, as her mother had? Surely there were people who cared enough to help?

A glance out of the window told her they were nearing her house, and she returned to own seat.

“I will call on you tomorrow.” Donal’s voice came out of the darkness. “We will talk then about your father and his troubles. Dinna lay awake all night worrying, do you hear me?”

She smiled. “I’ll try not to. I have an idea of my own. But, yes, we can talk tomorrow.”

“I really will have to write to my father,” he said in a somber voice.

“Do you think he will object?” she asked, suddenly afraid. “What if he won’t let you marry me?”