TheWifeTrap Read Free Page B

O’Brien faltered, he recovered, his feet as steady as if he’d never
wavered at all.
    Her heart
threatened to thunder out her breast, her throat dry and tight. An instant
passed as the truth slowly dawned. A glance at the wide, wicked, totally
unapologetic grin on his face confirmed her conclusion.
    “You beast.” She
cuffed him on the shoulder. “You did that deliberately.”
    “Oh, aye. I
thought you could use a bit of jollying. You scream all high and funny like a
girl, did you know that?”
    “I
am
a
girl, and that was not funny.” Or it wouldn’t have been if he’d miscalculated
and actually dropped her. She tightened her hold.
    He laughed again.
    If only he knew
who she was, he wouldn’t laugh or taunt her. Back in England, before the
scandal, she’d been used to gentlemen hurrying to do her bidding. Wealthy,
refined men, who catered to her slightest wish, who fought one another for a
chance to satisfy her most fleeting desire. She’d been the Ton’s Incomparable
for the past two Seasons. And she would be again, she vowed, once her parents
came to their senses. It wouldn’t be long before Mama missed her and Papa’s
temper cooled. Soon the pair of them would realize what a horrible mistake
they’d made sending their beloved daughter away to this rustic frontier.
    Until then, she
supposed she would be forced to endure unspeakable indignities such as being
carried about by disrespectful, provincial Irishmen like O’Brien.
    Her servants
stood in a mute cluster, their eyes round as planets when O’Brien set her on her
feet amongst them. Betsy hurried instantly to her side, an act for which
Jeannette was silently grateful, and made a shy attempt to pluck Jeannette’s
reticule from her grasp.
    O’Brien moved to
turn away.
    “Are you leaving
me?” Jeannette asked.
    He paused, swung
back. “Aye. I’ve got to help your men with the coach.”
    “But you promised
me shade and a comfortable place to sit.”
    He planted broad
hands on his narrow hips and made a show of scanning the area, then he locked
his gaze with hers. “I’m sorry to say, but the only shade to be had is over in
that little glade just there.” He pointed to the spot, a small cluster of
silver fir trees standing several yards distant. “And I suspect the ground
beneath those trees is just as muddy as the ground here. If you’ve a parasol
I’d have your maid open it out for you to keep you from the sun.
    “As for the
comfortable seat, I never promised you such, as I recall. If I were you, I’d
sit on your strongest traveling case. Otherwise, you’ve a fine pair of feet on
which to stand. After all the hours you’ve been in that coach, I’d think you’d
be craving a good stretch by now.”
    With that he
turned and strode back toward the foundered barouche. One by one, her men stole
away after him, the warm summer stillness broken only by the undulating hum of
insects singing in the fields.
    Jeannette stood
immobile, stunned to speechlessness. She didn’t know whether to stamp her feet
in frustration or burst into another noisy bout of tears.
    But she wouldn’t
give him the satisfaction of seeing her so upset.
    Dastardly
man.
    And to think
she’d considered him attractive.
    Aware no one was
looking, she stuck her tongue out at O’Brien’s turned back. Feeling slightly
better for her childish act of retaliation, she turned to find a seat.
    ----

 
    Chapter Two

    Lady Jeannette
was a spitfire, Darragh Roderick O’Brien, Eleventh Earl of Mulholland, decided
as he joined the men in search of flat rocks and tree branches, anything that
might be useful as leverage to dislodge the trapped coach.
    Proud and willful
to a fault, a man might say. She reminded him of Queen Maeve of ancient Celtic
legend—fiery, impulsive and determined to the core. He could well imagine her
sending out an army of men to steal a prized bull for her own aggrandizement,
just as Queen Maeve had done so many centuries before—Lady Jeannette was every
bit