TheWifeTrap (21 page)

Jeannette tossed him a glance, noticed the inflexible tilt to his
jawline. Was he angry because she’d said she didn’t want to marry him? Surely
he couldn’t wish to marry her either. Yet it would seem they had few options,
both of them trapped like a pair of cats in a cage.

Unless Darragh reneged.

Perhaps if she could find a moment alone with him she might be
able to convince him not to meet with Adrian tomorrow. Perhaps he could leave
for his home, as relieved as she by his narrow escape from the parson’s noose.
But if she convinced him to flee, where would that leave her?

Ruined, that’s where.

The gentlemen of the Royal Horticultural Society would flap their
mouths like mynah birds, repeating every titillating detail of the debacle to
anyone who cared to listen. The story would race through the Ton faster than a
Derby-winning horse crossing the finish line.

If she accepted her fate and married him, the tale would soon
enough die away. But if she did, she would be irrevocably wed to Darragh.

Why had she let him kiss her? Touch her? What insanity had
possessed her to do the same back?

Desire.

The word slid over her senses like a caress, reminding her of
embers that lay barely tamped even now. Her gaze roved over his face, recalling
the faintly rough texture of his cheeks gently abrading her own, the hot,
velvety interior of his mouth as he captured kiss after delicious kiss.

Yet there had to be more than physical need to make a marriage
last. With another man she would have been prepared to let money and a title
compensate for a lack of affection. But with Darragh, neither wealth nor social
position would be forthcoming.

So what, then, of affection? What indeed of love?

Could she love him? She greatly feared she could, deeply and
enduringly, if she allowed herself to succumb to such feelings.

Did she wish to love him? Most decidedly not.

She had been betrayed once by that tender emotion. She had no
intention of being betrayed again. Which left her only one path—finding a way
out of this marriage without completely closing herself off to the possibility
of someday making another, more advantageous match.

She would take the easiest route to start. She would speak to
Darragh and convince him not to agree to a wedding. After all, he wasn’t a gentleman,
bound through birth to abide by the rules of duty and honor.

“I don’t believe everything has yet been said,” she began,
responding to Darragh’s last remark. “If you don’t mind, Raeburn, I should like
a chance to converse with Mr. O’Brien. Alone. He and I have matters to
discuss.”

Adrian scowled, glancing back and forth between her and Darragh.
“Whatever these so-called matters are, you can discuss them tomorrow,
after
arrangements have been settled concerning your marriage. Until then, I believe
the two of you have spent more than enough time alone without the benefit of
chaperone.”

Jeannette bristled. “I haven’t had an actual chaperone since the
first year of my come-out.”

“Perhaps that is the problem. Come along, Jeannette. I’ll escort
you along the servants’ stairs to your room, since I very much doubt you’ll be
desirous of returning to the ball.”

She felt her skin pale, aware of the rumors that must already be
spreading among the guests like a plague. Yes, mayhap it would be best to
simply sneak upstairs. If she couldn’t speak with Darragh tonight, she could
catch him early tomorrow before he met with Adrian.

With a defiant set to her shoulders, she turned to Darragh.
Leaning up, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t agree to anything until
after we’ve talked.”

Darragh gave her an enigmatic look before some of the harsh lines
slowly eased from his face. He reached for her hand, bowed over it before
dropping a light kiss on top. “Don’t fret,
a stóirín.
It’ll all come
right in the end.”

She gazed into eyes blue as a summer sky, even in the tenebrous
evening light, and prayed with all her soul that he was right.

Chapter Thirteen

Darragh presented himself promptly at nine the following
morning.

To his surprise the duke had left instructions with a footman to
have him shown immediately to a small study in the rear of the house. The room
radiated masculinity, done in warm walnut with pieces of heavy, old-fashioned
furniture and prints of birds and game on the walls. The fireplace grate stood
unlighted, the odors of cold ashes, leather and ancient pipe smoke lingering in
the air.

Of Jeannette he’d seen nothing on his way to the room, despite her
whispered admonition that he not talk to her brother-in-law until after she had
spoken to him.

But what was there for them to discuss? They’d been caught,
discovered in the most compromising situation possible. Mother Mary, he’d been
standing between her legs, tugging at his breeches’ buttons when the whole
crowd of them had shuffled in. He could only imagine the bawdy sight he and
Jeannette must have made, putting on a show fit only for a house of sin.

And whether or not they’d actually completed the act made no
matter, especially considering all they’d done beforehand. Jeannette was
officially soiled goods and he was the ruin of her. Willing or no, they had to
marry to set matters aright. He’d be a black fellow indeed to think of doing
otherwise. And truth be told he had no real wish to do aught else.

Last night, after all was done and he’d lain in his bed with her
fresh upon his mind, he’d waited for the panic to set in. Waited for the terror
to sink deep and turn his bowels soft and liquid at the idea of being shackled
to her for life.

But the feeling never came.

Instead he’d felt a kind of odd satisfaction, even anticipation at
the knowledge that she would soon be irrevocably his own. His wife, to protect
and keep, to delight and bedevil and cherish for all the rest of his days.

And with his ring upon her hand, he would be able to satisfy the
lusty cravings that plagued him as if he were a brash lad sowing his first
field of wild oats instead of a mature man full grown. He still couldn’t fathom
how he’d lost all control last night, so intent upon having her that every last
shred of common sense had flown straight out of his head.

Perhaps a part of him hadn’t cared, willing to face the risk,
whatever it might be, in order to burn for a time within the fire of her touch.

And burn he had—and did still.

He had plans for a lengthy honeymoon, where they could lie abed
and indulge in every explicit sexual act the two of them had a mind to try.
Assuming he could coax her to the altar. She might have no choice in the
matter, but that didn’t mean she’d give in without a murmur.

But say her vows she would. Later, he would find a way to chase
away her reservations and soothe her doubts.

Turning, he began to study the titles of several books lined up on
a shelf. Not long after, the door opened.

Raeburn entered, looking every inch the English gentleman in
conservatively cut biscuit pantaloons, pristine white linen and a Spanish blue
morning coat. The tailoring was exceptional—Weston, if Darragh were of a mind
to wager.

He’d taken some pains with his own attire today as well, wearing
well-made buff trousers, gold waistcoat, white shirt and a coat of fine brown
woolen broadcloth. Unlike the duke, he’d eschewed a cravat, unwilling to endure
the restrictive feel of one around his neck two days in a row. He detested the
things, and wore them only on the most formal of occasions, such as the evening
just past. Instead he’d chosen a white neckerchief for today, tied in a neat
square knot at the base of his throat.

Raeburn crossed farther into the room, once again failing to
extend his hand. Darragh didn’t make the mistake of offering his own again,
leaving his fists loose and free at his sides.

Jeannette’s brother-in-law had a dour cast to his dark,
clean-shaven features. Deadly serious and reserved.

“I am relieved to see you decided to keep our interview,” Raeburn
began. “Knowing nothing of the sort of man you are, I could not be certain you
would put in an appearance this morning.”

Darragh’s shoulders tensed and squared. “I’m a man who understands
the meaning of honor. And since I do not yet know what kind of man you are,
I’ll make an exception and agree not to take offense. This time at least.”

A subtle gleam of respect crept into Raeburn’s dark eyes. “We’re
both aware why you are here, a reiteration of the details are unnecessary and
frankly unwanted under the circumstances. Suffice it to say, what I came upon
last night leaves an image in my mind I should as soon wipe clean if only that
were possible.”

The duke moved toward the large rectangular desk that stood at the
north end of the room. Leaning a hip against the edge, he reached out, picked
up a clear glass paperweight from the desk’s top. “So, I assume you are willing
to do the proper thing and offer for my sister-in-law?”

“Aye, I’m willing.”

With a kind of absent grace, Raeburn played with the paperweight,
slowly shifting the globe from palm to palm. “Despite her less than suitable
behavior last night, she is a lady of quality.”

Darragh’s lips parted in an ironic grin. “A fact she has pointed
out more than once since first we met.”

“How did the two of you meet? I assume it was here at the estate.
You are the Merriweathers’ architect, I am given to understand. Just finished
building their new wing—with admirable results, I must say.”

Darragh accepted the compliment with a nod. “Aye, the new
construction is mine. As for telling you the particulars of my relationship
with Lady Jeannette, I can’t oblige you. Those are private matters between the
lady and myself and no other, not even you, your Grace.”

The globe stilled in Raeburn’s hand. “They weren’t private last
night, the pair of you saw to that quite nicely. Which leaves us all in our
current deplorable situation. So how is it exactly that you plan to provide for
my sister-in-law?”

Darragh met the duke’s challenging stare with an unflinching one
of his own. “She won’t want for the necessities of life, so you can set your
mind at ease on that score.”

“It isn’t the necessities per se that concern me. Jeannette is not
a female accustomed to doing without. She was born into luxury and privilege as
befits her station, and she has rightly known nothing else. That said, the
dowry provided by her father will be negligible at best, a disappointment if
you were perhaps counting on it being otherwise. Wightbridge is a gentleman
through and through, but he enjoys spending his money perhaps a bit too freely,
if you take my meaning.”

“Frequents the racetracks and dice tables, does he?”

“Among other leisure pursuits that have a nasty habit of draining
a man’s pockets.” Raeburn sighed, set the paperweight onto the desk with an
audible
thump.
“Which is why I have decided to settle a sum upon Lady
Jeannette that will guarantee her a comfortable, if not extravagant, way of
life in the future.”

The duke rattled off a sum that made Darragh’s eyes go wide,
leaving him to wonder precisely how wealthy the duke was. Extremely wealthy,
from the sound of it. Wealthier mayhap than even the royals, if that were
possible.

“The sum I mentioned, however, does come with some caveats,”
Raeburn continued. “The money will be apportioned in a semi-annual stipend over
which you will exercise only the appearance of control. In addition, should you
have need of a suitable dwelling here or in England, funds will be forthcoming
for its purchase or construction. The deed to remain in the lady’s name and my
own, of course.”

“Of course,” Darragh said between clenched teeth, bristling at the
implication that he was the sort of man who would squander a fortune for his
own gain. Yet there were many such men in the world, including apparently
Jeannette’s own father. He forced himself to relax, aware the duke knew little
of him. Raeburn was simply attempting to provide for his sister-in-law in the
soundest and safest manner possible. Had their places been reversed, he might
well have done the same.

“As her husband,” the duke continued, “you will by association
benefit from the arrangement in terms of both your living situation and your
elevated social standing. I have many connections that may prove beneficial to
you in the future, though for appearance sake you likely ought to cease
accepting remuneration for your work as an architect. And so long as Lady
Jeannette is well treated and the marriage sound, a minor title may be in the
offing as the years go by. A knighthood or even baronetcy is certainly within
reach.”

Darragh rocked back on his heels, affront now burning a hole in
his gut. “ ’Tis quite a bribe you offer, your Grace, though a rank insult to
any man with a thumbnail’s speck of pride left in his body. Were I the kind of
base villain willing to take on such a bargain, Lady Jeannette would surely
find herself saddled with a sad bastard of a husband. A man not worthy of her
hand at all. So it is a good thing I’ve no need of taking you up on the deal.”

Raeburn lifted an imperious brow. “No need? Perhaps you see insult
in my offer, but I see practicality and an interest in ensuring beyond any
doubt that Jeannette will be well looked after. Legally, women are chattel, all
of their assets their husband’s under the law from the instant the marriage
vows are taken. I seek only to ensure that she, and any offspring that should
arise from your union, will be protected and maintained in a manner befitting
her status as a lady born.”

“ ’Tis my wish as well. Believe me when I say I have more than
adequate means with which to provide for her as my wife, and for our children,
should God grant us the blessing of them. But perhaps I ought to be begging
your pardon for not introducing myself properly from the start of this
interview.”

Darragh walked two paces forward. “Let us start afresh, shall we,
your Grace? My name is Darragh Roderick O’Brien and I am the present Earl of
Mulholland. The eleventh of us, if you’re interested in keeping count. My
family comes from a fine lineage of brave men and women that stretches all the
way back to our greatest Irish king, Brian Boru himself. I’ve holdings in
County Clare with a grand house and fine land not far from the sea, held by my
family longer than that of your own ancestors, I suspect.”

He held Raeburn’s gaze. “I’ve spent the past decade rebuilding my
family’s fortunes, actions for which I take no shame. I’ve plenty of money,
more than enough to keep Lady Jeannette in expensive dresses and silken sheets
for the rest of her days. I can’t tell you what kind of husband I’ll make since
I’ve never been one before. But I can say I come to this marriage with a
willing heart, and I think with a bit of time the lady will come to it that way
as well.”

“If this is true,” Raeburn said, “then why the deception? Why let
us all believe you’re a commoner whose only distinction is his gift at
designing and constructing buildings?”

Darragh rubbed a sheepish finger over his jaw. “Well now, that
would be Jeannette’s doing. I’ve tried more than once to tell her who I am, but
she always seems to be interrupting before I can get the words out of my mouth.
She did it again last night. She’s a stubborn lass and chooses to think what
she will, so I’ve been letting her.”

A smile started off slow, then spread over Raeburn’s face like a
rising sun. He barked out a laugh, then a second.

“You’re not angry, then?” Darragh asked.

“Not a bit. Serves her right, the vixen. Won’t she be surprised
and relieved when she realizes the truth?”

Darragh rubbed his jaw a second time. “About that. I’d rather you
not tell her for a while yet, if you’d be willing to keep it a secret. Perhaps
it’s a frightful conceit on my part, but I’m convinced she has a measure of
love for me despite what she believes to be my meager circumstances. I’d like
the chance to prove that love to both of us before she learns she will be a
countess, and a wealthy one at that. A few weeks alone as newlyweds should give
me enough time to work the trick. Once she admits she has tender feelings for
me, I’ll put her mind at ease about the other.”

The duke’s eyebrows went high. “That’s a dangerous game you’re
choosing to play. What if you are wrong?”

What if he
was
wrong? Darragh considered. He had naught
but his gut to persuade him Jeannette felt more for him than simple passion.
Yet surely she
must
feel more. What other than burgeoning love could
have lured her to risk everything last night—especially her precious
reputation—in order to tryst in complete abandon inside his arms?

Mayhap her actions did stem from nothing more complex than
physical desire, but he didn’t think so. He couldn’t believe a woman with her
social panache would ever be so foolish as to jeopardize her future unless her
heart was engaged, at least a bit. Finding out how much she felt for him was
now the gamble he must take.