TheWifeTrap by Unknown Read Free Book Online Page B

which to gossip.
    But for now she must bide her time here in this purgatory, bored,
with no foreseeable relief in sight.
    This morning while touring the house with Wilda, she’d inquired
about local Society, anything to wile away the hours. To her consternation,
Wilda had told her she and Bertie rarely entertained. Apparently the only
assemblies were in Waterford, which was far too long a trip for people their
age. Then she appalled Jeannette even further by telling her about the twice monthly
get-togethers Wilda had with the vicar’s wife, the squire’s wife and a pair of
local spinsters—not a single one of them younger than fifty. When Wilda invited
her to join them when next they met, she’d swallowed her gasp of horror then
very politely but firmly declined.
    Ooh, she bemoaned, how could Mama and Papa subject her to such a
fate? It was quite the meanest thing her parents had ever done.
    She kicked another pebble and gazed in gloomy contemplation at a
nearby cluster of vibrant scarlet poppies.
    An exuberant round of barking filled the air, capturing her
attention. She turned, gazed up just in time to watch a huge gray beast lope
around the far corner of the house. She froze in shock as it sprinted toward
her, lean and almost wolflike in appearance. Before she could flee, it lunged
up onto its hind feet, set a pair of massive hairy paws onto her shoulders and
toppled her backward.
    She screamed as she fell amongst the flowers, then screamed again
as the creature loomed above her, a great wet pink sponge of a tongue coming
out to swipe her across the face. She shuddered and tried to escape, the scent
of animal breath heavy in her nostrils. But the beast had her pinned, its
weight and size heavy as a sack of stones.
    “Vitruvius, off.”
    The creature tensed, having obviously heard the command. But it
stayed long enough to get in one more good lick, while all she could do was
whimper and roll her head in futile avoidance. Apparently knowing its time was
up, the beast sprang away.
    “Vitruvius. Bad dog. Very bad dog.”
    Dog?
More like monster, she grimaced, swiping her hand
across her lips in disgust, her face alarmingly sticky with slobber.
Ugh.
    “He’s an ill-mannered brute. My apologies for his rudeness. Here
now, are you all right?”
    For a moment the only thing she saw above her was azure sky and
lumbering white clouds. Then a face blocked them out as a man bent over her.
She stared at his ruggedly appealing features, then lower, taking in his
well-tailored though ordinary white cotton shirt, brown linen trousers and
waistcoat, a navy blue silk neckerchief tied at his throat. How odd that he
resembled that rogue Darragh O’Brien. How was it possible? Did all Irishmen
look alike? Then the appalling truth struck her like a plunge into an icy
winter lake.
    He
was
Darragh O’Brien.
    “You!”
she accused.
    “Lady Jeannette?” he questioned. “Is it really yourself, lass?”
    “Yes, it’s me. And for the last time, don’t call me lass.”
    He quirked a smile and reached down a hand. “Here, let me help you
up.”
    She slapped his hand away. “No, thank you.”
    Ignoring him, she rolled to her knees, climbed rather shakily to
her feet. She beat at her mangled skirts while his beast animal sat watching,
huge tongue lolling sideways out of its toothy mouth.
    “That…that creature,” she said, pointing at the dog, “is a menace.
It should be kept in a cage.”
    “Don’t take on so, lass. Why, he’s naught but a puppy, too full of
high spirits and exuberance to expect too much out of him. He didn’t mean you
any harm. Did you, boy-o?”
    Gazing down at Vitruvius, Darragh gave the animal an affectionate
scratch on the top of his head. The dog smiled up at his master and flopped his
tail against the gravel path.
    “Puppy?” she said. “That beast is not a puppy, more like a bear or
a wolf. Why, he could have ripped out my throat.”
    O’Brien snorted. “Not that one, no. He may be an Irish