TheWifeTrap (37 page)

Disquieted, she curled on her side, where she lay the remainder of
the night, weary but unable to sleep. Thoughts and feelings raced like a
turbulent river through her mind, and not long after first light she decided
what she must do. What she had to do for the sake of herself and her own
dignity.

Once she knew her maid was awake, she rang for Betsy. Unnaturally
calm, she ate a simple breakfast of toast with lemon curd and drank a cup of
the strong Irish tea she now preferred. Afterward, she bathed and dressed,
comfortable in a gown of mulberry velvet, a plum-colored cashmere shawl draped
around her shoulders for added warmth.

Hugging the material to herself, she made her way through the
castle in search of Darragh. She found him in his workroom, his face pale and
drawn, eyes tired, as if he too had not slept. His overindulgence in wine from
last night no doubt playing havoc, she concluded.

He glanced up, pencil caught in absent distraction within his
grasp. “Jeannette.”

“I would speak with you, my lord, if you might spare a moment.”

Carefully, he placed the pencil on his drawing board. “Aye, of
course. Would you care for a seat?” He hastened toward a chair, reaching to
sweep aside the stack of books and scrolls piled on top.

She stopped him with a quick shake of her head. “No, please, I
prefer to stand.” Without giving herself time to hesitate, she plunged onward,
her hands clasped before her. “I have done a great deal of thinking and I have
come to a decision.”

“About what?”

“Going home.”

His brows drew together. “We have discussed—”

“Yes, and you have made your feelings on the subject more than
clear. But circumstances have changed.”

“What circumstances?”

“My circumstances. I have options now that I did not have even a
day ago, but I thought it only fair to ask you one last time. Darragh, will you
take me to England?”

Chapter Twenty-three

Darragh stared at Jeannette out of narrowed eyes, his head
throbbing mercilessly from all the wine he’d drunk the evening before. As if
that weren’t bad enough, a nagging, almost bone-deep fatigue weighed upon him
like a leaden sinker. He had barely slept, despite the drink he’d consumed, the
alcohol failing to produce a sedative effect and lull him to sleep. Instead
he’d found himself awake and alert throughout the whole long night, nursing a
fury quite unnatural to his usual temperament.

Jeannette was the cause, he knew, able to ignite his temper in
ways no one else of his acquaintance had ever done before.

She and that bastard Markham, that is.

How dare that popinjay come here to this house. How dare he sit at
Darragh’s table, eating
his
food, drinking
his
wine, and
practically make love to
his
wife under Darragh’s very nose, with
everyone, including his little sisters, looking on.

How dare the man.

And how dare Jeannette for allowing it.

It had been all he could do not the reach out and throttle the
life out of Markham, wrap his hands around the other man’s throat and squeeze
until the English scoundrel’s face turned ruddy as a boiled beet, then just as
lifeless.

Instead he had tossed back glass after glass of wine, letting the
liquor attempt to numb his pain. Only it hadn’t. It couldn’t. He’d been
teetering on a razor’s edge later, when he’d gone to her room, suspicion
whipping his jealousy into a froth. Half convinced when he went inside he’d
find Markham in her bed.

But he hadn’t. She’d been asleep, alone, slumbering as peaceful
and innocent as a child. Not trusting himself to touch her, he’d forced himself
to leave, when what he truly yearned to do was lie beside her, lose himself
inside her sweetly scented warmth.

Now here she was, telling him again that she wanted to go home.
Could she still not see that’s where she already was?

Massaging the bridge of his nose, he repressed a sigh. “We’ve been
through this before. This isn’t the time for travel, not with winter coming on.
In the spring perhaps we’ll talk of it again.”

Her lips firmed. “I wish to talk of it now. I haven’t had an
opportunity to mention it before, but I had a letter yesterday from Raeburn. My
sister delivered her babies, twin boys, both of them healthy and robust.
Violet, I understand, is recovering well.”

A genuine smile creased his face. “That’s magnificent news. We’ll
not delay in sending them a fine gift.”

“I would rather give them one in person. If we leave now, we could
stay a few weeks at Winterlea before traveling on to London around Easter; that
way we would be there in time for the start of the Season.”

Easter? Easter was months away. His headache gave a hard kick
against the inside of his skull.

Apparently encouraged by his silence, Jeannette continued. “I was
thinking we might take out a lease on a townhouse in Mayfair. I suppose
Berkeley or St. James’s Square is a bit out of our reach, but Jermyn Street
might do. Mount Street or Upper Brook Street are very elegant addresses as
well. Yes, any of them would be more than acceptable. We shall have to find a
land agent to make the necessary arrangements. I’ll ask Raeburn who he might
suggest.”

Darragh gripped the back of his chair and stared at her. Surely
she wasn’t suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? In his present
condition, he could think of no way to finesse the issue, so he would just have
to say it out plain.

“If by all this talk you’re proposing we move to England for the
next half year or more, you’ll have to put that notion straight out of your
head. For one, I can’t leave Moira and Siobhan again, not so soon after I’ve
been away these many months.”

“Then let us take them with us. Finn too, if he wishes. As a young
man, he could do with a layer of Town bronze. Michael shall have to stay
behind, I suppose, because of his animals. A shame, since he would enjoy the
adventure.”

His pulse increased, an unfamiliar tension rising inside him. Last
night at dinner, he’d seen the way her eyes had lighted at memories of her time
in London, had seen how quickly she’d been seduced by nothing more than
Markham’s words.

All the fears he’d been nursing these last weeks returned. Once in
England, back among her old friends and her old haunts, she would likely sink
again into the life she had been used to living. Her new home here in Ireland,
for which she’d barely had a chance to gain an affection, would fade further
and further away in her memory until it barely existed at all.

Then there was Markham himself, who would no doubt come sniffing
back around her skirts at the first opportunity. And who knows what other men.
Jeannette was an incredibly beautiful woman. Even now his gut churned,
wondering if he’d been right that she had indeed invited her old lover here.
She’d been outraged at his accusation, but still…

“London is no place for the girls,” he told her abruptly, his tone
firm and deliberately dismissive. “As for Finn, he’d likely land himself in a
world of trouble in a place so big. No, I’ve work to do here on the estate, and
a design to start for a new client who lives little more than an afternoon’s
ride from here.”

Posture rigid, she studied him for a long moment. “Your answer,
then, I take it, is no.”

He forced his gaze to hers, cringing inwardly at the stricken
expression he saw shimmering back. “That’s right. The answer is no.” Discussion
over, he turned away and picked up his pencil.

“You offer me no choice, then,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“If you will not take me, then I shall go without you.”

“You’ll not be traveling alone. I won’t permit it.”

“Don’t worry, I will not be alone. Toddy has offered to escort
me.”

A muscle jumped near his eye. “
Toddy
offered, did he?
Well, I believe you missed him, since I saw his coach roll down the drive not
long after first light.”

“He is waiting just beyond. He said he would not depart until
after I gave him my leave.” She raised her chin. “Shall I send him word that
you plan to accompany me, or shall I go with him instead?”

The pencil he’d forgotten in his hand snapped in two. He tossed
the fragments aside. “Is that what you want? To run off with your lover?”

“He is
not
my lover, and we are not running off.”

He cast her a vicious look.

“He is simply escorting me home.”

“This is your home.”

She shook her head. “Is it? Some days I can’t help but feel
isolated, cut off from everything familiar to me, including my family. At those
times, I become very aware that this is an island.”

“England is an island too.”

“But it is
my
island, just as this one is yours.”

Panic beat a tattoo beneath his ribs. He could not let her go. How
could he, when he wanted to sweep her into his arms and beg her not to leave?
Tell her how much he adored her and wished their quarrel at an end. But his
pride remained strong, urging him to hold firm and not give in to her demands.

She was his wife; her place should be at his side. If she loved
him, she wouldn’t be talking about traveling to England without him. If she
cared about their marriage, she wouldn’t be indulging her old lover and
threatening to run off with the man. Instead she ought to be kicking Markham
out and smacking her hands clean of his dust as he went on his way.

The thoughts fired Darragh’s temper, his aching head shortening an
already dangerously short fuse. “I forbid you to leave, and that’s the end of
it.”

“And how do you propose to stop me? Do you mean to keep me behind
lock and key?”

Her words took him aback with sudden stunned dismay. Abruptly, a
weariness stole through him, harsh as a January wind.

“Nay,” he said. “If you truly cannot bear to live here, to live
with me, then I’ll not see you imprisoned. Go if you want. Go with him, if
that’s what you’ve a mind to do.”

Jeannette’s limbs quivered, shock turning her weak as if the earth
shook beneath her feet. She had known she was taking a risk, trying to force
his hand, and yet she had never honestly expected him to tell her to go.
Somehow she had hoped her declaration would push him to act, would make him
admit at last that he could not do without her. In her imagination, he reached
out to draw her into his arms, murmuring endearments as his lips came down upon
her own. Then he would tell her that, of course, they must go to see Violet,
then on to London it would be, if that was truly what she wished.

Only, she was the one who had been pushed into a corner, leaving
her with a pair of unpalatable choices. Either cede every last scrap of
self-determination and admit her threats were empty—that she didn’t want to go
anywhere without him—or else carry through with her ultimatum and depart
exactly as she had said she would.

A small crack formed in the vicinity of her heart as she made her
decision. “Very well. I shall pack and depart today.”

Darragh stared sightlessly down at his drawing table, not wanting
her to witness the hell he knew must be visible in his eyes. “As you like, but
don’t imagine this sets you free.”

“What?”

“Wherever you may live, you are still my wife. I will never grant
you a divorce, no matter how miserable the pair of us may be. You and I are
locked together for life. So if you were hoping you could be done with me and
marry your lover once you return to England, you can put that notion from your
mind.”

Her pretty visage was pinched with sorrow. “I have no such
intentions.”

“Go, then, if that’s what you want,” he ordered in a rough voice.
Go,
he whispered in his head,
before I fall on my knees and beg you to stay.

She paused for another long moment, then whirled and fled the
room.

Slumping into his chair, he set his head into his shaking hands
and wondered if he would ever see her again.

“My lady, I am sorry to wake you, but we have arrived.”

The gentle cadence of Betsy’s voice cut through Jeannette’s
somnolent haze. Opening her eyes, she gazed out the coach window to see the
immense, elegant stone façade of Winterlea, principal residence to the Winter
family for over 250 years. One of the grandest homes in all of England, the
stately house stretched outward like a great lion at rest, regal and proud,
mighty in its bearing and scope and architectural grandeur.

Darragh would find the structure fascinating. And he could be
studying it right this minute, if only he had agreed to accompany her here to
Derbyshire.

A bitter lump collected beneath her breastbone. She still could
not believe it had all gone so dreadfully wrong. Yet perhaps it was for the
best. She could never have agreed to reside permanently in Ireland. Always she
would have longed to return to England, for part of the year at least. And even
if Darragh had no interest in joining the social whirl in London, she did. She
had never tried to disguise her wishes in that regard. He’d known who she was,
the background from which she came, when he married her.

But, ah, she forgot, he had not wished to marry her. Instead he
had been trapped, just as she had been. She only wished in the process the
price had not been her heart.

Well, it made no matter. She would recover somehow and take solace
inside Society’s arms just as she had always planned. In time her present
unhappiness would fade and she would feel herself again. Once she had a chance
to settle in and let her life resume its full and natural course, she would
quit wanting to weep at the least provocation and scarcely give Darragh O’Brien
a passing thought.

And who knows, in a few years she might decide to take a lover.
But for now she wanted no man, particularly not Toddy Markham.