TheWifeTrap Read Online Free Page A

quarry for stone for a country house renovation he was undertaking, and
had dressed accordingly.
    Unlike English
aristocrats, and many Irish ones as well, he didn’t hold with the notion that a
gentleman should not work. That a refined life must be one of entertainment,
Society and idle sport, with a smattering of estate business and politics
thrown in for variety. Of course, in his case he hadn’t always had the luxury
of excessive wealth. There had been a time years past when his family coffers
had nearly come up empty. When he’d set himself to the task of keeping the
Mulholland holdings together by sheer grit, relying upon nothing more than his
intellect and the strength of his labor and nerve.
    The lessons he’d
learned then stood him in good stead now, and he was careful never to lose
sight of them. He loved his work, was proud of his achievements and knew there
was nothing shameful or lowering about wholeheartedly diving into a task, even
if it quite literally meant getting his hands dirty.
    The collection of
stones and branches now positioned for maximum effect, he and the others took
up places around the coach. With a silent prayer, the four of them set to.
    Darragh pushed,
his jaw locked in steely concentration, every muscle straining as he fought to
rock the vehicle forward out of its pit.
    “Mr. O’Brien, I
would have a word with you.”
    Lady Jeannette’s
voice pierced the air, originating from somewhere behind him and to the left. For
a second he thought he must be imagining things, then she spoke again.
    “Did you hear me,
Mr. O’Brien?”
    Good Christ, she
really was back there yammering at him. What on earth did she want? Couldn’t
she see he and the men were busy? Had the woman no eyes?
    He closed his own
and did his best to ignore her as he shoved with all his might. His hands
slipped fractionally against the painted wooden boards of the vehicle, and for
a brief, hopeful instant he thought the coach might be on its way.
    “Ahem, Mr.
O’Brien, your attention, please.”
    He huffed out a
stream of breath. “I’m a might preoccupied at the moment, lass, if you’d care
to notice.”
    Sweating, hot and
muddy, Darragh shifted his stance but knew the momentum had been lost. Biting
off a curse, he twisted around to glare at her.
    She came forward,
careful to remain on dry ground. “How much longer is this going to take? The
wait has become intolerable and my skin is beginning to burn.” Her expression
reflected her distress as she raised a hand and pointed a single gloved finger
toward her face. “Betsy tells me my nose has turned distressingly pink.”
    He eyed the
facial feature in question and thought it looked fine and white, even from a
distance. Betsy, he decided, ought to learn to keep her opinions to herself. And
Lady Jeannette should quit seeing mountains where there was nothing but tiny
hillocks.
    “I’m sorry for
your malady,” he said, striving for patience, “but if you’ll have yourself a
seat again, we’ll get this coach on its way in a few shakes.”
    Jeannette
frowned. “You don’t look sorry.”
    “What?”
    “About my nose.
You do not look sorry about my poor burning nose. In fact, I think you are
making mock of me.”
    His usually
placid temper heated. He reined it in. “I am not making mock. Now, be a good
lass and go sit on your trunks.”
    She marched
closer, as close as the strip of dry land would allow, halting just a few feet
to the rear of the barouche. “Now you are patronizing me. I believe you forget
yourself, fellow. For your information, I am the daughter of an earl.”
    And I
am
an earl, Darragh nearly shot back. Instead he decided it was easier to stop
their useless bickering and simply return to the task at hand.
    “I beg your
pardon, my lady, if I said anything to upset you. Now, if you’d please, stand
back so we can set this coach on its way again.”
    Without waiting
for her reply, he turned back to the marooned vehicle.
    With a sharp
command