Free TheWifeTrap by Unknown

remember the last time a man had made her
feel so out of sorts.
    Deciding her best move was simply to move away, she gave him a
clipped nod. “Good day to you, Mr. O’Brien. I have a walk to continue.”
    But before she took two steps, he reached out and stopped her with
a brief touch. “Here now, Lady Jeannette, don’t be hurrying off so quickly. I
sought you out for more than conversation. I’ve a gift for you.”
    A gift? Curiosity rose inside her like an irresistible fever.
Helpless to resist, she pivoted to face him. “And what could you possibly be
giving me?”
    He crossed to a nearby stone bench, picked up the paper-wrapped
bundle that lay upon it, plain brown string crisscrossing the square in neat
quarters. With it in hand, he strode toward her.
    He halted, then made a surprisingly elegant bow before extending
the parcel to her. “We’ve gotten off to a rough start, you and I, and I haven’t
felt right about what happened when last we met. Vitruvius knocking you over
and all. He’s a sweet pup, but wayward in his actions. ’Twas a fine frock he
ruined. And, of course, there was the other pretty one that day outside the
coach. That orangey thing you had on.”
    Orangey? Why, yes, her beautiful Naccarat traveling dress. She
wished he hadn’t mentioned it. Since that miserable day, she had done her best
to forget the incident. An imperceptible shudder rippled through her, evoked by
a fear that she would never completely forget the dreadful sensation of being
covered from head to toe in mud.
    “And this gift, I take it”—she nodded toward the parcel—“is your
way of making amends?”
    How singular. How unexpected.
    He rubbed a finger along his jaw. “Aye, I am sorry for your
trouble. I decided since Vitruvius is my responsibility, some recompense was in
order.”
    The starch loosened from her spine, her shoulders relaxing without
conscious thought. Her fingers itched to take the present, yet she hesitated.
    A lady was allowed to accept only certain gifts from a gentleman.
Flowers, bonbons, a book of sonnets. Or perhaps if he was especially daring, a
pair of gloves or a small bottle of perfume. Anything else was considered
scandalously improper.
    But then, she reminded herself, Darragh O’Brien was no gentleman
and his behavior never in any way proper. So why did the knowledge suddenly
make her want his gift even more?
    She forced her hands to remain loose at her sides. “What is it?”
    Amusement danced in his eyes. “Well now, if I were to tell you
that, it would ruin the surprise. You’ll have to take it and find out for
yourself.” He edged the bundle a half inch closer, urging her to take his
present.
    She swallowed, knowing she should reject the offering, push him
and his gift away. Instead she hesitated only a moment more before plucking the
gift from his hands.
    Light, far lighter than she had expected, the package rested
easily in her grasp. Her interest piqued even further, she nearly raised it to
her ear to shake, but stopped herself at the last second. Ladies didn’t shake
presents—at least not in front of witnesses.
    Tall and long-legged, he rocked back on his heels, then up on his
toes, his strong hands settled against his lean hips. “So, are you not going to
open it, then?”
    She shook her head. “I shall do so later.”
    In case the gift actually was something improper. That way she
wouldn’t have to pretend to be scandalized. Though what sort of scandalous gift
he might have given her she couldn’t imagine.
    “Well,” she said, “evening approaches and I haven’t had my walk.
If I am to do so in time to change for dinner, then I had better be off. My
cousins keep early hours.” Very early, she thought, dining at the gauche hour
of six o’clock each day, early even by country standards. With a nod, she
turned to go.
    He stopped her with another light touch upon her arm. “Are you not
forgetting something?”
    “I cannot think what.”
    “Can you not? Or don’t