Contorted like a sideshow act in a circus, she wasn’t fully aware of the sibilant squeak of the window gliding upward on its runners until it was too late. Turning her head, she met Darragh’s triumphant gaze as he threw a leg over the windowsill and ducked his head to climb into the room.
Flabbergasted, her fingers slipped off the button she’d finally managed to reach.
Straightening to his full height, he planted his hands on his narrow hips. “Can I offer you some help getting out of that dress, darling?” he drawled.
She firmed her jaw. “Go away.”
Shrugging, he turned to close and lock the window, arrange the draperies. “If you change your mind, you’ve only to say the word.”
With her looking on, he raised his long arms above his head, gave one of those shivering all-male stretches that would have heated the blood of a nun. Replete with raw, understated strength, Darragh exuded virility the way other men shed their shirts, unthinkingly and with ease. He fairly reeked of it, his ordinary, loose-fitting clothes doing nothing to disguise the hard, agile frame Jeannette knew lay underneath. Supple limbs, wide shoulders, sturdy chest with its dark covering of hair that seemed custom made to pillow a woman’s head. And clever, long-fingered hands that could both stimulate and soothe, depending on the occasion.
Luckily for her she was in the mood for neither, too unhappy to let his display affect her. At least not much.
“Well,” he said in a mild tone, “bed and sleep sounds good to me. The day has been a long, hard one, and no doubt of that.” He slipped off his jacket, then began untying his neckerchief.
“Did you not hear me?” she questioned. “I told you to go.”
He tossed his neck cloth onto a chair, went to work opening his waistcoat buttons. “So you did, lass. But this is our bedroom and that piece of furniture you’re sitting on is our bed and I’ve every intention of sharing it with you. You’re my wife. We’ll sleep together.”
She sprang off the bed, as if the mattress had suddenly caught fire. “Oh, no, we won’t, not tonight. Just because you pulled your clever little stunt and crawled through that window doesn’t mean I’ll let you crawl into bed with me.”
Hurrying to the door, she twisted the key in the lock and wrenched open the door. “Now, for the third time, go!”
He peeled his shirt off over his head, tossed it atop his growing stack of garments. His intense blue gaze locked upon her own. With slow deliberation, he lowered his fingers to his trouser fastenings, his message clear.
She felt her whole body quiver as temper flashed hot. “Fine. Then I’ll go. There must be somewhere else to sleep in this house.”
She whirled and started through the door.
“There’s no room in the second bedroom to sleep, it’s so full of your trunks and bandboxes and other assorted paraphernalia,” he called after her. “ ’Tis doubtful you’ll even reach the bed. As for the sofa in the sitting room, you’ll have a rough night of it there. Ropes need tightening, I’m afraid.”
She bristled, but kept walking.
“And I’ll only follow you,” he said, startling her by striding up close behind. “Where you sleep, I shall sleep too.”
She did her best to ignore him as he trailed after her, hope wilting as she inspected one room after the other, only to discover he was right. There was nowhere even remotely comfortable to sleep except their bedroom.
Her journey drew to a halt in the sitting room, where she turned a baleful eye upon an old, narrow sofa that even Vitruvius didn’t wish to occupy. Curled on a thick rug near the fire, the dog opened a single eye and thumped his tail in greeting. Yawning, he closed his eyelids again, went back to his secret doggy dreams.
Darragh folded his arms across his bare chest. “So, will it be the pair of us on the sofa, then? Or shall we spread a blanket out over the floor next to Vitruvius? I suspect we can manage to roll up together snug as fleas.”
If they rolled up next to Vitruvius they probably would have fleas! Utterly frustrated, she repressed the urge to give a very undignified kick to the couch.
Her shoulders drooped, a weary sadness sweeping through her. “Very well, you win. We’ll both sleep in the bed. But that is all we are going to do tonight. Sleep. Is that understood?”
“Completely. So long as you can keep your hands off me.”
“I believe I’ll manage.”
She led the way back to the bedroom. Darragh followed, closed the door and shut them inside.
“Now then, let me see to those buttons of yours,” he said, coming up behind her.
She gathered her pride around her like a cloak. “Thank you, no. I am fine.”
He tsked, took her by the shoulders and turned her back around. “I saw how fine you were when I climbed through the window. You’ll be miserable if you sleep in your dress and stays. Don’t be so stubborn, woman. You won’t be hurting anyone but yourself.”
Why, she cursed, did he have to be right? If she refused him, she would be the one to suffer while Darragh slumbered peacefully as a babe at her side. When she really considered it, he ought to have to do all the things Betsy had done, since he was the reason her maid wasn’t here.
“All right,” she relented. “But I need a few things from my traveling cases.”
“What things?”
“My nightgown, for one. My hairbrush and pin box as well.”
His brow wrinkled. “Do you know which trunks they’re in?”
She shook her head. “Betsy always arranged my things.” And you dismissed Betsy, she thought on a sorrowful retort.
“I could be in there for hours searching. I’ll look tomorrow.”
She stuck out her lower lip. “But I want my night rail.”
His fingers began freeing her gown. “You can sleep in your chemise tonight.”
“You are insufferable, do you know that?”
“Aye, so you tell me.”
With a minimum of fuss, he helped her off with her gown, unlaced her corset and freed her petticoat ties. He left her to remove the pins from her hair on her own.
She was finger-combing her long tresses when he approached and offered her one of his brushes. Part of a matched set, it was round with no handle, its silver top engraved with his initials. She considered issuing a rebuff then decided to accept, drawing the soft boar bristles through her hair in long, soothing strokes.
By the time she finished, he was in bed, one long arm tucked beneath his head as he lay watching her. She tried not to stare, his beautiful, powerful body very obviously naked beneath the sheets.
Crawling in beside him, she rolled over onto her side and faced away from him. He sat up, leaned over her. She tensed, expecting him to demand a kiss and more. Instead he only reached across to the nightstand, blew out the candle.
Darkness engulfed the room.
“Good night, my Little Rosebush,” he murmured in a warm, velvety tone.
“Little Rosebush!”
“Aye. I’ve thought for a long while that you’re like a rosebush. Guarded by thorns but much too beautiful to resist.”
“And I think you’re a bully. And a devil.”
Her taunt only made his chest shake with laughter.
She did not speak further, hugging her hurt to herself the way she hugged the blanket and sheet around her body. Even if he couldn’t afford to keep Betsy, she thought, he ought to have discussed it with her first. He should have told her beforehand that he planned to let her lady’s maid go, instead of behaving in such a high-handed, dictatorial manner.
Domestic arrangements were always the wife’s purview, especially the hiring and firing of servants. But this was not an elegant estate with dozens of staff to manage, she reminded herself. It was a tiny cottage with only the two of them in residence.
The seclusion of it frightened her. She had never lived like this. How would she manage?
Day to day, she decided, the bed creaking lightly as Darragh arranged his large frame into a comfortable position besi
de her.
She listened to his breathing until she knew he was asleep. Only then did she relax. Only then did she allow herself to admit that despite everything he’d done, she longed to turn and snuggle close inside the warm shelter of his arms. Let herself be held so she wouldn’t feel so lost and alone anymore.
Instead she stayed where she was, forced her eyes to close, her mind to clear to let the comfort of sleep take her away.
Desire burned like a brand between her legs when she woke hours later, the faintest hint of gray light creeping around the curtains into the room. She whimpered, disoriented and half-asleep. Her breasts ached, feeling heavy and swollen. Her bodice lay open, nipples damp and pinched tight, exquisitely sensitive, exposed to the cool morning air.
She barely had time to think about how she’d gotten that way when her hips arched upward, her head rolling against the pillow. Darragh’s head was pillowed as well, on one of her thighs, as he kissed and suckled her in a place where until her wedding night she’d never imagined being kissed at all. Somehow without waking her, he’d positioned himself there, draping her other leg over his shoulder.
But she was awake now. God Almighty was she awake, lying helpless and enslaved beneath his mesmerizing touch. She remembered how cross she’d been with him earlier. How she’d turned him and his lovemaking away.
“Darragh,” she murmured.
He heard her, pausing long enough to raise his head. “Morning, darling. Did I finally manage to wake you?”
“What are you doing?” she panted. “I didn’t say you could…could, you know.”
“I didn’t know I needed to ask. Shall I stop, then?”
Her flesh throbbed, begging for a release only he could provide. Her pride urged her to say, “Yes, stop.” Her body told her not to be a fool. Her body won, aching with a longing that was almost painful.
“God, no,” she groaned. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He chuckled and went back to what he’d been doing.
It wasn’t long before he brought her to an intense and incredibly satisfying peak, violent shudders racking her entire body. Before she’d even stopped shaking, he sat up, turned her over, raised her up so she rested on her hands and knees.
He gave her a couple light smacks on the bottom that made her gasp, not with pain but in heated arousal. Before she had time to adjust to his last astonishing move or the shocking novelty of their position, he came into her from behind, filling her to the hilt. And then she couldn’t think at all as he moved inside her. Fast and deep, then faster and deeper, over and over until he had her moaning, all but incoherent.
She clenched the damp sheets in her fists, her head hanging down as he drove them both at a relentless pace. Raising her hips, she pressed back against him to take more. His groan rang harsh and satisfying in her ear.
He cupped her breasts, massaged them, giving them a gentle squeeze before skimming his big hands downward over her belly. Positioning one hand on her hip to steady her, he slipped the fingers of his other hand between her legs to play upon her wet, heated flesh. He stroked her there where she was most sensitive, scattering wild kisses upon her shoulder and neck.
Then before she had any idea what he planned to do, he bit her nape, his teeth clamping down just hard enough to send her hurtling over the edge.
She cried out and let the fierce satisfaction sweep her away.
He claimed his own pleasure soon after, quaking against her, around her, within her—so brutally, she felt his release almost as if it were her own.
Sated, they slumped together against the sheets. Rolling to his back, he tugged her close and tucked her against his chest. With a smile curving her lips, she fell asleep, locked inside the safety of his arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Jeannette awakened in a profoundly mellow mood, well rested and deliciously revitalized by the residual glow of good lovemaking.
She stretched and sat up, a surprised smile coming to her lips when she saw the change of clothes laid out for her at the foot of the bed. Her toiletries were there as well—hairbrush, comb, pin box, perfume, even the milled soap she preferred—all neatly arranged on the bureau next to Darragh’s shaving and grooming implements. A nightgown and robe were also draped over the back of the chair, just as she had requested last night.
She rose, found fresh, warm water waiting in a large china pitcher, soft clean towels nearby. Her upset over Betsy’s dismissal eased, fading beneath the magnitude of Darragh’s thoughtful consideration. Clearly, he’d gone through her trunks and unpacked the items he thought she would want immediately. Then he’d carried them in, managing somehow not to wake her.
Under the circumstances, she supposed it would be spiteful not to forgive him. And with his assistance, mayhap she could learn to do without a lady’s maid for a time. At least until she could persuade him to rehire Betsy.
Cheered by the idea, she washed and dressed, the blue muslin morning gown he’d chosen one she was able to don and fasten on her own. Her hair presented a different challenge. It took three tries before she finally managed to pin the heavy mass into a reasonably acceptable knot on top of her head. With an indulgent smile on her lips, she went to find her new husband.
Ten minutes later the smile had vanished, along with her nascent good humor. She stared at Darragh over a bowl of lumpy oatmeal, her spoon forgotten in her hand. “You expect me to do what!”
“ ’Tis only the two of us, so the cooking shouldn’t take up too much of your time. As you can see by our breakfast, I’m not a great hand in the kitchen. As for housework, you’ll only have to clean and straighten on the days Aine Murray isn’t here to take care of the heavy work, scrubbing floors, washing the laundry and such. She’s young, but she’s a good girl. You’ll like her.”
Jeannette jammed the spoon into her dish. “Have you lost your senses? I am not some peasant housewife who bakes bread and dips candles and stitches quilts. I am a lady, trained to manage a large household and direct servants, not cook and clean and sew.”
“Aye, but since I haven’t a large household nor lots of servants, you’ll have to try your hand at the other. I’m not saying it’ll be easy at first but you’ve a keen mind. I know you’ll figure things out quickly enough.”
Despite having thought much the same thing last night regarding the lack of servants and her duties in that regard, Jeannette could not help but goggle, her eyes bulging in their sockets. “I do not wish to figure things out. I am your wife, not some servant you hired.” She crossed her arms. “I refuse.”
“Then we’ll be a sad and hungry pair for certain.” Lifting a spoonful of the oatmeal, he let it plop back into the bowl in an unappetizing heap. “Can’t say I’d like to eat this for every meal.”
“What about last night’s meal?” she challenged. “The fare was simple, but quite delicious. Who made that?”
“Aine’s ma, but the meal was a special treat sent over in welcome. We won’t be getting another of her suppers tonight.”
“I fail to see why not. Hire the woman to cook for us. And engage more servants as well, ones who can live in and work every day, not just a few days out of the week.”
“I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t afford to keep a permanent staff of servants such as you’re used to. Never mind the fact there wouldn’t be the room to house them all. As for Aine’s ma, she has seven other babies at home, all of them younger than Aine. Mrs. Murray doesn’t have time to come and cook.”
“Surely with eight children she could use the money.”
“Why do you think she’s hired Aine out along with her other two oldest children? Plus, Mrs. Murray is in the family way again, due to deliver another babe come spring.”
Distressed, Jeannette tapped a fingernail against the wooden kitchen tabletop. “Mrs. Murray ought to tell Mr. Murray to leave her alone.”
“Aye, but think of all the fun they’d miss.” He grinned.
She failed to see the humor. “This…this notion of
me cooking and cleaning and taking care of this cottage, however small it may be, is an absolutely preposterous idea. I know nothing about that sort of work. I don’t even know how to put a kettle on the stove, let alone how to light the blasted thing.”
“I can show you. All it takes is a flint and some dry kindling.”
“Well then, if it’s so easy, you do it. Or better yet, hire some servants to do it.” She crossed her arms. “You ask too much. Such labors are simply beneath the dignity of a titled lady.”
“They’re not beneath the dignity of my wife. And there’ll be no servants employed other than Aine, and she’s to clean, not cook. I’ll make sure there’s food in the larder. It’s up to you to fix the meals.”
“But I told you. I haven’t the faintest notion how to cook.”
He eyed the cold oatmeal neither of them wished to touch. “You can learn. Now, shall I show you how to work the stove and such?”
“No, since I will not be using it nor any other kitchen devise in this house.” She pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. “I am going to my room.”
“Go, then, and pout all you like, but such measures won’t make an anthill’s difference to me. And they won’t change my mind nor will they put food on the table. When you change your mind, let me know and I’ll show you how to work the stove.”
“I will never change my mind.”
He pinned her with a look. “Fair warning, lass. Never is an awfully long time.”
Three days later, Jeannette decided that as much as she hated to admit it, Darragh was right. Never was an awfully long time, especially when one’s stomach was empty as an echoing cavern.
Hunger gnawed her insides with the sharpness of a small vicious animal, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten a decent meal since the evening of her arrival. Holding fast to her vow not to cook, she had been subsisting on raw apples and carrots, along with some cheese and milk she’d discovered in the larder. But apples and carrots, cheese and milk as a steady diet simply were not enough.
The Wife Trap Page 25