TheWifeTrap by The Wife Trap

Author:The Wife Trap [Trap, The Wife]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-30T06:02:19+00:00

Rigged out for the occasion of his marriage in a formal dark blue tailcoat and pale gray breeches that buttoned with noticeable snugness just below his knees, Darragh stood at the altar and waited for his bride.

His friend Lawrence McGarrett was at his side. Just returned from Dublin, Lawrence had agreed to act as best man—after he’d recovered from his shock at the unexpected news.

“Better hope she’s not like one of those insects that chews off the head of her mate during intercourse,” Lawrence had outrageously advised. “Or you’ll soon be losing yours, and to an English assassin at that.”

Darragh had laughed, clapped his friend on the back and told him not to worry. Still, as he stood here now, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of nervous trepidation. Not at the thought of marrying Jeannette, but in wondering if she would have a last-minute change of heart.

A movement in the vestibule drew his eye. He watched as Jeannette’s twin sister made her way at a measured waddle up the aisle, the picture of Mother Earth in her vivid green maternity dress. The duchess paused long enough to relay word that Jeannette would be ready to proceed any minute. Announcement made, she allowed her husband to help her take a seat on the wooden front pew—her brother-in-law Lord Christopher and her friend Eliza Hammond on either side.

As matron of honor, Violet would be required to rise to her feet again once the bride appeared, ready to act as Jeannette’s attendant. Raeburn, on the other hand, had agreed to serve as father of the bride in the absence of Jeannette’s real father. Darragh understood the duke had been reluctant at first to perform the duty, some mention as to how it might seem awkward after his and Jeannette’s previous association.

Darragh had been stunned, then annoyed, then accepting, when he’d finally learned the details of the scandal that had sent Jeannette here to Ireland. The story had come pouring out of Kit Winter last night over a late glass of fine Irish whiskey.

A nasty twinge of jealousy had risen within Darragh and burned there for a solid five minutes before he’d had the sense to realize what a fool he was acting. ’Twas plain Raeburn doted on his wife, his eyes for her and her alone. Plain as well that Jeannette felt no romantic love for the duke. Particularly considering she’d jilted him at the altar, deceiving everyone by convincing her twin to act as Raeburn’s substitute wife.

Question was, what was Jeannette thinking today?

He wished his family were here to share the day, his three brothers and three sisters. Mary Margaret, two years his junior at six and twenty and the eldest of his sisters, was herself wed and the mother of four. She, above them all, would be particularly hurt to have not been included in the ceremony, since she put great stock in the trappings of ritual and tradition. Well, ’twould give her added reason to throw a ceili

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