TheWifeTrap by Unknown Page B

onto her hands and knees to check beneath the massive piece of
furniture. But there they were, the thick roll of papers, exactly where she had
left them.
    Flummoxed, she sat back on her haunches, flinching as some heavy
object crashed to the ground outside. Seconds later, a yawn caught her,
moisture welling in her eyes.
    Knowing she had to put an end to her misery, she reached an arm
under the armoire and dragged out the plans. Climbing to her feet, she took a
moment to slip into her dressing gown and silk bedroom slippers before running
a brush quickly through her hair and tying her tresses back with a ribbon at
her nape.
    Acting purely on impulse, she retrieved the plans, opened the door
and moved out into the hallway.
     
    “…once we’re finished here we’ll be able to move the scaffolding
and start on the last section at the north end,” Darragh said, gesturing a hand
toward the skeleton of the growing building and the workmen who climbed and
clamored over it with the speed and agility of a troop of acrobats.
    “The window glass is due to arrive by late week,” Rory
volunteered. “Had word that the cargo’s loaded and on its way.”
    Darragh nodded. “Good. If the schedule holds, it won’t be long
before we have need of that glass.”
    They talked for another couple of minutes before his foreman gave
a friendly nod and strode away. Once the other man had gone, Darragh located
his mug of strong black Irish tea and raised it to his lips.
    “
Psst,
Mr. O’Brien.”
    Lady Jeannette.
    Pausing, he glanced around to locate her, hastily swallowing the
hot tea in his mouth to keep it from scalding his tongue.
    “Up here,” she said in a loud whisper.
    Following her voice, he peered through the early-dawn light just
breaking over the horizon. His eyes widened when he located her, balanced on
her elbows as she leaned out of an open upstairs window. Dressed in some muted
color, she appeared as pale and ethereal as a ghost. Only, Jeannette Brantford
was much too lovely to be a ghost, and much too alive.
    A quick glance over his shoulder verified that none of the other
men had noticed her—at least not yet. Setting down his mug, he strode forward.
    “What are you about, lass?” he called softly once he stood beneath
her window.
    She met his gaze. “You know exactly what I’m about. Just as you
know what time it is.”
    He couldn’t help but grin. When he’d told the men to start work early
this morning, he’d anticipated rousing a reaction from Lady Jeannette. He just
hadn’t thought he’d spark one quite this quickly. “Wake you up, did we?”
    She flicked a look into the distance, toward his crew, failing to
answer his rhetorical question. “We can’t talk here. Do you know the east
garden door?”
    “I believe I know the one you’re meaning.”
    “Meet me there in five minutes.” Her head disappeared from view,
runners above squeaking faintly as she yanked the window closed.
    He stood for a moment staring up at the spot where she’d been, a
fresh smile playing around his lips. After a quick check to make certain the
men were fully occupied, he turned to stroll around the house.
    Jeannette was waiting for him when he arrived, the door unlocked
and eased open a few inches to give him access to a narrow hallway that ran
between one of the servants’ staircases and the side garden.
    He moved forward to enter. Only as he slid past did he notice her
attire. Or rather, her lack of attire. Not that she wasn’t properly covered—her
flesh concealed from throat to ankle—but she was dressed in nightclothes.
    Thin, pink, silky nightclothes that conformed to the luscious
shape of her hips and breasts, leaving his imagination to run riot over what
delights must lay beneath. Flowing like spun corn silk, her waist-long hair was
gathered back, vibrant skeins of pale gold restrained by nothing more than a
simple white ribbon.
    A quick tug, he mused, and all that glory would spill free,
strands cascading into his