The Husband Trap (43 page)

Her hand trembled, hovering. “We shouldn’t do this.”

He met her eyes. “Yes, we should. No more games, that’s what you promised me tonight.”

“But what about our families? Our friends? What about your career?”

“What career? I’m the Duke of Raeburn, I don’t have a career.”

“Your political career. Your aspirations to one day hold high government office.”

He huffed out an exasperated breath. “I have no political aspirations, no interest in any office, either high or low. Wherever did you come up with such a nonsensical idea?” He held up his other hand. “No, wait. Let me guess. My mother.”

“She said your dream was to rise in the House of Lords, maybe even become Prime Minister one day.”

“God forbid.” He shuddered. “Politics has long been my mother’s dream for me, not my own. Dear
Maman
means well, but on this point she’s just dead wrong. Please never believe such spurious suggestions again, for both our sakes.”

“So you really don’t want to be Prime Minister?”

“No. Most emphatically not.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Been protecting me, have you?”

She nodded. “Trying a bit.”

“Well, you needn’t bother, not on this score. And next time you have a question about my dreams, just ask me. I’ll tell you whether or not they’re really mine.” He jiggled his palm. “Now put your rings back on.”

She did as she was told, feeling easy and fully herself for the first time in a long while. She raised her eyes to his. “Are you sure?”

“Completely.” He dropped a kiss onto her lips. “No matter what happens, remember that I love you.”

She captured his face in her hands. “And I love you. So much, Adrian, so very much.”

After one last kiss, they walked hand in hand into the ballroom.

Inside they found Jeannette seated along the room’s periphery, her lower lip protruding in an unhappy pout.

Kit occupied the chair next to her, swinging an elegantly shod foot in time to the music as he cheerfully shooed away any would-be dance partners who approached his sister-in-law in hopes of escorting her out onto the ballroom floor.

He’d just sent another man packing when Adrian and Violet drew near.

“You found her, I see,” Kit said, raking his eyes over the errant pair. “And?”

“And nearly everything has been resolved. Just one last item remains to be seen to.” Adrian extended a hand to Jeannette. “My lady, if you would, please be so good as to come with your sister and me.”

Jeannette crossed her arms, thrust her chin into the air. “I don’t see why I should, not after your abominable treatment of me. Going away and leaving me a virtual prisoner of this insolent puppy.”

“Puppy? Who’re you calling a puppy?” The foot Kit had been swinging hit the floor as he straightened abruptly.

“You, you lap dog.”

“Enough,” Adrian commanded, silencing the bickering pair. He pinned a fierce glare on Jeannette. “Now, either come with us willingly or be dragged along. The choice is entirely up to you. But know, either way, you will be coming with your sister and me.”

“To do what?” Jeannette challenged.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

A small, silent battle of wills ensued. Just when it looked as if he would have to resort to force, Jeannette rose to her feet and fell into step beside him and Violet. Adrian led them to the front of the ballroom, signaling the musicians to stop their playing.

“What’s he doing?” Jeannette whispered under her breath to Violet.

But Violet didn’t have time to answer as Adrian drew her away. He lined the three of them up, one twin on each side of him, a hand on each of their arms.

The entire assembled crowd turned their eyes upon the trio.

Visually, Violet located her parents, her brother, the members of Adrian’s family, including his mother, all of whom looked on with mild interest and curiosity. Kit stood to one side, an expression of keen expectation on his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Adrian began, “thank you for attending tonight’s celebration. It is a pleasure to have you in our home. I hope each one of you is having an enjoyable evening. There is a small announcement I would like to make, a matter of some importance that has long needed correction. As you know, all the credit for tonight’s festivities, indeed the entire week of splendid activity, belongs to my wife. A woman I admire, respect and deeply love.”

Violet raised her eyes, met his as they swept warmly over her. She squeezed his arm, asking in silent, intimate communication if he was completely certain he wanted to continue.

The look he returned confirmed he did, without reservation or fear.

She rallied, drawing strength from his confidence.

He resumed his speech. “What you do not know is that the woman you’ve assumed to be your hostess this evening is not my wife.”

A murmur went up from the crowd.

Jeannette gave a squeak and tried to pull away. He held her firmly in place.

“The woman you have been offering thanks to this evening is actually my sister-in-law, Lady Jeannette Brantford.”

More murmuring, this time in obvious bewilderment.

“I don’t blame you for being confused. I know many of you attended my wedding, witnessed the ceremony where I appeared to marry Lady Jeannette. In actuality, I wed another woman.”

He clasped Violet’s hand, grown cold from nerves, and stepped forward.

He released Jeannette, who scuttled back and away.

“My wife,” he announced, “the woman I married, the woman I love and am proud to claim as my own, Violet Brantford Winter.”

A chaos of frenzied exclamations erupted.

Above it all rose a piercing wail.

Violet’s gaze flew across the room in time to watch her mother faint, and be caught in her father’s arms. He lowered her mother’s prostrate form to the floor in a pool of silk and feathers. A pair of her female friends hurried forward, armed with fans and hartshorn.

“You might ask how all this is possible,” Adrian continued in a powerful voice. “It’s quite simple really. The twins switched identities, and yes, fooled even me for a brief time. But by then it was too late. My heart had been fairly captured by the most wonderful woman I have ever had the good fortune to know.” His eyes sought hers, and for a moment Violet forgot the tumult around them, happy and secure inside his love.

They exchanged smiles.

Then he turned once more to the assembled guests. “And there’s one more announcement we’d like to share, one for which I hope you will wish us happy. Just tonight, my lady wife informed me we are to have a child.” He slipped an arm over Violet’s shoulders, hugged her close against his side. “A new Winter will be born sometime late this year.”

Her mother, who was finally coming out of her faint, awakened just in time to hear his statement about Violet’s pregnancy. She let out a fresh wail, then dropped off into another swoon.

Violet laid her head against his shoulder. “Well, you’ve done it now,” she remarked. “But if we are to be ruined, at least we’ll have each other.”

He gazed down and they shared a tender smile. “Never doubt it, my love. Never doubt it.”

And then, there in front of their family and friends, Adrian kissed Violet, spectacles and all.

Get caught in the trap!

Read on to catch a sneak peek at the next charming novel in the Trap series by Tracy Anne Warren…

The Wife Trap

Available from Ivy Books

Ireland, June 1817

Lady Jeannette Rose Brantford gently blew her nose on her handkerchief. Neatly refolding the silk square with its pretty row of embroidered lilies of the valley, she dabbed at the fresh pair of tears that slid down her cheeks.

I really need to stop crying,
she told herself.
This unremitting misery simply has to cease.

On the sea voyage over, she’d thought she had her emotions firmly under control. Resigned, as it were, to her ignominious fate. But this morning, when the coach set off on the overland journey to her cousins’ estate, the reality of her situation had crashed upon her like one of the great boulders that lay scattered around the wild Irish countryside.

How could my parents have done this to me?
she wailed to herself. How could they have been cruel enough to exile her to this godforsaken wilderness? Dear heavens, even Scotland would have been preferable. At least its land mass had the good sense to still be attached to Mother England. Scotland would have been a long carriage ride from home, but in Ireland, she was separated by an entire sea!

Yet Mama and Papa had remained adamant in their decision to send her here. And for the first time in her twenty-one years, she’d been unable to wheedle or cajole or cry her way into persuading them to change their minds.

She didn’t even have her longtime lady’s maid, Jacobs, to offer her comfort and consolation in her time of need. Just because she had told Jacobs a little fib about her identity when she and her twin sister, Violet, had decided to exchange places last summer was no cause for desertion. And just because Jeannette’s parents were punishing her for the scandal with this intolerable banishment to Ireland was no reason for Jacobs to seek out a new post. A loyal servant would have been eager to follow her mistress into exile!

Jeannette wiped away another tear and gazed across the coach at her new maid, Betsy. Despite being a perfectly sweet, pleasant girl, Betsy was a stranger. Not only that, she was woefully inexperienced, still learning about the proper care of clothing and how to dress hair and recognize the latest fashions. Jacobs had known it all.

Jeannette sighed.

Oh well, she thought, training Betsy would give her new life purpose. At the reminder of her
new
life, tears welled again in her eyes.

Alone. Oh, I am so dreadfully alone.

Abruptly, the coach jerked to a tooth-rattling halt. She slid forward and nearly toppled to the floor in a cloud of skirts.

Betsy caught her, or rather they caught each other, and slowly settled themselves back into their seats.

“Good heavens, what was that?” Jeannette straightened her hat, barely able to see with the brim half covering her eyes.

“It felt like we hit something, my lady.” Betsy twisted to peer out the small window at the gloomy landscape beyond. “I hope we weren’t in no accident.”

The coach swayed as the coachman and footmen jumped to the ground; the low rumble of male voices filled the air.

Jeannette gripped her handkerchief inside her palm.
Drat it, what now? As if things weren’t bad enough already.

A minute later, the coachman’s wizened face and sloped shoulders appeared at the window. “I’m sorry, milady, but it appears we’re stuck.”

Jeannette’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean, ‘stuck’?”

“’Tis the weather, milady. All the rain of late has turned the road back to bog.”

Bog? As in big-wheel-sucking, muddy-hole kind of bog? A wail rose in her throat. She swallowed the cry and firmed her lower lip, refusing to let it so much as quiver.

“Jem and me’ll keep trying,” the coachman continued, “but it may be a while afore we’re on our way. Perhaps you’d like to step out while we…”

She shot him an appalled look, so appalled obviously that his words trailed abruptly into silence.

What was wrong with the man?
she wondered. Was he daft? Or blind perhaps? Could he not see her beautiful Naccarat traveling dress? The shade bright and pretty as a perfect tangerine. Or the stylish kid-leather half boots she’d had dyed especially to match prior to her departure from London? Obviously he had no common sense, nor any appreciation of the latest styles. But mayhap she was being too hard on him since, after all, what did any man really know about ladies’ fashion?

“Step out to where? Into that mud?” She gave her head a vigorous shake. “I shall wait right where I am.”

“It may get a might rough once we start pushing, milady. There’s your safety to consider.”

“Don’t worry about my safety. I shall be fine in the coach. If you need to lighten the load, however, you have my leave to remove my trunks. But please be sure not to set them into the mud. I shall be most distressed if they are begrimed or damaged in any manner.” She waved a gloved hand. “And Betsy may step down if she wishes.”

Betsy looked uncertain. “Are you sure, my lady? I don’t think I ought to leave you.”

“It’s fine, Betsy. There is nothing you can do here anyway so go with John.”

Besides,
Jeannette moaned to herself,
it will be nothing new since I am well used to being deserted these days.

The gray-haired man fixed a pair of kindly eyes on the servant girl. “Best you come with me. I’ll see you to a safe spot.”

Once Betsy was lifted free of the coach and the worst of the mud, the barouche’s door was firmly relatched. The servants set about unloading the baggage, then began the grueling task of trying to dislodge the vehicle’s trapped wheels.

A full half hour passed with no success. Jeannette stubbornly kept her seat, faintly queasy from the vigorous, periodic rocking of the coach as the men and horses strained to force the carriage out of its hole. From the exclamations of annoyed disgust that floated on the air, puncturing the rustic silence, she gathered their attempts had done nothing but sink the wheels even deeper into the mire.

Withdrawing a fresh handkerchief from her reticule, she patted the perspiration from her forehead. Blazing from above, the sun had burned off the clouds but was doing little to dry the muddy morass around her. Afternoon heat ripened the air, turning it sticky with a humidity that was unusual for these parts even in midsummer, or so she had been informed.

At least she wasn’t crying anymore. A blessing since it wouldn’t do to arrive at her cousins’ house—assuming she ever did arrive—looking bloated and puffy, her eyes damp and red rimmed. It was humiliating enough knowing what her cousins must think of her banishment. It would be a far worse ignominy to greet them looking anything but her best.

A fly buzzed into the coach, fat and black and repugnant.