Chapter 17
Fecking hell.
Deirdre stared after the man she’d set her sights on. Things should have worked out. And she fecking knew why they hadn’t.
Men couldn’t keep their pricks in their breeches when a saucy miss flirted her skirts at them. And while Deirdre wasn’t best pleased, it would have advanced her plans nicely.
After all, why would a man buy the cow when he’d already sampled the milk? And you couldn’t tell Deirdre O’Connor a virile man like Tom Pettigrew hadn’t sampled Miss High-and-Mighty-St. Claire’s honey pot.
But who would have thought he’d married her already?
She swore under her breath.
“Deirdre!” Eilís clapped her hands to her ears.
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “You’ve heard worse.”
“By my sainted husband, yes, but never by a woman.”
Deirdre rolled her eyes. “See t
