“What in heaven’s name do you suppose happened?”
“I do not know, but I suspect that Charles has come today to speak to Lane about it. The last time my brother had requested a private audience with Lane at this early an hour, he had informed Lane that I was enceinte.” She shrugged one shoulder. “At the time, of course, he had thought that it was one of the kidnappers that had gotten me with child.”
Bridget recalled that morning. Charles had been horrid, though no more horrid than he had been to her since his return to London.
So Charles likely came here today to impart bad news to Lane. News of which he did not wish anyone to have knowledge.
Anna dabbed her lips with her napkin and stood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to do some reading. I have an appointment with Simon this afternoon and I had hoped to read at least six chapters of Mr. Mystery’s newest novel before he arrives.”
Dr. Simon Claridge, heir to the Earldom of Merrington, had been a regular visitor over the past few months, as he continued to see Anna as a patient through her pregnancy. He was also sinfully attractive. It was a pity that Bridget did not possess any romantic feelings toward him. Although even if she did, she would not foist herself on any man, let alone one so kind.
Anna clucked her tongue. “This babe has not allowed me stay up to read; I become far too tired and find myself falling fast asleep in my chair. On more nights than I care to admit, Lane has had to help me to bed after having fallen asleep.” She chuckled. “It seems I will have to do the bulk of my reading during the daylight hours from now on.”
Bridget let out a laugh. “Enjoy your reading then, Anna. I promise not to disturb you.”
Bridget glanced down at her plate as Anna left the room. She had scarcely touched her meal, but her appetite had significantly diminished. She pushed aside her plate and sipped on her tea.
Perhaps she should go to the morning room and write her governess advertisement for the paper. She smiled to herself. She could also use that time to write her letter to Oliver.
* * *
Charles paced the floor of the front parlour, awaiting Lord Devon’s arrival. He had debated with himself incessantly about what he would reveal to Lane this morning. In the past, Lane had proven himself to be trustworthy, but then he had gone and gotten Annabel pregnant out of wedlock and broken Charles’ trust.
They might have agreed to a verbal ceasefire, but Charles remained uncertain. If he revealed his secrets to Lane, would it not put the man in danger as well?
Damn it. Was Lane not in danger because of Charles, already? Had he not already endured kidnapping and abuse from Charles’ enemies?
A fresh surge of guilt flooded Charles but he determinedly suppressed it. He was doing everything he could, blast it.
How the devil was he to inform Lane of this new danger to Bridget without revealing his alternate identity?
A small tabby cat bounded off an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, and walked between Charles’ legs. Charles leaned down to pet the cat, and grinned at the loud rumble of its purr.
Across the room, the door opened, revealing Lane’s large form. Charles straightened and the cat scurried out the door, presumably to find another warm, quiet place in which to curl up.
“Hello, Lane.” Charles nodded at him.
“Good morning.” Lane stepped in and closed the door behind him. “What brings you to Mason Hall?” His voice deepened with concern. “Does it concern Annabel?”
Charles took a deep breath. “No. It does not concern Annabel.”
Lane visibly sagged with relief.
“It concerns Bridget,” Charles continued.
Lane came alert once more. “Bridget?”
“I am afraid so.”
A sly smile crossed Lane’s face. “Ah, yes. I see now. You’ve come to speak to me about Bridget. Finally admitting your feelings, eh, old boy?”
Charles tamped down the desire to do as Lane said. There were more pressing matters than his love for Bridget.
“No,” he grunted.
The word caught Lane off guard, and his expression became all seriousness once more. “What is it, Charles? Out with it.”
“Yesterday evening, shortly before your arrival, I had an unexpected houseguest. One with whom I believe you are familiar.”
Lane cursed and sat on the settee, bringing a hand through his hair. Charles sat on an armchair across from him.
“It was Billy, Lane.” Charles rested his elbows on his knees, leaned forward and lowered his voice. “He came with a message from The Boss. It was a warning for Bridget.”
“Damnation! What could he possibly want? Have I done something to upset this ‘Boss’? I do not recall ever involving myself in anything political that would draw the attention of a scoundrel like him. As far as I can see, he had no reason to kidnap Annabel or myself, and I am as dumfounded now as I was then.”
Charles warred with his guilt, and his desire to confide in Lane.
Before Charles could do just that, Lane began once more. “I had thought that after the fire at that damned hunting cabin that The Boss would leave us well enough alone. Now I must worry about Bridget! Did this message say anything with regards to a reason that they have decided to target my family?”
Charles knew that he could not—that he should not—tell Lane the truth. He would just have to quell his guilt, as he had been doing since he had returned to London, and avoid a full explanation.
“It does not have to do with you or your family, Lane. Not directly.”
“How could it not?” Lane surged to his feet and began to pace. “Did the letter say as much?”
Charles sighed and linked his hands as they hung between his knees. “Yes.”
Lane stopped pacing and turned to face Charles. “It did? May I read it?”
“I am afraid not.”
“No?” His eyebrows shot up, then turned down in a frown. “Whyever not? What did the letter say, precisely?”
“I cannot tell you that, either. I am sorry, Lane, but the contents of the letter are confidential.”
“Confidential! If they involve my family, I would damned well expect to be kept abreast of—” Lane stilled, eyeing Charles thoughtfully for a few moments. Abruptly, a light dawned, and his eyes widened with shock. He muttered a dark curse and sank back down on the settee across from Charles. “Hell and blazes!”
Damn.
“Why had this not occurred to me before?” Lane ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. “The signs are very clear: your odd behaviour, your determination to distance yourself from loved ones, the kidnappings, your knowledge of the kidnappings and where we were headed. The mysterious men that you’ve always got hanging around you whom no one seems to know, and that odd name that blackguard had called you when we had come to rescue Anna from the hunting cabin. The mysterious letters that Anna had seen in your study that seemed encrypted…the list goes on. It all makes sense now.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and settled against the backrest of the settee. “You’re a sodding spy.”
Chapter 4
Charles’ heart leapt. He should be upset, but a part of him was overwhelmingly relieved that someone outside his band of spies knew his secret. Someone who was also able to keep close watch over Bridget.
“I would appreciate it if you kept that information to yourself, Lane. That includes Anna. She would only worry, and that would not be good for her or the baby.”
Lane shook his head. “Rest assured, I have no intention of telling anyone, let alone my wife in her current condition.” He ran a hand over his face. “Tell me, Charles, when did this begin? When did you become a spy?”
Charles supposed that there would be no harm in divulging a few details, now that Lane had discovered Charles’ other identity on his own. “Just after my injury in the battle of Salamanca, when I was promoted to Major by Lord Wellington. He said that he had a special assignment for me. I accepted.”
Lane nodded. “That was when
you stopped writing letters to Bridget.”
“Yes.”
Lane locked gazes with him, his expression sombre. “You broke her heart, Charles.”
His words cut like a knife through Charles’ chest.
“I did it for her safety.” He looked down at his hands, then back at Lane. “Apparently, I was not careful enough. I let my attachment to her show, and The Boss found out. Now, the very thing that I have been attempting to avoid has come to pass; Bridget is in danger.”
“So you do have feelings for her, then?”
Charles could not bring himself to admit it aloud, so he nodded in response.
“Do you love her?”
Charles hesitated before nodding again.
“I see. Why do you not propose to her? Surely she would be safe under your protection.”
Charles ignored the leap of hopeful anticipation in his heart and shook his head. “I fear that should she carry my name and I am still in the field, she would always be a target. Not just with The Boss, but any future enemy.”
“So you will never take her to wife?”
“It is likely that I will never be fortunate enough to take any wife.” No matter how much he might desire it.
“’Tis a shame to say the least.” Lane paused in thought for a moment. “What have you planned as protection for Bridget?”
“I had thought that we would have an armed escort accompany her at all times, and I could station men around the perimeter of your property for extra protection.” He paused to clear his throat of emotion. “I believe that their intention is not to kidnap, but to inflict harm…or perhaps take her life.”
Lane shot up from his seat. “The devil you say! We cannot allow that to happen! She has done nothing to them, she does not deserve it!”
“I am in complete agreement. The fault lies wholly on my shoulders. So, in addition to the patrol and armed escort, I intend to bring some of my fellow men, as protection for her, into your home in the guise of additional footmen or other servants. It was that which brought me here today.”
Lane’s lips tightened and his shoulders rose with a sigh as he considered Charles’ plan. “I am satisfied with your decision. I will welcome guards into my home…” Lane paused, then let out a curse. “There is a problem. Bridget has decided to become a governess.”
Shock rippled through Charles. “A governess? Why in God’s name would she decide to become a governess?”
“She has stated that she does not wish to marry, and being a governess will earn her enough money to purchase a cottage. She has given me numerous reasons why she would suit the position, and she assures me that it is what she wishes to do with her future.”
“You have not forbidden it?”
Lane frowned. “Whyever would I do such a thing? Bridget is of an age to make these decisions on her own. I have told her that I consider her daft to throw her life away in such a manner, but I do not believe that she will take my opinion to heart. If I forbade her from doing anything, I trust we both know Bridget well enough to know that she would do it out of spite.”
Lane was certainly correct on that score. Charles rubbed a hand over his chin as an idea began to formulate itself in his mind. He grinned. “I believe I may have a plan to keep Bridget safe.”
* * *
Bridget put down the sheet of parchment and smiled. Her third draft seemed appropriate. She waved the parchment through the air to hasten the drying process, then folded, sealed, and addressed it.
Pulling a fresh piece of parchment from the drawer in the writing desk, Bridget began her missive to Oliver. A tingle of anticipation ran through her at the prospect. Some might consider her hobby an exhibition in wanton behaviour, but Bridget was rather proud of her skill.
Her lips split in a genuinely happy smile as she sealed and addressed the missive.
She stood and stretched, reaching her hands high above her head, gazing out the window of the morning room in the process.
Emaline and Katherine were in the gardens. Katherine sat on a bench sketching animatedly on several sheets of paper, no doubt working on the designs for her latest clothing creations. Emaline ran about with Artemis, her enormous Great Dane, her brown hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet.
They had been experiencing unseasonably warm weather for early October in Hertfordshire. Bridget very much enjoyed it.
She grinned at the prospect of having some time with her sisters as she hurried to retrieve her bonnet and spencer.
In a matter of moments, she had pushed open the French doors in the family drawing room and stepped out, walking past the terrace and into the gardens. The bright sun warmed her face as she strode out from under cover, still tying her bonnet ribbons beneath her chin.
“How are your newest creations coming, Kat?” Bridget strolled over and lowered herself beside Kat on the stone bench.
“Oh, hello, Bridget.” Katherine’s warm brown eyes brightened with excitement. “I am just finishing my new designs. I have planned to begin measuring and cutting this morning. Would you like to be the first to wear one?”
“I would be honoured! Thank you!”
Katherine’s smile undoubtedly broke hearts routinely, as it lit her face with delicate allure. She was a natural beauty, to be sure, with her golden blonde hair and warm chocolate brown eyes.
“Excellent.” Kat’s smile deepened. “Then you shall be the first. What colour would you prefer?”
“I will leave that decision in your very capable hands, dear sister. You know far better than I which materials and colours would suit me best.”
Katherine nodded once. “I have just the thing in mind.”
“Splendid. I will leave you to your work, then.”
Katherine bent her head over her papers once more and continued her sketching as Bridget stood to join Emaline and Artemis.
Artemis let out a playful bark and ran at Bridget as she neared them. She laughed as his large tongue lapped her hand, leaving a warm, wet trail over the backs of her fingers. The laughed that escaped her was light and wonderful. She knelt to the ground to pick up a large stick, one hand scratching the beast behind the ears.
“Is this what you want, big boy?” she asked excitedly. “Do you want to play?”
Artemis barked and leapt about as she waved the stick in the air.
Foregoing her initial plan of throwing the stick, Bridget picked up her skirts with one hand and began to run, holding the stick out beside her and letting Artemis break into a run along with her.
It was a moment to be cherished; the warmth of the sun, the wind flying past her, her heart pounding in her chest, the exhilaration of behaving with the exuberance of youth, but not worrying what others would think of her. For that moment, Bridget felt free.
She ran until her lungs burned and her sides ached, then turned to throw the stick back toward the manor.
“Go get it!” she laughed, winded.
Artemis barked happily and ran after it, his long tongue lolling to one side. Bridget chuckled breathlessly, and slowly strode after him.
“Enjoy your run, Bridget?”
Bridget was taken aback by the abrupt tingle down her spine and sudden warmth in her abdomen at the drawl of a very familiar male voice. She stopped, turning her head sharply and catching the gaze of Major Charles Bradley. He stood at his ease, resting his shoulder against a nearby tree in an entirely too-appealing pose.
Her heart rate accelerated considerably, and a quick flush deepened the colour high on her cheeks. She cursed her vexing affection and attraction for the man, and hoped he attributed her blush and rapid breathing to her activity.
She looked accusingly at Emaline and Katherine. Why had her sisters not warned her that Charles was nearby?
“How long have you been standing there, Major Bradley?” she asked, not bothering to hide the crisp bite from her voice.
His lips curved up in a smug smile. “You would likely not wish to know the answer to that question.”
&nbs
p; “I daresay you are correct.” She turned and stalked determinately toward the open French doors of the drawing room. “Please excuse me.”
The smile fell from Charles’ too-appealing lips as he pushed off from the tree, reaching out to put a hand to her arm. “Bridget, wait.” His touch felt like fire burning through the sleeve of her spencer.
She stopped her retreat and turned to face him, aware of Katherine and Emaline’s rapt attention. “I would appreciate it if you did not address me so informally, sir. I am Lady Bridget to you.” She shifted her footing, preparing to leave once more. “I have nothing further to say to you. Good day.”
She turned, but he caught hold of her arm, further scorching her through the layers of material. “Would you care to have a walk through the gardens, Lady Bridget? I wish to have a private word with you.”
“No, thank you. I do not much care for the thought of any additional time spent in your company.” His closeness was already having an unwanted effect on her. Her stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation, her temples throbbed with the pounding of blood through her veins, and her cursed heart ached with both want and heartbreak.
“For that I do not blame you,” he said gently. “I have behaved abominably toward you these past months. I do not know if you could ever forgive me, Lady Bridget, but I sincerely wish it.”
Bridget refused to be swayed by prettily spoken words and an earnest expression. She had fallen deeply for him when they were children, and had since paid dearly for it. Her anger ran long and deep; she did not know if anything could rebuild that lost trust.
“I am afraid that it is too late for apologies, Major Bradley, if that is what your words were meant to be. The damage has been done, and I have no wish to repeat my mistakes.” And as much as she still felt things for him, she had promised herself that she would never encourage a relationship with Charles again. She would never allow her heart to once more be broken by him.
He looked down at his boots, then met her gaze once more. “I understand your reticence, but the topic about which I wish to discuss is of the utmost importance. Please, Bri—Lady Bridget. Please walk with me.”
The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2) Page 4