The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2)

by Cheri Champagne

  “No, Charles, I was—”

  He held his hand up to halt her. “Bridget, I was out of line when I accused you of dealing with the enemy. I do not know what I was thinking when I spoke those words. I hope that you can forgive me.”

  “Of course I forgive you, Charles. I had thought about it myself, and I feel that I should apologize to you for—”

  “I killed him.”

  Bridget was stunned into silence.

  He ran both hands through his hair and let out a dark curse. “I killed Pierre.”

  Chapter 27

  Charles’ chest tightened with anxiety and his heart hammered against his ribs. There. He had said it. His greatest regret had been exposed.

  It had not been enough that she humiliated him in their bout, he now must bare the distressing truth of his past to the woman he loved.

  “I am afraid I am going to need some context behind that statement, Charles.”

  “Yes, of course.” His gaze travelled down to her quivering lips. “But it is far too cold to have this conversation out of doors. Why do we not return to the cabin and I will finish with supper while we converse.”

  With a mute nod, Bridget followed Charles as he walked down the leaf-strewn forest path toward the cabin.

  Charles’ mind was riddled with worried thoughts all the way into the warmth of the cabin’s confines. When Bridget knew what he had done would she hate him as he hated himself?

  Once they entered and the door was closed behind them, Charles replaced the kettle on the hook by the fire, and whirled to face Bridget. “I should not have bluntly confessed such a thing to you. I must have shocked you.”

  “It is quite all right.” She paused. “I should like some tea if we are to continue, however.”

  “Of course.” Charles turned to retrieve the kettle of boiling water from the hook by the fireplace and entered the kitchen area to prepare the tea.

  As the tea was steeping, Charles turned to see that Bridget had settled herself on the settee and was watching him expectantly. Stifling a self-deprecating sigh, he turned to prepare the tea tray, complete with stale biscuits. He was not terribly confident in his ability to endure the conversation he knew was to come, but Bridget deserved to know the truth about him. And about his monumental failure.

  He picked up the tea service and placed it beside Bridget’s elbow on the tall side table. Bridget made no move to prepare a cup, but waited patiently for him to begin, so Charles sat in the armchair nearby and primed himself for Bridget’s contempt.

  “I owe you an explanation.” He rested his elbows on his knees and joined his hands between them, thankful that Bridget allowed him a moment to collect himself before he began. “Pierre Martin was my charge on my last mission on the continent. He was a boy of twelve with a sweet disposition, a cherub face, and a pleasing character.”

  Charles could see the boy in his mind’s eye: his short brown curls atop his slightly rounded head, his perpetually broad smile, and the light that frequently appeared in his warm brown eyes. Charles’ chest gripped with his familiar pain and soul-crushing guilt.

  “At the age of eight, Pierre had witnessed something that no one should, be they child or grown. His father was a Frenchman who had married an Englishwoman. They were very much in love, but because of their divided loyalties, supporters of Napoleon Bonaparte murdered them in cold blood. Mr. and Mme. Martin attempted to plead for their lives and for the life of the wee babe that Mme. Martin was carrying; they pledged their loyalty to France and to Bonaparte, but it was not enough. They were tortured and beheaded. Their household staff was brought into the room and dispensed of as well…children included.” His voice hitched and he cleared his throat before continuing. “During this gruesome tragedy occurring in their home, Pierre was hiding in a cupboard nearby; his mother had urged him inside upon hearing Bonaparte’s men come down the drive. He witnessed it all.”

  Charles avoided looking at Bridget while he spoke. She had a hiccup in her breathing, and she sniffled softly. If he so much as looked up into those green, tear-filled eyes, Charles knew that he, himself, would succumb to his emotions.

  “Pierre swiftly became a target for Napoleon and his men; they feared that he had knowledge of his parents’ suspected dealings with the English. It was for that reason that I was charged with his protection. Those of us working for the Home Office felt compelled to protect the boy, as he was young and innocent. We also felt that should we somehow gain knowledge of the men that pursued Pierre, we could better predict Napoleon’s stratagem.

  “I was the sixth in the line of men entrusted with his safeguarding. The men before me had perished in one fight or another with Napoleon’s supporters or moved on to pursue a lead. I had intended to succeed where the others had failed.

  “Pierre and I had travelled in each other’s company for many months, from Leon to Gibraltar. Pierre did not utter one complaint for the duration of our travels; he was indeed a remarkable boy.

  “On July 22, 1813, we were camped just north of the main road through Gibraltar when we were set upon by seven men.” His heart thumped heavily in his chest as he recalled that night. “I was too confident in our safety. I had not thought that anyone had been following us at that time. We were sitting by the fire playing cards when I was shot through my shoulder.” He rubbed a hand over his face as the gruesome images began to flow through his mind. “I scarcely recall what happened next but for Pierre’s screams. The men were merciless in their attack. My vision had become blurred with red, as blood had begun to seep into my eyes after several blows to my head. But I still saw clearly what they did to poor P—Pierre.”

  Bridget placed her hand on Charles’ arm in a gesture of comfort, but he kept his gaze carefully averted. He did not deserve compassion; he deserved contempt. She would soon understand that when she heard the end to his confession.

  He abruptly felt the humiliating sting of tears threatening behind his eyelids and he hastily turned his gaze into the blazing fire. He shifted his seat in the armchair and continued.

  “I fought as best I could, but they pinned me to the ground and bludgeoned me nearly senseless. Eventually the urge to defend myself fled, and I lay back and accepted the blows like a coward. I believe that they had thought me dead when they carried Pierre away.” His tense shoulders rose with his deep breath. “Somewhere in my scattered thoughts I believed it was a wise decision to pull out my pistol and endeavour to shoot the men one by one until Pierre and I were free to seek the help of a doctor.”

  Bridget gasped.

  His voice had deepened, and had begun to sound as though he had swallowed gravel, but he ignored it and continued to speak. “I took aim and pulled the trigger.” He squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to shut out the visions flashing in his mind’s eye. “To my everlasting regret and shame, it was not an enemy’s, but Pierre’s back that my bullet penetrated.”

  Naturally, Bridget would now show the appropriate measure of disgust in him. His actions certainly warranted a healthy amount of hatred, but he would be damned if he did not admit to feeling dreadful at the thought of Bridget thinking ill of him.

  “Oh, Charles.”

  Charles could scarcely hide his shock as one of Bridget’s hands slid into his own. At some point during his confession, Bridget had knelt on the floor beside his legs.

  The soft palm of Bridget’s hand cupped Charles’ unshaven jaw and pulled it toward her. He did not resist, and trained his blurry gaze into Bridget’s red-rimmed eyes.

  “The death of that young boy was a tragedy. But you should not bear the brunt of that guilt on your shoulders, Charles. Those men would have tortured Pierre beyond our ken. You protected him as well as you could, and fought to the best of your ability in the moment. You have nothing about which to be ashamed.”

  Charles was astonished. His heart beat a little faster as warmth spread through his chest and over the rest of his body.

  He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat
. “Why do you defend me? I do not deserve it.”

  Her arm tightened around his shoulder and her other hand caressed his jaw. “Why do you not allow me to decide for myself if you are worthy of defence or compassion?”

  The benevolence emanating from Bridget was too much to be borne. His emotions were running far too high for his comfort; he had better alter their course if he wished to save himself from openly weeping on Bridget’s shoulder.

  He dipped his head toward hers with the intention of stealing a kiss.

  But he paused.

  His lips were a breath away from hers, he could feel the heat coming off her body, and it sent a bolt of heated excitement through his heart.

  His body strongly urged him to engage in more passionate endeavours, but Charles willed himself not to. He did not deserve a kiss from Bridget. Whatever she might think of him, be they kind thoughts or otherwise, Charles knew differently.

  She needed time to allow his confession to sink into her mind.

  “Me haces sentir vivo,” he whispered. You make me feel alive.

  Before his will disintegrated and he took Bridget on the floor like a rutting beast, Charles pulled away.

  Chapter 28

  Bridget’s heart beat heavily in her chest. The anticipation of his kiss quickly died as he pulled away.

  The glimmer of shame in Charles’ beautiful blue eyes convinced her on her course. It was time for Charles to learn to forgive himself. To heal. And to allow himself to be loved. It was time for Charles to believe that he was worthy.

  As Charles pulled further away and averted his gaze, Bridget reached out to cup his face, rose on her knees, and pressed her lips hard against his.

  Oh! The pleasure spreading through her limbs was immediate, sending a tingling down her spine and scattering gooseflesh across her skin.

  Charles hesitated and she briefly wondered if she had made a mistake in kissing him. Doubtful, she began to break the kiss when Charles let out a low growl and slid from the chair to land on his knees before her.

  Elated at his response, Bridget wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body flush against his. His muscular arms came around her waist and his hands tightly fisted the material of her plastron.

  “I want this off,” he growled.

  Bridget released him and quickly unfastened her plastron, sliding it from her shoulders. Charles’ eyes immediately feasted on her breasts showing through the thin material of her shirt. Her skin heated beneath his intense stare.

  Charles wasted no time. He enveloped Bridget in a hug, twisted, and brought her to the floor before the roaring fire.

  His deep blue gaze bore into hers as he covered her with his body. “I cannot be gentle, querida.” Bridget’s heart fluttered at the Spanish endearment. “Tell me you want this or I will stop now.”

  She understood now that Charles would not take a wife due to his fear for her safety. And as challenging as that was to accept, Bridget comprehended his reasoning behind it.

  “I accept your offer to be your mistress, Charles. I want to be your mistress. I want to be with you. I want you.”

  With a flare of dominant satisfaction, Charles sat up, grasped the neck of her shirt and rent the material in two, the loud rip filling the air. Bridget gasped. He immediately bent to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply. He bit the tip, eliciting an excited whimper from Bridget. He then repeated the movement to her other breast.

  Bridget hid her shock as Charles roughly pulled her breeches from her eager body and popped the buttons of his falls, freeing his rampant erection. He shoved his trousers to his knees and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his hard body rife with reddened welts. She squelched her guilt and turned her gaze to his impressive member.

  She scarcely got a glimpse of his manhood before he spread her thighs with his knee and thrust deeply inside her.

  “Dios Mio,” he grunted as Bridget wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders.

  Charles moved quickly. He propped himself up on his elbows and spread his fingers through Bridget’s darkened hair, then clenched the locks in his fists, sending sparks of pleasure-pain over her scalp.

  “Querida,” he murmured. “Mi dulce…”

  She let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure as he quickened his speed. The sound echoed through the small cabin, coupled with that of their slapping flesh.

  Bridget watched the flickering light tease the shadows on Charles’ hard features as the muscles of his jaw clenched and the veins on his neck bulged with strain.

  She was taken by surprise when her climax hit. Her back arched and her jaw fell open, a keening cry of satisfaction on her lips as waves of ecstasy overtook her.

  “Dios mio,” he grunted. “Me entrada…con su belleza.” Charles increased his speed, pumping hard against her. “Te amo… Te amo… Te amo!”

  His hoarse shout split the air as he reached his own pinnacle.

  Bridget felt him pulse as he tensed and spilled his seed inside her.

  * * *

  “You lost their trail?” The large man slammed his stocky hand on the surface of the desk, causing his brawny company to flinch. “How could you have bloody well lost them?” he roared, as an uncomfortable heat began creeping up his collar.

  “They was too crafty, sir. The woman fights like a demon, she does,” one of the men said as he nervously shifted his weight on his feet. “Cut me up right well with her sword an’ knocked me te the ground! The man wot was with ‘er broke George’s nose an’ threw ‘em against a tree!” He toyed with the rim of his hat through his hands. “We quit, sir. We gonna let some other blokes bring ‘em in fer ye.”

  “You will do no such thing. You two have been paid half the requested amount, and the other half is to be paid when those two walk through the doors of this study. It is a binding verbal contract. I do not think you would enjoy the penalty should you decide to renege.”

  He briefly considered the possibility of doing away with these two simpletons and hiring new thugs, but he could not bring himself to go through the effort of searching the slums. He would, however, take great satisfaction in removing his bank notes from their cold, dead fingers once he had removed them as witnesses…and after he had Hydra and Lady Bridget safely ensconced in his personal dungeon.

  “You will find them, capture them, and bring them to me. No matter what the cost or who gets in your way.”

  * * *

  Charles slid from Bridget’s body and rolled to lay on the rug beside her, his chest heaving with his rapid breaths. The woman was magnificent. Her body fit his perfectly, and even when he was tupping her with very little finesse, she still found her pleasure.

  She was made for him.

  He stunned himself as a thought occurred to him. He had never allowed himself to release his seed inside a woman before, but in his frenzied rush to make love to Bridget, he had forgotten to pull free of her body. Damnation.

  A slight nervousness fluttered in his stomach at the thought. What a fool he was. He could not promise Bridget a future with him, for he did not yet know if it would be possible. He simply hoped that Bridget did not end up enceinte.

  The embarrassing litany of Spanish that he had uttered moments before crossed his mind, and he rubbed a hand over his face. Darling, my sweet. Good God. You entrance me with your beauty. I love you. I love you. I love you!

  Good Lord, he was beyond hopeless.

  Bridget rolled to her side and rested her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh.

  “There is something that has been in my thoughts since this morning, Charles, and I wondered if you would explain it for me.”

  He reached an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his body. “Certainly.”

  A log in the fireplace popped.

  “Why do you have my box of your letters? How did you get it? And how did you fix the letters?”

  Charles was convinced that his heart stopped for a moment. He had forgotten about th
e box of letters. Nor had he prepared what he would say should Bridget find them. He opted for the truth. “They are my letters.”

  “Yours?” She lifted up on her elbow to look down at him. “But they were addressed to me.”

  “I made copies of every letter I sent you. I worried that you might not receive them for one reason or another, so I created duplicates to give you when I returned home.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I put them in your box to replace the ones you tore.”

  Several emotions played across Bridget’s still-rosy features. He saw confusion, surprise, suspicion, and after a moment, a dawning awareness. It was then that Charles realized what he had revealed. Bloody hell.

  She sat upright and brought the loose hanging fabric of her torn shirt across her body, covering her glorious breasts. “How did you know that I had ripped the letters?”

  His expression evidently displayed the guilt he felt, for Bridget did not wait for a response. “You were spying on me from your cabin in the woods, weren’t you? I saw the view you had of my bedchamber.”

  He did not know how to respond to her question. When she had torn the letters he had been in her bedchamber with her, not in his own quarters. He had, however, done a vast amount of spying from his cabin.

  “What else did you see?” she demanded. “Did you observe me while I dressed?” Her eyebrows arched high. “While I bathed?”

  Charles felt mortifying heat rise from his chest to the roots of his hair. Good God, it was a clear tell.

  Panic set his heart to pumping erratically, and his palms to sweating profusely. Would Bridget berate him for being a rogue and a reprobate? Would she cut ties with him, entirely? His gut twisted at the thought. It was not to be borne!

  She slowly slid one bare leg over his hip and rose to sit astride him. “Did you enjoy what you saw, Charles?”

  His eyes widened. What had happened to the demure Bridget that he once knew? And where did this take-control, sword-fighting, Amazonian seductress come from? It seemed he was to be continuously surprised by her.