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

by Cheri Champagne

  “Poor man.” Bridget bit into one crumbling teacake.

  “Indeed. Nonetheless, Gilley claimed that Whitby would meet with the man we invented this evening.”

  Bridget set her plate of half-eaten fare aside and dusted the tips of her fingers. “Shall we begin our preparations?”

  “If you wish, my sweet. Why do you not venture abovestairs and begin? I must have a word with several members of my staff.”

  Bridget did not particularly like the sound of that. Was there something that Charles wasn’t telling her? Surely he would have mentioned it, if there was?

  “Very well.” She stood with a smile and crossed the room to the door, but paused with her hand on the latch. Turning, Bridget glanced at Charles’ tense shoulders and stiff back, a question hovering on her lips.

  No. He would most definitely tell her if something untoward had occurred. With that, she pressed the latch and strode from the room.

  * * *

  Charles raked both hands through his hair in an agitated gesture. Lord but he wished he could simply forget this nonsense and spend the next fortnight ensconced in his bedchamber with Bridget. Naked. Their only contact with the outside world the occasional tray of tea or platters of food left outside his door.

  For the moment, however, he must live in reality. And his intuition told him that something very ill, indeed, was happening within the Home Office. Gilley must be aware of the disappearances and coincidences, despite his unwavering denial.

  It was for that reason that Charles felt that this discussion with several members of his staff was necessary. If anyone, friend or foe, requested entry, they must be denied until Charles had personally approved it.

  His staff must also be warned. If the circumstance should arise that Bridget was forced to return on her own this evening, the men and women in his household must know what course of action to take.

  Chapter 31

  Bridget retrieved her new black trousers from her travelling trunk. After coming to an agreement with regards to attire for the purposes of their plan, Charles agreed to give Bridget an old suit of clothes that had been stored in a chest within the cabin, which she altered to fit her body.

  She stripped, until she wore nothing but her stockings and corset. The corset had been the subject of a heated internal debate for Bridget; ultimately she’d concluded that she required the additional layer of protection from the steel of a potential blade. While she would prefer the security of her plastron, it was far too light in colour for their excursion this evening. If she intended to remain out of sight, she had better drape herself in the black material that they had agreed upon.

  Charles had removed the stitches in her arm two weeks past, as they had begun to itch as her wound healed. She no longer experienced any pain from her arm, and miraculously, she had minimal scarring. Charles was indeed proficient at doctoring.

  Bridget stepped into the snug trousers, then pulled the black shirt from her trunk and slipped it over her head, tucking it into the waist. Men’s attire was vastly less complicated than that of a woman’s. She retrieved her black half boots and slipped them on her feet.

  The evenly-paced tread of a male gait coming down the hall drew her attention. Charles. Bridget hastened to tighten her boots before straightening.

  Moments later a knock sounded at her door and she called for him to enter.

  Charles strode in and stopped short with his mouth agape.

  Several beats passed and Bridget clucked her tongue. “For heaven’s sake, Charles, if you are going to enter, please close the door behind you.”

  He reached behind himself and shut the door without taking his gaze from Bridget’s body. A familiar, heated excitement began to bubble through her, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside.

  “We do not have time to make love, Charles, despite what you wish.”

  His hands rose to the buttons of his waistcoat. “I beg to differ, love.”

  A shiver ran down Bridget’s spine. She knew that his words were meaningless endearments, but her foolish body adored hearing them.

  “I had thought you wished to prepare for this evening.”

  “Oh, I fully intend to prepare for this evening.” He slipped his waistcoat off and tossed it aside, his shirt swiftly following.

  Bridget’s heart began to pound against her ribs as Charles crossed the room like a cat hunting its prey. He reached around her waist and firmly grasped her buttocks, pulling her against him.

  “Allow me to make love to you, Bridget.” He pressed his lips to the side of her neck and gently placed a kiss there. “Please, my darling. I need you.”

  Something in his voice told her that he was entirely serious. Bridget hadn’t the faintest idea what it was that Charles felt was so important about them being together before they prepared for this evening, but Bridget was inclined to relent. Besides which, she had the suspicion that even had she tried to refuse, she would not be capable of uttering the words; her body had already melted.

  She sighed. “I need you, as well.” Running her fingers though his wavy blonde locks, she allowed her desire to take over.

  * * *

  Charles pulled the lapels of his greatcoat closer together in an attempt to ward off the cold as he crouched beside Bridget on the forest floor.

  His breath puffed white against the darkness around them as he whispered to Bridget, “I will be just across the clearing, sweetheart. Are you certain you will be well here on your own?”

  She scoffed. “I have my sword at my side and a dagger hidden in my coat pocket. I am confident in my ability to keep my wits about me.”

  “You are indeed a magnificent woman, Bridget. How did I ever believe myself capable of distancing myself from you?”

  He pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips, then rose from his crouch to sprint across the clearing and into the copse of trees beyond. Should the French spy worry that Charles had company, he would not wish for Bridget to be hidden in the area from which he would emerge.

  He found a comfortable place, hidden among the trees, and crouched low to the ground to watch the path. He had settled Bridget in a similar vantage point on her side of the clearing.

  Each minute that passed felt as though it were an hour.

  All his searching in the months since Annabel and Lane’s abduction, and the past several weeks of planning with Bridget, all culminated in this moment. Today Charles would meet the mole within the Home Office, and would apprehend him.

  Charles could feel the anticipation and excitement flowing through his veins. This was the beginning of the end for The Boss. Soon his reign of tyranny would be concluded and one branch of the tree that was Bonaparte’s reach would be extinguished.

  The distant rumbling of horses’ hooves could be heard and Charles hunkered lower. By the amount of hoof beats, it was clear that more than one rider approached. Charles’ curiosity was piqued.

  Mere moments passed before he saw four riders coming up the path with an additional mount following behind.

  Dread spread rapidly through Charles’ chest as the riders neared and he could identify their faces. Bloody, bloody hell. This was much worse than he had feared.

  His gaze flicked to where Bridget hid in the bushes. She did not know the riders, nor the significance of their arrival. It was, therefore, his responsibility to warn Bridget not to alert them to her presence.

  The four men leapt from their mounts and withdrew their weapons.

  “Do you suppose we were fooled?” one man said to their leader.

  “No,” their leader responded, “I believe he is here and is aware of our arrival. Do come out, fool, and have a word with us,” he called.

  Charles was certain that so long as Bridget remained out of sight that she would be safe. He was not certain of his own safety, however. This turn of events could very likely end in his demise.

  In fact, he was sure of it.

  He simply hoped that they removed him from the area before murdering him, for he did n
ot wish Bridget to witness it. He very much wished that he had told Bridget that he loved her before embarking on this fool’s errand.

  Charles rose from his crouched position and walked into the clearing. He took a small amount of satisfaction in the shock that was clearly displayed on each man’s face.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t Hydra making an attempt to remove all of Bonaparte’s spies from the Home Office,” the bastard traitor sneered. “I am afraid you are doomed to fail. I am the mole within the Home Office, and unfortunately for you, you will not survive to repeat that information.”

  Before any more was said and Bridget leapt to his defence, Charles reached up, feigning an itch, and rubbed the lobe of his ear between his forefinger and thumb.

  * * *

  From her position in the trees, Bridget saw Charles’ gesture. Good gracious, this was not good. He had just displayed the “worst case scenario—do not act under any circumstances” signal.

  The large man laughed deeply, his stomach shaking.

  A sickening helplessness settled in Bridget’s heart. She had promised Charles that she would abide by his rules, and if he felt that it was too dangerous for her to act, then she would comply. But she would not be pleased with it.

  Charles’ deep voice penetrated the silence, “I appreciate your warning, Gilley.”

  Gilley! Was Gilley not Charles’ superior in the Home Office? Oh good heavens, no!

  If Gilley was the spy, then this went much deeper than Charles had initially assumed. And he was in far worse trouble than either of them had anticipated.

  Gilley adjusted his waistcoat around his remarkable girth. “Let us dispense with the pleasantries, Hydra.” He turned to the three large men accompanying him. “Divest Hydra of his weapons.”

  Two men stepped forward and found Charles’ two pistols tucked in his trousers, the knife in his coat pocket, and the dagger in his boot.

  “Impressive collection, Charles. My personal arsenal thanks you for the addition.” Gilley motioned to his men. “Check the trees. He likely did not come alone.”

  The three men disappeared into the trees across the clearing. Ballocks! Her insides flipped over. Would they find her? Grateful for her excellent hearing, Bridget quietly withdrew to a safer distance. She peered through the trees, still able to see Charles and Gilley, and listened carefully.

  “I assure you,” Charles stated calmly, “I came alone. It would appear that I am more the fool for it.”

  Gilley released a wickedly evil cackle before butting Charles across the head with the handle of his pistol, sending Charles to the ground.

  Bridget bit the inside of her lips to keep from crying out.

  “Of course you are a fool!” Gilley hissed. “You are a fool for putting your nose where it does not belong.” He stepped close and kicked Charles in the ribs, eliciting a grunt of pain.

  Bridget felt tears sting her eyelids, but was determined to remain strong. Charles needed her to garner this information, and she could hardly identify these men if she could not see, now could she?

  “Your being here does present me with an interesting new option, however.”

  Charles held an arm across his ribs as he attempted to sit up. “What…what option would that be?”

  “You are the perfect scapegoat, Hydra. You work within the Home Office, you have been in contact with the same members of society as I, and it has been members of your family that have been targeted. Seems convenient, no?”

  “What are you implying, Gilley? That you could convince society that it was I who hired men to kidnap my own sister and then come after Lady Bridget?”

  “Of course you would do so! What better way to divert attention away from yourself than to target your own family?”

  The three men returned from the trees. “Nobody there, sir.”

  Gilley let out a hearty laugh, sending his jowls to quivering and his belly to bouncing. “You really are a fool, Hydra. To come to this rendezvous alone and unprotected? Tsk, tsk! I had expected more from you.”

  Charles remained seated on the ground of the clearing. “Well, you have me now, Gilley. What do you plan to do with me?”

  Bridget silently thanked Charles for encouraging Gilley to talk. Any information that he revealed could come to benefit them.

  “Come now, Charles. A man must have his secrets.” He sneered, “Though as the French spy in the Home Office, I believe you can guess at your fate. Selling tactical and weapons information, murdering countless intelligence agents, and threatening your superior’s life! Dear me, however shall I manage to defend myself?”

  This time her tears did fall. How could this be happening? Charles hung for treason? Impossible!

  Charles showed no sign of distress; Bridget marvelled at the serenity of his countenance. “And where do you plan to keep me while you prepare my trial? A dungeon, perhaps? The Home Office?”

  “The Brack.”

  Charles paled, his face draining of any lively colour.

  Whatever “the Brack” was, the prospect of being held captive there alarmed him. All the more reason for Bridget to worry.

  Before Charles could respond, Gilley pointed his pistol at Charles and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the trees, causing Bridget to jump and more tears to fall to her cheeks. The five horses whinnied and stomped their feet.

  Charles! No! She pressed her hands tighter to her lips and prayed that Charles was still living.

  His coarse shout and subsequent string of curses sent a bittersweet relief through Bridget. She did not wish Charles to be in his present circumstance, but she much preferred that he was alive.

  “What in the…hell was…that…for?”

  “Good Lord, Hydra, did you think I would allow you to attack me without defending myself?” Gilley motioned to his men. “Pick him up and put him on the horse. I would like to be at the Brack by dawn.”

  The three large men lifted a groaning Charles and tossed him bodily on the horse’s back, then mounted their own horses. Within moments, they were galloping down the path out of the forest.

  Bridget stood and began pacing. Damn, damn, damn!

  She swiped angrily at the tears staining her cheeks. She would have time enough for tears later. For the moment she must focus on saving Charles from the dreaded fate that Gilley had described.

  But how?

  The only two people she was absolutely certain she could trust were Mr. Stevens and Charles’ valet, Jones. Jones was likely still in Hertfordshire with Henry, but where could she find Mr. Stevens? The Castle would have been emptied of men shortly after they left, so he could not possibly be there. Could he be in town? If he must report to the Home Office, it made sense that he would be at a building close by.

  She turned on her heel and began a quick pace back to where she and Charles had tethered their horses. If she were to find Mr. Stevens, the first step would be to return to Charles’ town house. Perhaps Charles had Mr. Stevens’ address written somewhere in his study.

  Returning to the horses, Bridget untied the horses’ reins and mounted her mare. With a click of her tongue and a light squeeze of her knees, they were off, Riot’s reins clutched in one hand.

  She rode steadily east, cutting through Hyde Park to reach Mayfair. Despite the dangers of galloping through town at night, Bridget pushed her mare faster.

  After what felt an eternity, Bridget pulled her mount to a halt before the front steps of the town house. She leapt swiftly from the saddle and took the steps two at a time, then pushed the handle and burst through the door.

  Nearly colliding with the footman, Hawkins, Bridget froze mid-step, with arms held aloft.

  Hawkins stomped his feet together and bowed. “My apologies, Lady Bridget, for not opening the door for your arrival.”

  Bridget relaxed her stance, exceedingly aware that she wore a black suit of men’s clothes and her plaited hair was falling out of its tie. “It is I who should apologize, Hawkins. I did not intend to startle you. Were y
ou preparing to retire for the evening?”

  He inclined his head at her apology. “Not precisely. I was given an express instruction from Major Bradley to remain vigilant until your return from your task.”

  “I see. And did the Major instruct you on what to do should he not return?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” Bridget hid her shock as John reached into his coat pocket and removed a small piece of vellum. “Major Bradley informed me that should you return home without him, I must give you this.” He extended his hand and Bridget accepted the note. “I wish you luck, Lady Bridget. Please bring him home.” He sketched a bow, turned on his heel, and quit the foyer.

  Bridget unfolded the note. Oh, thank heavens! Charles had not discussed with her the possibility of his not returning this evening, but he had clearly thought it through.

  On the vellum, in Charles’ handwriting, was the name Mr. Bramwell Stevens, accompanied by an address in Cheapside. Bridget had never travelled alone through Cheapside, but under the circumstances, she was certain she could find Mr. Stevens’ residence.

  She slipped the note in her waistcoat pocket and strode out the door. There was no sense in wasting another moment; she would enlist Mr. Stevens’ help immediately, regardless of whether or not he was already to bed.

  Chapter 32

  Another shiver wracked his body. Since the icy rain had begun, Charles had been unable to remain warm. His greatcoat, coat, and waistcoat had been soaked through for at least an hour, and his teeth chattered persistently.

  Charles grimaced as the horse shifted beneath him, bumping his injured leg. He had long since slumped against his mount, wrapping his arms around its muscled neck.

  He hoped Bridget had returned to his town house and received Stevens’ address. He had no desire to be tortured in the Brack. The thought alone sent dread to his very core.

  * * *