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

by Cheri Champagne

  Bridget raised her fist once more and rapped the door before her.

  She found the address in Charles’ note, albeit with difficulty. Her success, however, might be irrelevant, as Mr. Stevens appeared to not be within.

  Pulling her coat closer to her body, she suppressed a shiver. She knew that Cheapside was perfectly pleasant during the market, as she had been there to purchase swords from the local blacksmiths, but never had she been there during the night… alone…

  “Bugger it all.” Bridget swung her arm and thumped mightily on the roughened wood of the door.

  At that moment, she heard a muffled shout within, “I am coming, damn you!”

  She squelched her guilt at having woken Mr. Stevens. Once he heard why she had disturbed him, however, he would understand the urgency.

  The snick of the lock sounded before the door swung inwards to reveal a dishevelled Mr. Stevens in a robe, his brown hair sticking about, and his golden eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. “What the devil—oh. Pardon me, Lady Bridget.” He sketched an awkward bow as his eyes scanned the street beyond Bridget. “What brings you to my humble abode at this hour? Is everything all right?”

  Bridget glanced past him to his modest apartments. The entry was cramped and contained no furniture. There were two doorways beyond, and a narrow staircase that lead to the second story.

  “I am afraid that everything is not all right, Mr. Stevens. May I please come in?”

  “Of course. Please.” He stepped aside to allow her to pass, and with one more glance at the street beyond, he shut the door.

  The interior of his home was dark, and smelled of coffee and sandalwood.

  “Can I take your… er…coat?”

  She shook her head brusquely. “I have not the time for pleasant—”

  His loud, barked laugh interrupted her. “Good Lord, Lady Bridget! What are you wearing?” His gaze travelled to the sword hanging at her waist, her trousers and half boots, then back over her black coat, waistcoat, shirt, and matching black cravat. “Where did you find your attire? You have even—”

  “I apologize for interrupting your examination of my wardrobe, sir, but if you must know, I was on assignment. With Charles.”

  Mr. Stevens’ spine straightened and his eyes lost their sleepiness. “Where is he? What happened?”

  “Would you like to hear the entire tale or just his current location?”

  “Both, if you please. Start with his current location, then tell me how he came to be there.”

  “Charles is currently with Gilley and three of his men on his way to “the Brack.’”

  Mr. Stevens’ normally olive skin turned ashen. “Gilley? The Brack? Bloody hell, Lady Bridget!” He turned on his heel and ran up the old staircase.

  “Mr. Stevens! Where are you going?”

  “Follow me!” he called over his shoulder.

  Bridget hurried up the staircase after him, following him down the hall and into what appeared to be his bedchamber. “Mr. Stevens, what are you doing?”

  “Please, call me Bram.” He pulled the tie of his robe and dropped it from his shoulders, exposing his striking nude form.

  Bridget hastily turned her back to him, then heaved a sigh. “A little warning would have been appreciated, Mr. Stevens.”

  “Bram, please. And I apologize, but we must leave, and I cannot possibly go in my robe.”

  “Understood. If I am to call you Bram, then I give you leave to address me by my given name.”

  The rustling of fabric could be heard behind her. “Do go on, Bridget. What happened with Charles and Gilley?”

  Bridget’s stomach knotted as she recalled the events of the evening. “After our escape from the castle…” Bridget explained their journey to the cabin, their attack from the two scoundrels, Bridget’s suggestion that they attempt to trap The Boss on their own, and Charles’ subsequent challenge to a swordfight.

  At that moment Mr. Stevens let out a laugh. “And I suppose he was rather shocked when you defeated him?” He rounded her, so she faced him as he tied his cravat. He wore a black suit of clothes much the same as the one she had donned.

  “Quite so. He nearly reneged on his bargain, but I successfully changed his mind…” she went on to explain their three weeks of scheming and their ultimate plan to trap the traitor in the Home Office and use him to find The Boss. She went on to describe the events following their return to London; Charles’ meeting in Gilley’s office, and their arranged rendezvous at the Northern end of Holland Park. “It was at that moment I realized that this was the same Gilley that works in the Home Office. That it was he that was the traitor. I knew Charles was in trouble, but he signalled for me to remain hidden. I had no choice but to comply. Gilley went on to threaten Charles with charges of treason; he claimed that Charles made a convenient scapegoat.”

  “Good God!” He stilled as he finished tying his cravat.

  “I had thought the very same thing. Gilley then abused poor Charles and then shot him.”

  “Shot him!”

  “I am afraid so. He was alive the last time I saw him, but he was slumped over a horse and looked ill, indeed. Gilley claimed to be taking him to ‘the Brack,’ which Charles found alarming.”

  Bram tugged at his sleeves, making final adjustments.

  “I should say so. The Brack is a horrifying chamber designed to frighten traitors into revealing information. It has been a point of controversy within the Home office, but as Gilley created it, I am unsurprised that he would use it to torture Charles.”

  Bridget’s hands rose to cover her gasp. “Torture! But he is already injured, how much more is he capable of enduring?”

  “Precisely.” Mr. Stevens—Bram—put a hand on her elbow and led her out of the room. “We must retrieve Jones and begin our journey to the Brack.”

  “Mr. Jones?” Bridget hurried along down the hallway beside Bram.

  “Yes. He returned to Hertfordshire both in wait for Hydra, and to keep Henry within his sights. It is not along our route to Wendover, but it is a necessary stop. Despite Jones’ current position as Charles’ valet, he is also a spy, a fierce warrior, and a deadly marksman with a bow and arrow. He would be essential to our success in saving Hydra.”

  “Very well.”

  They reached the small foyer and stopped for Bram to put on a black greatcoat and to arm himself.

  “Thank you for your aid,” Bridget spoke into the silence. “I realize that I had awoken you, and for that I apologize. But you cannot know how much your help in this rescue means to me.”

  He grinned at her, but his customary humour was absent from his golden eyes. “I wouldn’t consider doing otherwise, Bridget.” He flipped up his coat collar. “Come.”

  Bram opened the front door, stepping aside to allow Bridget to exit ahead of him. A chill ran down her spine as a bracing wind swept past them.

  “We will discuss our plans further on the way to Hertfordshire.” Bram offered his arm as the two of them descended the stairs. “I must fetch my mount. Follow me?”

  Bridget nodded as they went their own ways. Bram ran towards the communal stables at the end of the dark and grimy narrow street, while Bridget mounted her mare and followed him. Before tonight she had never ridden astride, but she found it was rather refreshing and a sight easier than sidesaddle. Besides which, it reminded her of the rather pleasurable evening she had had with Charles…

  Bridget mentally shook herself. Now was not the time for fantastical musings. She and her mare trotted along, following Bram as he ran the last stretch to the stables.

  “I will be but a moment,” he assured her.

  It was fortuitous that they were going to Hertfordshire. It would give Bridget an excellent opportunity to speak with Lane while she waited for Jones to rouse and put himself together. She had vowed to unburden herself to Lane should she ever decide to speak about her past, and as perilous as Bridget’s current circumstance was, now might be the best time.

  “Are you ready
to depart?” Bram appeared at her side atop a handsome stallion.

  “I am.”

  “Excellent.” With a barely perceptible nudge to his stallion’s ribs, Bram was off down the darkened drive through Cheapside.

  Bridget followed his lead and tore through the streets after Bram.

  * * *

  The moment they rounded a corner, Charles would set his plan into action. He was not as injured as he allowed his foes to believe. He was wounded, to be sure, in a significant amount of pain, and would likely require several weeks of recovery time, but he was still capable of holding himself upright on a horse. If he was to survive, he must find a way to convince Gilley and his thugs to stop for the rest of the night and continue on the morrow.

  His pride could withstand the performance he was about to perpetrate. Charles would do anything, sacrifice any amount of pride, so long as he saw Gilley, his men, and The Boss penalized in the end, and he, Bridget, and their family were left safely alone.

  The rain stopped not long ago, and Charles’ was slowly drying, but the chill had settled in his bones and his chattering had continued. Every step of the horse was more jarring than the last.

  A street corner neared and Charles readied himself; his arms and legs lay deceptively limp on either side of his horse, though his muscles tensed. Would Gilley and his men make the turn?

  Damn, but this was a fool idea. But it was the only one to hand. He needed to give Bridget more time to reach Stevens and for them to find and free him, deadly though his idea might be.

  The corner was upon them. The men ahead of him made the turn. This is the time. Three…two…one…now!

  Charles allowed the force of the turn to drop him from the side of the horse, willing his body to go limp as he feigned unconsciousness. A shocking ripple of agony resonated through him as he hit the ground, but he endured his injuries in silence. It would not do to have his plans foiled by his own inability to follow it through.

  He hid a flinch as the other riders neared. He sent a quick prayer of thanks for having escaped the horse’s hooves upon landing.

  “Damn it. I had the feeling that this would happen,” Gilley’s voice sneered above him. “Pick him up and put him back on the horse. We will stop at the next inn for the rest of the night.”

  Charles resisted a sigh of relief at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be in the Brack come daybreak. He had bought himself some time.

  Chapter 33

  A sense of hope filled Bridget when she and Bram reached the outskirts of Hertfordshire. The trees were bare, their withering, browning leaves scattered along the path that Bridget and Bram currently traversed. Even in the darkness of night the bright reds and yellows were inviting. From the height of the full, late November moon, Bridget guessed it to be well past one in the morning. The air was frigid, its cold sting abraded her cheeks and the low, moist fog seeped through her trouser legs, sending chills through her.

  They were but minutes away from Mason Hall and the bordering Bradley estate. She would soon speak with Lane, join forces with Jones, and continue on to find Gilley and save Charles.

  “Out of all of the discussed scenarios, I believe that our best course of action would be to find evidence that we could use to implicate Gilley in the scheme to aid Bonaparte,” Bram, who ran his horse beside Bridget’s along the lane, yelled to her above the thundering of their horses’ hooves. “What say you?”

  Bridget was continuously amazed that he regarded her opinion worthy of hearing. She had thought that Charles and Lane were the only men in England to do so.

  “What of Charles’ safety?” she asked. “What of freeing him from Gilley’s clutches?”

  “That is important, as well. We must find a way to do both.”

  “But how do we free Charles without harming Gilley? If we are to have him charged with treason, how will we accomplish that if he is dead or badly injured?”

  “Excellent question. But if my intuition has served me correctly, Gilley will entrust our demise to his hired men and flee on his own.”

  Bridget nodded, guiding her horse around a turn. “It is settled, and I am satisfied with our plan.”

  “I will collect Jones and rendezvous with you within half an hour.” Bram briefly caught her gaze. “We will wait in the vegetable gardens of Mason Hall.”

  Bridget waved and turned down the drive of her familial home.

  Despite the circumstances of her return, her home was a welcoming sight, indeed.

  Bridget rode her horse to the front steps and leapt to the ground.

  Half of an hour would pass quickly, particularly with her necessary preparations before she departed again.

  Reaching up, Bridget grasped the brass knocker and thumped it against the door. She knew that it would be locked at this hour, so she stood back and waited. Several moments passed and she knocked again.

  The bolt released before the door opened slightly, revealing half of Lane’s incensed face.

  “Have you any idea what time—Bridget!” The door opened fully and Lane pulled her bodily into his embrace. “We have been so worried about you!” He pulled back and held her at arm’s length. “Come, come!”

  “I have missed you, as well, big brother. I will warn you, however, that my time with you is limited, but…” She stepped over the threshold and Lane closed the door behind her. “I could not resist the temptation to come and speak with you.”

  “I am pleased that you did. Come, let us have a seat in the family room.”

  Bridget followed him into the comfortable room and sat beside him on the settee.

  “I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour.”

  “It is quite all right. I had just carried Anna to bed; she fell asleep while reading in the library again. I had heard that you were shot, are you well?” His gaze travelled over her. “And what in heaven’s name are you wearing?”

  “I am glad that I did not wake you. Yes, I am well. It was barely a scrape, and I scarcely feel it.” She slid closer to him on the settee and reached for his hand. “Before I begin, I should like to inquire after our family.”

  Clearly unhappy with having his inquiry put off, Lane rushed through his own answer. “Everyone is in excellent health. Anna is nearly eight months along in her pregnancy, but beginning to tire of her state, Emaline has acquired three new animals and is blissfully happy, Katherine continues to create gowns, but has begun to create a startling amount of infant attire, and Mama is overjoyed in general.”

  Oh, how Bridget missed her dear family. “That pleases me greatly.” She gently cleared her throat. “What I wish to tell you, brother, is of the utmost secrecy.”

  Lane appeared alert and wary.

  “I know that Charles informed you of his work with the Home Office, and the threat that The Boss made with regards to my safety.”

  He slowly nodded. “I am aware.”

  Bridget’s stomach twisted anxiously as she began her tale. Lane would not like what she had to say, but she had made a promise to him, and she would keep it, before it was too late for her to do so.

  “Several months ago, I made you a promise. I vowed that should I ever wish to confide in someone, you would be the first to know. Well, I am here now to confide in you. You will not like what you hear, but considering your own circumstance, I hope you will be understanding.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “You have asked countless times what it was that happened between Charles and I before—and after—his time at war. Well…” she could not help the blush that stole over her cheeks, “the night before he left for war, I crept out of the house and seduced Charles with the hopes that I could convince him to remain at home.”

  Lane stood, outrage plain on his features. “What?” he roared.

  Bridget reached for his hand and pulled, silently requesting that he return to his seat beside her. She felt great relief when he complied.

  “As I said, Lane, I have limited time, and I have much to tell you.”

  The muscles in his j
aw tensed, but he managed to mumble, “Very well.”

  “After what I…forfeited with the knowledge that Charles would marry me upon his return, it is evident why his neglect upon returning cut me so deeply. I was ruined, and had no hope of marrying. Thus the reasoning behind my decision to become a governess.

  “Now, as to the events leading up to my arriving here…” For the second time that evening, Bridget explained—as quickly as possible—the events leading up to her partnering with Bram Stevens in their search for Charles.

  Lane sat stoically throughout her tale, and though his complexion paled, he remained silent. Bridget did not know what to expect upon its completion.

  Her stomach fluttered nervously as she waited for his reply.

  After a moment, he spoke, “I am glad that you felt that you could be honest with me, Bridget. Before I address your current state, however, there is something I feel that I should tell you.” The awful nervousness continued to eat at her stomach as Lane spoke. “When Charles informed me of his position with the Home Office, he confessed that he would likely never take a wife. It pains me to say that he…he will never marry you, Bridget.”

  Bridget knew that what Lane said was true. “I am aware of his feelings on the matter. We have already discussed his fear for my safety. I have come to accept his decision. Granted, it was difficult for me to acknowledge, but I now understand that marriage with Charles is not in my future. I will satisfy myself with spending time in his company.”

  A thoughtful light entered Lane’s eyes as he clearly grasped her meaning. “I see,” he cleared his throat. “Well, as you are my beloved sister, I am afraid that I will never approve of your…dealings with Major Bradley. You are of an age now, however, where it is far beyond me to forbid you from spending your time with him.”

  Bridget threw her arms around Lane’s shoulders and pulled him into her familial embrace. “Thank you, Lane. I had feared your response since my decision to disclose my dealings with Charles to you.”

  He squeezed her tight, then released her. “As for your plan to rescue Charles from his superior, I hardly need air my disapproval of your continuing in this venture. It is dangerous, Bridget, and hardly the place for a lady.” His gaze travelled down to her attire, and the sword hanging at her hip. “Not that you currently resemble a ‘lady.’ I will ask you again, what in God’s name are you wearing?”