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

by Cheri Champagne

  “Gilley’s and Helen’s conveyances are out front, and our horses are in the trees bordering the mill grounds.” Jones crouched before Helen’s prostrate form and examined her.

  “Does she live?” Bridget asked as she clasped Charles’ limp hand.

  Bram pressed his index and middle fingers to the side of Helen’s neck.

  “Yes. I feel a weak heartbeat.”

  “We should bring her with us and have the doctor tend to her as well.”

  Bram craned his neck to look up at her. “Are you certain you do not wish to leave her here?”

  “Oh, no. Despite what she has done to us, she deserves a fair trial. If the court should decide that she deserves to hang or spend her life in Newgate, then I will accept that. But I am not certain that I could personally be responsible for her death.”

  Bram’s eyes crinkled at the corners, giving his golden eyes a pleasant glow of warmth. “That is why I admire you so, Bridget.”

  She did not know how to respond to his comment, so she chose to ignore it.

  Jones reached his arms beneath Helen and lifted her, leaving a puddle of red where she had been lying.

  Bridget suppressed a shiver.

  “What shall we do with Gilley?” She turned to gesture toward him, but he was not there. “Oh no!” Her gaze darted around the room but he was nowhere to be seen. “How could he slip past us?”

  Jones grumbled a curse beneath his breath.

  “He must have left through the back door while we were occupied,” Bram said, carefully shifting his grip on Charles. “It simply means that we will have to follow through with our original scheme, Bridget. But not before we return Charles home.”

  “Very well.” Bridget would do what she must to ensure that Charles was not imprisoned, tried, and hung for treason, no matter what she might feel.

  As the five of them reached the large metal door, Bridget paused. “What of Gilley’s three men and Helen’s lover?”

  Jones grinned. “We do not need to worry about them.” He led the way through the door and Bridget followed, Bram walking behind her.

  As they rounded the corner, Bridget spied the hired thugs, and Helen’s lover, slumped against the wall, each with arrows through their chest. Her hands flew to her lips and she focused her stare straight ahead. It was then that she spied the bow and quiver attached to Jones’ back. “Some warning to avert my gaze would have been appreciated.”

  Jones laughed lightly. “After what you did in that room back there I would have thought that you could handle the sight.”

  Bridget shook her head and sighed. She supposed he was correct; she had stabbed a woman, after all.

  They exited through the front doors of the mill into the dark, snow-scented air. Bridget could feel her cheeks and nose grow pink with the cold. They stopped short. Only one hack awaited them, where there should be two.

  “Gilley, the coward,” Jones cursed. “He must have stolen the other hack. Damn.”

  “Will that be an issue?”

  “Not at all.” It was Bram’s turn to display his customary grin. “We have plenty of experience in such matters.” He looked at Jones. “Do we not, Jones?”

  “Of course. My lady, you have naught to fear.” Their assurances did not lessen her anxiety, however.

  Jones contorted his lips and whistled loud enough to put a ringing in Bridget’s ears.

  “What in heaven’s name?”

  “Horses,” Jones grunted.

  Bridget turned to see both Jones and Bram’s mounts galloping toward them from the copse of trees.

  Jones carefully placed Charles on the forward-facing seat of the equipage, and Bram put Helen on the rear-facing seat. Bridget took every precaution to avoid looking in Helen’s direction.

  Her stomach fluttered with fear as she sat gingerly next to Charles. She wrapped her arm around him and allowed his head to fall to her shoulder.

  Bramwell Stevens entered after her and sat beside Helen, taking care not to bump her as he did. The door closed behind him, and shortly after, the front of the hack lowered with Jones’ weight.

  With the snap of the reigns they were off. Bridget was amazed at the pace that Jones had set. Any other driver would have refused to travel at such a speed, but Jones evidently planned to arrive at the Bradley estate as quickly as possible, no matter the darkened, early morning hour. And Bridget was thankful for it.

  “He was correct, you know.” Bram spoke softly from his seat across from her.

  “Who was correct?”

  “Charles. You are, indeed, a remarkable woman. He is a very fortunate man to have secured your affections.” His gaze dropped to his boots. “Hell, I’m half in love with you, myself.”

  Bridget was stunned silent for a moment at the solemn glimmer in his golden eyes. “Thank you, Bram. From you, I take that as a high compliment.”

  “You should.” He smirked. “I do not admire many people, but you most definitely have earned your place among the few that I do. I dearly wish that I could have witnessed your actions in that room for myself. I am sure you were extraordinary.”

  Bridget might have laughed, if not for the sheer terror for Charles’ safety that squeezed like a vice in her chest. “Hardly. I am sure I appeared clumsy as I flopped about with a chair attached to my ankle.”

  Bram smiled in response, then ran a hand through his brown hair. “I am afraid that I must ask you to apprise me of what occurred since we last spoke. And why in God’s name was your lady’s maid part of all this?”

  Over the next several minutes Bridget gave Bram the details of what she could remember of the morning, her head aching and her arm tingling from her burn.

  As she concluded her speech, Bram pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am having difficulty accepting that this woman,” he pointed to Helen, “is The Boss.”

  “As did I.”

  Bram nodded. “And Gilley, the slimy bastard—” he sat straighter, “Oh. Pardon me, Bridget. I should not curse in your presence.”

  Bridget waved a hand through the air. “Do not stand on ceremony with me, Bram. You may curse all you like in my company.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I noticed that neither you or Jones appeared to be shocked upon seeing him when you entered the room.”

  “We saw him when he drove up in the hack with Charles. And I can assure you, we were shocked at that moment. How could we not have noticed the signs?”

  Bridget clucked her tongue. “There is no sense in putting energy into regret. We must look to the future, and focus on what we must do to keep Charles from the gaol and the hangman’s noose.”

  “You are correct, of course. We will deposit Charles into the care of his parents, staff, and the good Doctor Claridge, and Helen will be given a guest bedchamber with guards as she is tended.”

  “Guards? Do we have time to wait for them to be retrieved?”

  Bram shook his head slightly. “There are several of our fellows still in residence at Mason Hall.” At her frown of confusion, he continued. “He worried over the safety of his sister.” Bridget’s frown cleared. “Once Charles and Helen have been tended, you, Jones, and I will continue on with our plan.” His gaze took in her appearance. “Although, perhaps we should have the doctor examine your injuries as well before we leave.”

  “I am perfectly fine,” she hurried to assure him. “I shall simply wash my face and be on my way. If we move quickly, I will have more time to spend at Charles’ bedside as he recovers.” It was the truth, she was well, all things considered. Her head ached from being knocked unconscious, but above all she felt fear for Charles.

  “Very well. I know well enough not to argue with you.” Bram turned to look out the window through the grey midday light.

  “I do lament the loss of my dagger, however. I became rather fond of it.” Bridget braced herself and Charles as the carriage rounded a turn.

  Bram grinned. “Have a look beneath your seat. There ought to be a small wooden box with the
odd bit of weaponry. I believe there to be a dagger among them, to which you are welcome.”

  She gingerly released Charles and bent to retrieve the box from beneath her seat. “Goodness, it’s heavy,” she murmured, opening the lid. Inside was an array of blades, and a pistol. She found a dagger that was slightly larger than the one she had lost in Gilley’s back, and removed it.

  “Very nice choice.” Bram notched his head toward the small weapon.

  Bridget agreed. She replaced the box beneath her seat.

  The equipage turned and Bram glanced out the window. “Ah, we are just arriving.”

  An abrupt, screeching battle cry tore through the close air in the hack.

  Bridget jumped as Helen sprang to life.

  Helen reached across the hack and tugged the dagger from Bridget’s grip. With another shriek, she stabbed it through Bram’s shoulder as he was reaching toward her.

  Bram threw his head back with a roar of his own. He pulled the blade from his shoulder and threw it to the floor. Countless colourful curses, in several languages, flowed from his lips.

  Having spent what little energy she had left, Helen slumped in her seat and closed her eyes. Bridget averted her eyes from the copious amount of blood seeping from Helen’s stomach and soaking her grey servant’s dress.

  “The damned woman!” Bram pressed his hand to his wound to slow the bleeding.

  The hack slowed to a halt before the Bradley household. Charles groaned as the hack jostled when Jones leapt from the perch.

  Bridget’s stomach flipped over and she turned to watch his face for any sign of his awakening. “Charles? Charles can you hear me?”

  Jones swung the door open and poked his head into the hack, bringing with him a cold gust of air. “What the devil happened?”

  “I will explain when we are inside.” Bram grumbled, stepping down from the hack, the gravel crunching beneath his heavy boots.

  Bridget followed on his heels, allowing Jones the room to lift Charles in his arms.

  The front door to the Bradley household opened to reveal Tim.

  “Lady Bridget! To what do we owe this late-night pleas—oh. Oh my.” The butler’s gaze had travelled to Charles, unconscious in Jones’ arms.

  “Please have the doctor summoned, Tim,” Bridget said as calmly as she could. “Dr. Simon Claridge, if you please.”

  “Right away, my lady.” He disappeared within the house.

  “What do we do with the woman?” Jones gestured with his head toward Helen’s unconscious form within the hack.

  Stevens’ grip tightened on his bloodied shoulder. “I am unable to carry her in my present condition, and I am disinclined to carry a dead woman into Hydra’s home.”

  “Is she…dead?” Bridget’s chest squeezed.

  Bram strode the few steps to the carriage, reached within and felt for the pulse at Helen’s neck. “Yes.”

  A pang of guilt cut through her. She’d never before taken a life, and she didn’t particularly like the feeling, no matter how evil the individual.

  “We will leave her here for the moment.” Jones nodded. “I will return to deal with her later.”

  Bram closed the hack’s door and followed Bridget and Jones up the steps.

  As they walked into the foyer, a harried Mr. and Mrs. Bradley swept toward them. They’d evidently just come from their beds, for both wore a dressing gown over nightclothes.

  “Charles!” Mrs. Bradley covered her lips with her fingers. “Oh my dear boy, what has happened?”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Bradley bellowed.

  Bridget stepped forward to intercept them before they followed Jones to Charles’ bedchamber. “Charles has been shot. The doctor has been sum—”

  “Shot! Who would do such a thing?”

  The men reached the top of the staircase and disappeared down the hall. Bridget’s heart went with them. “Well…that is rather difficult to explain at the moment. When Charles regains consciousness, I will let him do the honour of telling you.”

  “Good heavens, child!” Mrs. Bradley came forward and touched a finger to Bridget’s aching head. “You have been hurt, as well, Bridget. Are you all right, dear?”

  Bridget felt the desire to weep on Margaret Bradley’s shoulder, but set that desire aside. “I am well. Truly. Thank you for your concern.”

  “Why are you dressed like a man?” Mr. Bradley pointed at her attire and her sword hanging from her hip.

  “Do not be rude, Joseph,” Mrs. Bradley chided.

  “That is also difficult to explain, I’m afraid. I joined Charles on a…jaunt, and he requested that I wear this.”

  “With a sword at your hip? I hardly think that is ladylike, Bridget.”

  Mrs. Bradley waved a hand through the air. “Do not worry about what Joseph says; he is an old curmudgeon. I think it is darling. What worries me, however, is Charles.”

  Bridget was anxious to return to Charles’ side. “I will explain what I can while we wait for the doctor to arrive, but I am not at liberty to discuss it in full.”

  “Whatever you are able to tell us will be acceptable until Charles awakens. Let us go to his bedchamber,” Mrs. Bradley urged.

  The three of them were silent as they swiftly ascended the staircase. Servants scurried to and fro down the hall, carrying towels and bandages. One servant carried Charles’ ruined clothes.

  “Oh dear.” Mrs. Bradley placed a hand on her chest.

  Bridget knew precisely how Mrs. Bradley felt. Bridget’s hands trembled, her stomach fluttered, and her heart nigh beat right out of her chest. She reached for Mrs. Bradley’s hand and clasped it within hers, squeezing gently.

  They strode through the doorway into Charles’ bedchamber to see both Bram and Jones hovering over Charles’ still form. The men had removed his clothing and covered him to his chin with his bedclothes. A small red spot had begun to stain his sheet above his legs.

  Mr. and Mrs. Bradley rushed to his side as soon as they entered.

  “Dear Charles, what has happened to you?” Mrs. Bradley placed her hand atop Charles’ forehead. “He is chilled.”

  “Where is the patient?” A deep, rumbling voice called from the hallway. Dr. Lord Simon Claridge, heir to the Earldom of Merrington stood in the doorway.

  “This way, my lord.” Jones showed the man into the room.

  “Doctor, please,” his lordship muttered. “What happened?” He placed his black medical bag on the bedside table and opened it up.

  “He was shot in the leg and lost a great deal of blood. He became unconscious just under an hour ago.” Bridget held her hands together behind her back in an attempt to arrest their trembling.

  “May I have some privacy to examine Major Bradley, please?” he asked the room.

  Mr. and Mrs. Bradley quietly—albeit reluctantly—left the room. Jones followed on their heels. Bridget and Bram were at the door when Dr. Claridge stopped them.

  “Not you two. I wish to have a word with you. Shut the door.”

  Bridget silently did as the doctor asked and turned to face the bed, wringing her hands. The green brocade rug on Charles’ bedchamber floor was stained red; the sight sent chills up her spine.

  “You two were present, yes, when Major Bradley was shot?”

  “I was,” Bridget offered. “Mr. Stevens was not.”

  “How did you sustain your injuries? Mr. Stevens first, if you please.”

  Bram shifted his feet, still clutching at his shoulder. “I was stabbed, your lordship.”

  “I see. Please call me Dr. Claridge, Doctor, or if it pleases you, Simon.” His lordship paused. “Has this something to do with the stab wound victim lying deceased in the hack on the front drive?” He gently lifted the sheet off Charles’ wounded leg, careful to keep the rest of his body covered as he did so.

  Bridget’s heart hiccoughed at the sight. Charles’ thigh and calf were crusted with red, while fresh blood oozed from the raw hole.

  Bram cleared his throat. “Ye
s.”

  Dr. Claridge nodded, seemingly unruffled by the news. “And you, Lady Bridget?”

  There was no sense in lying to the man. He would discover the truth if he examined her wounds, regardless of whether or not she told the truth. “My head was hit with the handle of a pistol, and my arm was singed with a branding iron during a swordfight, Doctor.”

  Reaching into his bag, he retrieved a vial. He pulled the stopper and poured the amber coloured liquid over Charles’ wound, causing his body to twitch.

  Bridget cringed. Even unconscious, Charles was suffering.

  “You say that you witnessed the gunshot, my lady?”

  She closed her eyes, trying to halt the horrid images from sifting through her mind’s eye. “I did, yes.”

  “Please explain.”

  “I hid among the trees in Holland Park, per Charles’ command, while Charles faced four men with weapons. The largest of the four threatened Charles then shot him in the leg with his pistol.” Her heartbeat sped as she recounted the tale.

  “I see. Shall I assume that this excursion has something to do with The Boss?”

  Bridget reeled and Bram stood on the alert, his spine stiffening.

  “How did you know that?” Bram’s voice was eerily calm.

  “Rest assured, I am not in league with him.” The doctor turned his gaze to Bridget. “I am your sister’s physician, and am aware of hers and Lord Devon’s kidnapping last April. Major Bradley informed me of it himself. Now, based on your reactions, I presume my assumption is correct?”

  Bridget shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Yes, as a matter of fact. The Boss now rests in the hack on the front drive.”

  “The woman?” He showed his first sign of surprise as his eyebrows shot skyward.

  “Yes. We discovered it ourselves this very morning.”

  “Very well. I shall see to your wounds once I have cleaned and dressed Major Bradley’s. You are both free to leave.”

  Chapter 37

  Charles awoke with a start, reaching for his pistol. His hand hit his nightstand, and he froze, hissing a breath through his teeth.