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

by Cheri Champagne

  Poor dear. His throat bobbed uneasily as he shifted his feet. His spine was impossibly straight, his red hair perfectly coiffed, but his discomfort radiated from him. Did the man feel ill at ease in a crowd? To be sure, the store had other patrons, but it was by no means full.

  “We shall be but a few minutes more,” she reassured him.

  The shop’s bell jingled as the door opened behind them as Davis responded with a tight nod.

  Bridget turned back to Henry. “I propose a compromise. We will purchase the soldiers, provided we also purchase the two jigsaw puzzles featuring the map of the world and history.” She folded her hands in front of her. “What do you say, Henry, do we have an agreement?”

  “Yes! Huzzah!” He handed her the box of soldiers and ran across the store to the shelves of jigsaw puzzles.

  Bridget waited until he had turned away before she allowed herself a grin.

  A low, rumbling murmur warmed her ear. “He made a wise decision.”

  Bridget’s heart leapt and she whirled around to face the voice’s source. “Charles—er—Major Bradley! Good heavens, you startled me.” She ran a hand nervously over the ties of her bonnet, and his eyes followed her movement.

  “My apologies,” he rumbled.

  His gaze rose back up to meet hers, but something inside them had changed. His blue eyes did not appear cold and aloof as they had so often in the past ten months, but were now warm and inviting.

  “It is quite all right,” she said absently, not knowing what to make of him being here. “What brings you to High Wycombe?”

  “I am staying with a friend for several weeks; he lives nearby. I had thought to take a walk through town when I happened to see you through the storefront.” He nodded in Henry’s direction. “Is that the boy?”

  Bridget followed his gaze. “Yes, that is Henry. We came here today to purchase some toys.”

  “It seems to me that he has made some excellent choices. I, myself, quite enjoyed tin soldiers as a young lad.”

  “I recall.” She let out a small laugh. “You and Lane particularly enjoyed waging war on mine and Anna’s dolls. How we detested those soldiers.”

  Bridget jumped as Charles threw his head back in a bark of laughter.

  He quickly collected himself, clearing his throat. “Certainly, I remember those battles. I shall never forget your countenance upon finding your two favoured dolls captured as prisoners of war.”

  “Gracious! Indeed, you both managed to make our lives miserable as children.”

  His gaze lowered briefly. “Lane and Anna appear to be happy in their marriage, however.”

  “Naturally,” she agreed. “I understand they are quite content in their union. More than content, I should say. I believe that their friendship has created a solid foundation for their marriage. They are clearly blissful in their love for one another.” As could we have been. The words were left unspoken, hovering in the tense air around them.

  Bridget resisted the urge to fidget under his astute gaze.

  “Yes,” his voice deepened, “but the path that brought them to their current happy state was paved with jagged stones and several cliffs, if I recall correctly.”

  His meaning was not lost on Bridget.

  She was struck dumb for a moment as she stared into Charles’ enigmatic blue eyes. His offer of the other night flitted through her mind. Had he meant it? Did he truly wish her to be his mistress? Perhaps it would be better if she left things as they were, until she could better guard her heart. Though her ability to do so was questionable.

  The moment was broken, as Henry returned with the two jigsaw puzzles gathered high in his small arms.

  “I have them, Lady Bridget!” His gaze flicked upward toward Charles. “Oh hello…sir.”

  Charles held out his hand. “Major Bradley at your service, young man.”

  Henry let Davis add the puzzles to his burden, then took Charles’ extended hand and shook it vigorously. “Henry Stevens, sir.”

  Bridget looked between the two of them, marvelling at how quickly Henry became comfortable around Charles.

  Charles clasped his hands behind his back. “A pleasure, Henry. Tell me, have you ever owned a deck of cards?”

  A puzzled frown touched Henry’s brow. “No, sir.”

  “Ah, well I happen to own a particularly special deck of cards. Perhaps one day I will teach you to play. Would you like that?”

  Bridget opened her mouth to intervene, but Henry exclaimed an animated, “Yes, sir!” before she could advise against it. She wouldn’t wish dear Henry to be heartbroken when Charles did not deliver on his promise.

  She smiled uneasily at the both of them, and led Davis to the shopkeeper so she could pay for the items.

  What was she to do? She had not invited Charles to the castle; he had, in an indirect way, invited himself. And although Mr. Stevens had reluctantly agreed that she be allowed to have a visitor on her days off, she by no means meant for that visitor to be Charles.

  She paid for the toys in a daze and waited while the shopkeeper packaged them and handed them to Davis. “Thank you.” She watched the young footman’s wide, apprehensive eyes. “Are you well?”

  He notched his chin outward. “Of course, milady. I am glad to be of assistance to you and our young Mr. Stevens in any way that I can.”

  “Very well,” Bridget relented. “Please inform me if your comfort changes, and we shall depart directly.”

  Davis gave another tight nod. “Yes, milady.”

  Bridget turned from Davis to see Charles and Henry, heads close together, whispering. They both straightened when she neared them and she eyed them with suspicion.

  “What are you two discussing?”

  “Sweets!” Henry bounced animatedly on his toes.

  “I had thought that you and Henry would enjoy a sweet and some tea,” Charles rumbled. “Henry agrees that it is a splendid idea.”

  “Does he, indeed?” Bridget could not help but feel that they had outmanoeuvred her. Clearly Charles used his charm on Henry, and the boy could not resist a tasty sweet.

  “Would you care to accompany me, Lady Bridget?”

  She looked down into Henry’s pleading gaze, then up into Charles’ stoic one, then sighed. She could not disappoint the child.

  “Very well.”

  A whoop of glee from Henry earned a laugh from Charles and Bridget as they exited the shop.

  They waited by the carriage while Davis deposited their purchases, then they continued their walk to the sweet shop.

  Charles laughed at something witty that Henry said, his laughter rolling through her like the waves of the sea. Bridget breathed deeply, studiously ignoring the sudden skip of her heart.

  It seemed that Charles and Henry had developed an easy camaraderie in the short duration of their acquaintance. Bridget was fascinated by their relaxed conversation and clever banter. For a boy of seven, and a man of eight and twenty, they were thick as thieves.

  Their discussion was easy and flowing; Charles commented on the pleasing weather, then inquired about Henry’s taste for sweets and tea. Henry responded with exuberance.

  With Henry proudly strutting before them, Charles and Bridget strode side by side on the walk. Charles’ long, muscled legs brushed her skirts with each step, the light, innocent contact sending her insides to buzzing against her will.

  Bridget could not decide which unnerved her more, Charles’ amiable behaviour, or her reaction to it. The light fluttering in her stomach had intensified since he had joined them, and had grown into something much more heated. Something fluid…and sinful.

  Her disturbing reaction to him only strengthened when he placed a hand on the small of her back as he stood aside at the door of the sweet shop to let her pass. The light contact sent a swell of excitement through her abdomen.

  Alarm swamped her. What is happening to me?

  Bridget could not understand why Charles had decided to play the pleasant gentleman this morning, but she cou
ld not bring herself to complain. He was, in a sense, like the Charles she used to know. The thought put a barb of sadness in her heart.

  He came to stand beside her in the centre of the sweet shop and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “As I suggested this outing, I will gladly purchase your sweets for you. Please choose anything you would like.” His warm breath blew the loose tendrils of hair across her neck, sending gooseflesh across her cheek and down her neck.

  She took a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t ask that of you, Major. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Balderdash. I have purchased you many sweets and treats before, Lady Bridget, adding more now will not ruin you.” He grinned confidently.

  She did not know whether to listen to the truth of his words and accept his offer of a sweet or be outraged at his self-assurance that she would accept. Part of her wanted to retrieve Henry and give Charles the cut direct, stride determinedly to the Stevens carriage and shut Charles out of her life. But another part of her could not resist feeling that irresistible sliver of hopefulness. And the chocolate did smell divine…

  The warmth of his body as he shifted closer nigh set her aflame. “Perhaps I shall order for you.”

  His words glided over her skin like silk, sending a shiver down her spine. How could something so innocuous feel so very sinful?

  Keep your distance, Bridget girl, she willed herself. Your heart must remain closed to his plentiful charms. Heaven knows they can be taken away at any moment. They have before…

  Her resolve would not crumble in the face of Charles’ pleasant behaviour. Her anger ran far too deep to be melted away by some heavenly kisses, flirtations, and mystifying gentlemanly behaviour. She was stronger than that.

  While she mustn’t allow herself to love the dratted man, that by no means meant that she must deny herself a gifted sweet.

  She turned to beam at him. “I thank you for your generous offer, Major Bradley. I will order a chocolate.”

  * * *

  Charles slammed his fist down on the desk’s smooth surface, the loud thump reverberating through the confined space of his cabin.

  “Damnation,” he growled, his hand smarting.

  This was undoubtedly the most inconvenient moment to receive an assignment from the Home Office. He was thankful that the other men here had been left to continue their duties, but Charles had hoped to be here to personally watch over Bridget, as well.

  Aside from the letter he had just received, Charles believed the first official day in his mission to protect Bridget to be a success. Bridget had withstood his company, despite her ill feelings toward him, and they had not been attacked while in public. He had made her laugh on more than one occasion; the warmth of her smile and the sparkle in her green eyes put hope into his heart.

  Now, after having made such progress with Bridget, Charles was forced to depart for Harrow, of all places.

  The letter from Gilley had not been specific as to the purpose of this mission. It simply stated that he was to meet a man named Phillip Griffiths at the Pig’s Head in two days’ time.

  Quickly penning a note to Jones, Charles let the man know of the assignment. Jones often came to check in with Charles when he wasn’t patrolling the grounds or helping in the castle.

  Charles stood, removing a pistol from the desk drawer and putting it in his inner coat pocket. He had once considered using holsters for his weapons, but he hated the things.

  He must pack his saddlebags in preparation for his journey. To avoid being seen riding Riot out of the stables, Charles would have to leave well past the time that Bridget went to sleep.

  Having brought her to mind, he glanced through his window up toward her bedchamber. His heart stuttered to a halt before beating wildly in his chest.

  Bridget stood nude in her bedchamber, water sluicing down her voluptuous form, having just risen from a bath. Her hair was tied into a loose knot at the base of her neck, little tendrils sticking wetly to her neck and shoulders. At least he believed it was her hair. At that distance it was difficult to see every detail, but combined with his memory, he was able to fill in the missing pieces.

  The fire and candlelight in her bedchamber flickered lovingly over her body, accentuating every dip and arc, the curve of her hips, the roundness of her breasts…and the blonde thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs.

  Charles went hard instantly. It had been over five years since he had seen Bridget nude. She was more breathtaking now than she had ever been before. Her breasts were full and pert, her nipples the perfect pink punctuation marks in the centre of each globe.

  He imagined himself pulling first one and then the other into his mouth to lick, nibble, and taste.

  Abruptly, he worried about her being able to see him. His lamp was dimmed and the cabin was sufficiently disguised from the exterior, but at the back of his mind, caution blared.

  It was wrong of him to think of her—to watch her—this way when she could not shield herself from his thirsty gaze. But stare, he did.

  His heart pumped wildly, his stomach buzzed with nervous guilt, but he was somehow thrilled by the illicit. What would Bridget say if she knew he could see her? What would she do? Would she be outraged, or would her mien turn sultry and aroused?

  She reached over to retrieve her towel from a nearby chair, and Charles cursed. He could not let this moment pass without relieving some of his pent up sexual frustration. He’d wanted her for far too damned long.

  Charles fumbled eagerly with the buttons of his trousers, then quickly undid the ties of his drawers, freeing himself from confinement. He reached into his coat pocket with one hand for a handkerchief while he grasped his erection with the other.

  Bridget’s breasts bounced and swung with each of her movements. Charles greedily soaked up every movement.

  This is wrong, his conscience whispered, but God it felt so right! He conjured memories of Bridget’s shapely legs wrapped around his hips, her heat surrounding him. He pumped his hand in a rapid rhythm, keeping his eyes focused on her delicious body.

  His climax built quickly, and he hurriedly wrapped the handkerchief around himself. Bridget bent to dry her calves and Charles lost his thread-thin control. Letting out a low growl he spilled himself into his handkerchief.

  Bridget wrapped herself in the towel, blocking his view of her.

  His heart thumped in his chest and a mildly disappointing satisfaction filled him. With the excitement of the moment passing, guilt quickly took its place.

  He shook his head as he cleaned himself off and righted his clothing.

  Bridget was an intelligent woman, but had fallen for some rogue’s charming words. Charles wanted nothing more than to divert her attention from the scoundrel that she had allowed access to her charms, and have her for himself.

  Perhaps it was possible to have both his career and Bridget. He knew that if he had a safe and secure job behind a desk in the Home Office, he could settle down with a wife, but he had been convinced that if he did active field work he would put her in danger’s path.

  What if he used a quiet home life as part of his cover? Clearly pushing Bridget away had done him little good. If he took her to wife, she would be secure within his home.

  You are a fool, Charles Bradley, for not thinking of this before.

  Chapter 10

  The spy took this opportunity to rifle through the papers on Stevens’ desk. There must be something here worth reporting. In a castle full of English spies, one of them was bound to slip up and leave a piece of pertinent information in the open.

  The spy opened several drawers of the large desk situated in the centre of the room, the back wall of windows giving ample light for searching. One after another, the drawers were explored and closed.

  Where are the maps? Where is the list with the spies’ names? This would require more searching. Perhaps there was a strongbox located somewhere in the castle. Wherever the information is, I must find it!

  * * *

  A loud sque
al of delight split the air as Bridget descended the carriage steps in front of Mason Hall. She looked up in time to brace herself for her sisters’ exuberant hugs.

  “Oh, Bridget, we have missed you dearly!” Katherine linked her arm through Bridget’s and pulled her toward the front door, Emaline falling into step beside them.

  “I have missed you as well.” Bridget grinned. “One sennight is a short time, but feels much longer when one is separated from her sisters.”

  The three of them strode into the entrance hall where Bridget was greeted with more hugs from her mama, Anna, Lane, and warm greetings from Geoffrey, Mrs. Buttersworth, and the footmen.

  “Heavens, what a welcome!” she laughed. “Thank you, everyone. I am pleased to be home, even if it is only for a few short hours.”

  “Come,” Mama took her hand and led her to the front parlour, “let us not waste another moment.”

  Bridget settled on a comfortable chair near the fireplace, her mama sitting on the chair beside her, and her brother and sisters in seats nearby.

  Emaline sat forward eagerly in her chair across from Bridget. “Tell me, Bridget, does Mr. Stevens have any pets?”

  The group laughed softly, and Bridget smiled. “No, he does not.”

  Emaline’s eyebrows shot up. “Not even a puppy? Stable cats?”

  “I am afraid not.”

  “Perhaps I could give you a pet to bring home to him. It must be lonely there at night.” As if on cue, Emaline’s tabby cat, Whiskers, hopped up onto Emaline’s lap and began kneading her thighs.

  Bridget grinned warmly at her dear sister. “I do not believe it would be my place to bring him an animal, Emaline.”

  “Never mind pets,” Katherine waved a hand through the air, “is he handsome? What of his fashion sense; is he a dandy? Does he dress carelessly?”

  Bridget turned her attention to her youngest sister. “He is neither a dandy nor does he dress carelessly. In fact, he is rather sober in his dress, as he is in mourning for his wife.” She deliberately avoided the first of Katherine’s questions, for if her family knew how attractive Mr. Stevens was, they would likely do what they could to push them together. But regardless of how striking he was, he failed to put the quiver in her stomach, or send her heart to fluttering, and Bridget would settle for nothing less. That was, if she was willing to marry. Which she most certainly was not.