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

by Cheri Champagne

  Katherine looked at her expectantly. “And? Is he handsome?”

  Drat. “Yes, he is handsome.”

  Anna joyfully clapped her hands together.

  Bridget firmly shook her head. “Catching a husband is not why I took this position.”

  “Which brings us to the next questions, I imagine.” Lane drawled from his relaxed position on the settee next to Anna. “How are you faring with the young lad, and how are you doing there, Bridget?”

  Her Mama patted her hand. “Yes, Bridget, do tell us how you have been.”

  Bridget smiled at her brother, grateful for the change of topic. “Henry is a dear boy, and rather intelligent. He is truly gifted with numbers. I believe that one day he would make a superb estate steward or property owner. He could even keep his own books.

  “He is extremely shy, but once he gets to know you, he does not cease in his chatter.”

  “He sounds darling.” Anna absently ran a hand over her rounded belly.

  “He is,” Bridget confirmed. “As for myself, I am settled in quite comfortably. My bedchamber beside the nursery is larger than my bedchamber here, and its furnishings are brilliant.

  “The lessons with Henry are progressing well. I eat my meals with Henry and Mr. Stevens in the dining room and in the evenings I have time to myself, as Henry goes off with his nurse, Robert.”

  “The boy’s nurse is a man?” Lane frowned.

  Bridget matched his frown as she thought. “Yes, I found that odd, as well. In fact, there is not one other female, but for myself and Helen, working in the castle.”

  “They live in a castle?” Anna’s eyes widened.

  “No women? Not even kitchen maids or chamber maids?” Lane’s frown deepened.

  She shook her head. “Not one woman.” She turned her attention to Anna. “Yes, a castle. It is half in ruin, but I fancy it is more exciting that way. I look forward to taking walks over the grounds with Henry soon.”

  “Just a moment.” Emaline said, leaning forward. “Did I hear you say that you eat meals in the dining room with Mr. Stevens and Henry?”

  “Yes,” Bridget nodded. “Rather unconventional, I know, but Mr. Stevens requested it himself.” She shrugged. “How could I refuse?”

  “No women…” Lane mumbled, frowning.

  “A castle…” Anna sighed wistfully.

  “Eating with the family…” Emaline tapped her chin.

  Bridget looked to Katherine and her mama with a droll smile. “How are things here?”

  “Splendid, but for missing you, Bridget.” Katherine easily took up the conversation. “Dr. Claridge came to check Anna yesterday, and says everything is progressing well. Emaline has adopted a new dog, which she has named Hera, as it is to have puppies—”

  “Pardon me?” Lane looked accusingly at Emaline. “When were you going to inform me that we were to have a litter of pups in the house?”

  Emaline scowled at Katherine before affecting an expression of innocence and facing Lane. “I thought I had already told you, brother.”

  “You most certainly did not.”

  “Well,” she shrugged, “you know now.”

  “I do not approve.” He looked pleadingly at the dowager Countess. “Mama, please tell me you agree with me. We cannot possibly house so many puppies!”

  Their mother waved a hand through the air. “Oh pish, Lane dear. You know that if we forbid her from keeping them here, she will find a way to house them in the stables or some such place, and will slowly bring the puppies into the house after they are born. We might as well accept that we’ve got them and not fret over it.”

  Emaline straightened in her seat with a broad smile while Lane pointed a finger at her. “If we are to house the puppies, I expect you to take full responsibility of them and their future adoption. They may not take up permanent residence.”

  “On my honour, I will take full responsibility for them.” Emaline’s smile broadened.

  “And what are you grinning about, Bridget?” Kat asked, eyebrows raised.

  Had I been smiling? “I am so pleased to see you all again. A sennight is dreadfully long without the company of one’s family,” she prevaricated. Bridget was unquestionably happy to see them, but it was her fervent anticipation at meeting Oliver that evening that had her smiling.

  * * *

  Charles pressed Riot faster on the gravel road. The wind whipped past him, creating a roar in his ears. He’d intended to have returned to the castle long ago. His blasted assignment in Harrow had taken longer than he’d expected. Phillip Griffiths had been a dead-end. Quite literally.

  The resultant paperwork and investigation had taken up many hours. Charles’ assignment was a complete mystery to him. Why had Gilley sent him on it? What information did Mr. Griffiths have in his possession that had encouraged someone to take his life?

  It would be prudent of him to contact Gilley for more information. He had not questioned Gilley’s assignments before, but Charles felt that he required more information on this one.

  Having worked under Lord Wellington while he was abroad, Charles had only known Gilley since his return from war. His position in the Home Office mainly consisted of receiving reports from the spies in the field, and delivering reconnaissance assignments to the appropriate men. The work would likely seem tedious to most people, but Charles secretly coveted Gilley’s position of respect, safety, and security. He certainly enjoyed the excitement of pursuing a suspected French spy, or tracking men accused of treasonous activities, but he felt old and stodgy in comparison to the new recruits, and rather enjoyed paperwork, himself.

  Gilley was a powerful man. He had everything—and everyone—in his command. Lord Liverpool promoted the man after years of spy work to his current position of authority in the Secret Service. The Prime Minister trusted the man’s word implicitly, and as did every spy in his control. He was honourable and wise, though a little brash at times.

  Riot snorted and tossed his head impatiently as they neared the castle’s stable. “Easy, boy.”

  Charles leapt from Riot’s back and led him to his stall, speaking softly to him as they walked.

  Thomson dropped a sack of feed as he spotted Charles and marched over to take Riot’s reins. “Would you like me to take over for you, sir?”

  “I couldn’t trouble you with that, Thomson. You’ve got your own work to do.”

  “It wouldn’t be any trouble, sir. I quite like dealing with horses.”

  Charles nodded. He would rather go inside and check on Bridget anyway. It was getting darker; she had likely already returned from her trip to see her family and eaten supper, but he felt a need to see her…even if she did not see him.

  “Very well, then, Thomson. Thank you. But be careful; he bites.” He allowed Thomson to lead Riot to his stall as Charles turned and rounded the castle to the servants’ entrance.

  As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Charles had missed Bridget in the days that he had been away. His impatience to return to the castle had nothing to do with the desire to sleep in comfortable surroundings or to resume his duty in protecting Bridget. It had everything to do with simply being around her again.

  Ensuring that none of the other men were about, Charles opened the hidden panel in the wall in a downstairs hall, soundlessly slipping inside and closing the panel behind him. His shoulders brushed against the walls of the narrow passage as he walked and traversed the stairwells.

  Within minutes he strode down the corridor that led to Bridget’s hidden panel. As he neared, he heard the rumble of conversation, and he slowed his steps.

  “I am not certain that I am doing it right; it continues to ache.” It was Bridget’s voice, but she sounded out of breath.

  To whom was she speaking?

  Charles put his ear to the panel.

  “You are doing superbly, Bridget.” A man’s deep voice huffed. “I can tell that you have been practicing on your own, but your positioning has slipped without a regular partner.�
��

  What the devil?

  “Here,” he continued, “let us try this.” There was some shuffling about for a moment. “Keep your feet on the floor, spread just so. Excellent. Now, put your arms in the ready position. Ah yes, that’s it, Bridget. Let me see you move, now.”

  Charles heard Bridget’s huffed breaths and more shuffling, and a red haze blurred his vision, his angry jealousy rising to new heights. Was Bridget with her lover?

  “Oh, Oliver! You are a genius. I cannot believe I have been doing this incorrectly over the past months,” she said, her voice breathy. “This feels so much better, and my range of motion is much broader!”

  That’s it! Charles could not stand there listening to the reprobate manhandle Bridget in her employer’s home. In Charles’ newly purchased home, damn it!

  He hurriedly left the narrow passage toward the main hallway. It would not do for Bridget to become aware of the hidden passages throughout the castle. He glanced around to ensure that his emergence was unseen, then he stormed down the hall.

  With a scowl on his brow, jealousy in his gut, and rage in his heart, Charles pressed the latch on her bedchamber door, and burst in.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re—” His words died in his throat, as he stood stalk-still in the doorway of Bridget’s bedchamber.

  “Charl—Major Bradley!” she gasped.

  Bridget and the man she had called ‘Oliver’ stood in the centre of her bedchamber, both wearing fencing plastrons and breeches, and holding French foils. The man looked on in confusion, while Bridget’s expression of horror was changing rapidly into defensive anger.

  “What are you doing here, Major Bradley?” she demanded, her spine straightening.

  Damnation. He had made a phenomenal error in judgment. “You fence?” he asked lamely. His gaze travelled briefly to the breeches that fit snugly to her shapely thighs and hips. Good God, but the woman had a spectacular pair of legs.

  Chapter 11

  Bridget’s heart beat erratically in her chest. Drat, drat, double drat! How could her secret hobby be exposed in such a fashion? She’d been caught! How could she have not heard him approaching?

  Despite the frantic rate of her heart, she drew herself up indignantly. She had no reason to be ashamed; she had not done anything improper with Oliver, she merely hired him to teach her to fence. “Not that it is any concern of yours, Major, but yes. I fence. But you did not answer my question; what are you going here?” In my bedchamber, of all places! In my employer’s home!

  “I had…” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, looking for all intents and purposes like a chastened schoolboy. Which, of course, he was decidedly not.

  He wore tight grey riding breeches that accentuated his thickly muscled thighs and tall, black hessians that appeared lustrous in the brightly lit room. His black waistcoat and a dark grey riding coat fit his trim waist and broad shoulders to perfection. Bridget was hard pressed not to check her chin for dribbling saliva.

  Bridget had nearly forgotten that Charles was speaking. “…thought you needed assistance.”

  Bridget narrowed her eyes at him. Assistance, indeed. The man had charged in as subtly as an ox, demanding to know what “the bloody hell” they were doing.

  “Tell me, Charles; what were you doing outside my bedchamber door, in my employer’s home?”

  “I am a visitor here. Stevens is an old friend of mine.”

  “Indeed?” she asked sardonically. “I do not recall ever hearing you mention Mr. Stevens. Furthermore, when I saw you in town you had not mentioned staying with Mr. Stevens, and I have not seen you since.”

  “What matter is it of yours if I mentioned him before or not? I do not believe I ever promised to give you the name of every one of my friends and acquaintances. Where I am staying is no business of yours.”

  Hurt flowed through her, settling heavy on her heart.

  “Perhaps I should leave.” Oliver bent to retrieve his other fencing weapons, but Bridget reached out a hand to stop him.

  “No, please. We have not finished the lesson.”

  “It is clear to me that we will not get the opportunity to finish our lesson this evening. And I believe…” He glanced between the two of them. “The two of you should have this discussion in private.”

  Bridget sighed. Oliver was correct. “Very well. Shall I send you a summons?”

  “I shall await your word, love.” His arms full of his fencing equipment, Oliver bent to give her a quick buss, then passed Charles as he strode out into the hall.

  Charles’ expression abruptly changed from chagrin to fury. “What was that all about, then? How long has this been going on?”

  “I started fencing shortly after you left for war. I met Oliver at Tattersall’s when I bought Bacchus. He and I started talking, and he mentioned that he fenced. When I expressed an interest in the sport, he offered to teach me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not that I should need to explain myself to you, Major.”

  His expression darkened. “That was not what I was speaking of.”

  She frowned in confusion. “What in heaven’s name are you on about?”

  “He kissed you, Bridget!”

  Charles’ meaning immediately dawned on her. He thought she was having an intimate affaire with Oliver! She could not help but find humour in the suggestion.

  Contrary to Charles’ assumption, Oliver was not interested in relations with women. She had been undeniably shocked upon her first discovering Oliver’s secret, but she had recovered swiftly. Knowing each other’s deepest secrets had brought them closer together; his friendship was irreplaceable.

  She let out a laugh. Lovers, indeed.

  He stepped forward. “You find humour in this, Lady Bridget?”

  She nodded, laughing again.

  “You do not defend your actions?”

  “I have no need to defend myself, Major. I have done nothing for which I need be ashamed.”

  Charles was clearly upset by what he had walked in on, but he had no cause to enter her room from the start, let alone question her actions within it.

  His scowl deepened. “That is all you have to say?”

  “What more would you wish for me to say, Major? That I am deeply sorry for my actions and promise not to do it again? If that is what you expect, I am afraid that you will be disappointed, for I shan’t oblige you.”

  “This is your employer’s home, damn it!” he exploded, waving his arms through the air to indicate the castle. “Have you no respect for Stevens? Have you no respect for yourself?”

  Her mirth vanished. “You have said quite enough, Major Bradley. Please leave.”

  “You lift your skirts in exchange for fencing lessons, yes? What the devil are you thinking to behave in such a manner? Have you not considered the consequences—”

  “Let me stop your tirade there, Major.” Bridget’s heart ached heavily in her chest as it beat furiously. Her fist tightened around her fencing foil. She’d had enough of his determined belief in her faulty character. “Firstly, I have not made love to Oliver, nor will I ever. Secondly, my loss of virtue occurred at your hands, thus the blame for my becoming a fallen woman should land on your shoulders.”

  “You cannot tell me that that scoundrel—”

  A swoosh halted his words as Bridget lifted her fencing foil to rest under Charles’ chin. “Please leave my bedchamber.”

  Charles’ expression remained indifferent as he took a hasty step back. “Very well, Lady Bridget. Just know that this discussion has not yet reached its conclusion.”

  Charles turned on his heel and stormed from the room. The moment the door closed behind him, Bridget lowered her foil and dropped onto her bed with a sigh of frustration…and hurt.

  * * *

  Charles willed his fists to unclench as he traversed the hallway; his heart pumping a staccato beat in his chest. He could not think through his inner turmoil, nor could he see through the red haze in his visi
on.

  Was he to believe Bridget’s claim that she had not made love to her fencing instructor? The jealous rage burning his gut told him he should remain firm in his belief that she was receiving lessons in exchange for her services. A shiver of revulsion ran up his spine.

  There was no hope for it; he could not contemplate the subject until he had put some distance between himself and Bridget, and until he had allowed the riot of emotions stirring within him to settle.

  He needed a drink.

  “Sir!”

  Charles whirled around to see Stevens trotting down the grand entrance hall stairs behind him.

  “Yes, Stevens?”

  Stevens glanced around then handed him a letter. “This just came for you.” He studied Charles’ expression for a moment. “What are you doing here, Hydra?”

  Charles made a quick decision and pocketed the letter. “I had planned to return to my lodgings, but I’ve had a change of heart. A word with you in your study, Stevens?”

  “Jones is reading in there.”

  Charles cleared his throat. “That is fine. I have a wish to speak with him, as well.”

  “Of course.” Stevens extended an arm to allow Charles to lead the way to the first floor.

  Charles entered first, leaving Stevens to close the door behind him.

  Jones’ startled gaze met Charles’. “Hydra.” He placed his book on the small table at his elbow and stood.

  “Jones.”

  Stevens crossed the room and slumped in the chair behind the desk, linking his fingers over his stomach. He cleared his throat. “Hydra here has something he wishes to discuss with us,” he informed Jones.

  Charles resisted the urge to pace. “I need an additional man watching Lady Bridget on Sundays when she returns from visiting her family.”