He wrapped one arm around Bridget’s trim waist, settling her back against his chest. With a click of his tongue and a nudge to the beast’s ribs, they were off, weaving cautiously through the trees in the dense forest.
Charles lightly cleared his throat. “I think it is time that you tell me exactly what occurred at the inn.”
He felt Bridget’s sigh under his arm before she began to speak. “There is not terribly much to tell. They came upon me when I was freshening up. I retrieved my smallsword from my trunk. I used their distraction to my advantage, and bested them.”
“They did not touch you or harm you in any way?” His gut knotted, waiting for her answer.
She looked up at him over her shoulder. “Do you believe that I would lie to save myself embarrassment?”
Charles considered her question. “No. I do not.”
“Then why would you ask? I have stated the facts and yet you question me. It does not reflect well, Charles.”
Charles wondered briefly if Bridget thought it reflected poorly on his character or hers.
“You are correct,” he conceded. “My apologies.”
They both fell silent as they exited the forest and came upon the rolling hills of the countryside. The sky was still grey with the early morning light, and a slight, misting rain floated through the air.
Charles tightened his grip around Bridget’s waist, and nudged the horse into a run. They were not far now from their destination. If they made it there with no witnesses, he was certain he could cover their tracks well enough not to be detected.
After several minutes of riding, Charles felt Bridget’s body relax in sleep. Her head lolled to one side and her hands lay limp in her lap. Despite his determination to keep their escape platonic, Charles took the opportunity to press his lips to the side of her neck and inhale deeply. Lord, but the woman had a spectacular natural scent.
He did not know how he had gone so long encouraging her to be angry with him. How did he resist her luscious feminine curves and her alluring scent? Was he mad? Good lord, just one whiff of her captivating fragrance sent his blood rampaging through him.
Charles grit his teeth and encouraged his body to behave.
Within three quarters of an hour they would arrive at his safe house where they would stay for as many nights as they deemed necessary.
* * *
Relief flowed through Bridget as they pulled to a halt before Charles’ hunting cabin. She slid from the horse, the autumn leaves crackling and the gravel crunching under Bridget’s half boots as she landed.
It was a charming little cabin, hidden away by an overabundance of leafless trees, shrubberies, and a startling amount of blue flowers.
“How are these still blooming?”
Charles leapt from the horse and held its reins in one hand. “I believe they are called Trailing Bellflowers. From what I understand they bloom until November.”
Her startled gaze flew to his. “I’d not realized that you knew so much about flowers.”
Charles shrugged one shoulder. “I found myself bored and in close proximity to one of Anna’s books on gardening.”
With a smirk, Bridget turned her attention back to the blooming plants and bent to smell one bush. “Delightful little flowers.”
Charles cleared his throat. “Yes, well.”
Bridget turned to look at Charles inquiringly. He returned her gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded and smouldering. Her breath caught, and he abruptly spun on his heel, bringing the horse to the rear of the cabin.
She placed a hand to her chest, her heart hammering against her palm. What had prompted such a look? She took several steadying breaths before she continued her inspection of the cabin.
Charles had certainly chosen an idyllic building. It was not visible from any path or road due to the copious amount of plants, including the brown vines winding their way up the walls. The roof was thatched, and likely in need of spot repair. She was unable to tell the shape of the building or how large it was from where she stood, but whether large or small, she already adored it.
She walked to the slightly crooked wooden front door and tried the latch, but the door was stuck in its frame. She pushed hard with her hands flat against the wooden surface, but it did not budge.
Lifting the shawl higher around her shoulders, she pushed again. And again. She pressed her foot to the door and kicked, but it would still not move.
Letting out a frustrated huff, Bridget pressed her shoulder to the door and shoved with all her might.
With a great creaking groan, it unexpectedly gave way, causing Bridget to vault through the doorframe and land sprawled on the floor with a winded grunt.
“Bridget!”
Bridget looked up to see Charles rushing to her side. Splendid.
He took her under her arms and lifted her effortlessly to her feet.
“Are you all right?”
“My pride is bruised,” she admitted, “but I am well.” She turned and indicated the gaping door. “The door was stuck.”
“I would imagine so. The front door has not been used since I purchased the hunting cabin. I had thought you would have followed me to the rear of the building. I use the door entering into the kitchen area.”
Bridget followed his gesture toward what he had called the kitchen area. A rustic wooden bench with stools dominated the small area, while a sideboard with a washbasin and shelves of stacked pots covered the far wall, framed by one window and the door. To the left stood one tall cupboard, which presumably contained preserves and dishes.
Her gaze continued around the rest of the space. In the far right corner of the cabin, beside the kitchen area, sat a privacy screen, which likely shielded a chamber pot. Further along the right wall of the condensed space was a full-length reflection glass beside a dressing table and a large four-poster bed made of dark mahogany. To Bridget’s immediate right, situated between the large bed and the front wall, was another privacy screen. She turned her head and studied the remainder of the space.
The left of the cabin seemed to be a sort of drawing room. There was a large fireplace on the left wall, and flanking it were two wide bookshelves. The sitting area appeared comfortable, with its highly padded settee and two armchairs. There was not a low table for tea, but between the armchairs and settee were two round tables adorned with clay and wood figurines. In the centre of the arrangement was a handsome yellow, green, and gilt brocade rug.
Each of the four walls had large windows with striped apricot dressings. The bright colour lent the area a pleasantly cheerful façade.
“Do you like it?”
She met Charles’ striking blue gaze.
“I do. It is charming.”
A dazzling smile graced his sensuous lips. “Good.”
They stood that way for several minutes, simply staring into one another’s eyes. Bridget felt the tension between them begin to build. Oh heavens, he is going to kiss me.
She both desired his kiss, and wished he wouldn’t…
Chapter 24
Charles desperately wanted to kiss her.
The tip of her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip, leaving it shiny and inviting. His gaze followed the motion hungrily. Yes, he most definitely needed to kiss her.
His head dipped, but before he could make contact, Bridget turned her shoulder to him.
With a mumbled “pardon me,” she hurried across the room and hid behind the privacy screen.
His thoughts went immediately to how his sister, Anna, had behaved upon the conception of her child, and anxiety gripped him in a vice. “Are you well, Bridget?” The tension was clear in his voice, but he did not care. If Bridget were pregnant with his child, would she be showing signs so quickly? Would the nausea come so soon? But he had used precautionary measures! How could this be happening?
Her melodic voice floated over the screen. “I am fine, Charles. I simply realized how long it had been since I used the necessary.”
The breath he had been h
olding left him in a quivering whoosh, and his shoulders slumped in relief. Of course, he was being absurd. Anna’s symptoms had come later, and he had taken precautions with Bridget by not spilling his seed inside her. All would be fine.
While his thoughts had been consumed with his plans for the duration of their ride here, he still needed to discuss them with Bridget. And pray that this worked…and that she did not make him beg.
“Are you hungry?” he called to her.
“Nearly famished!” Walking out from behind the privacy screen, she raised her hands to her head to tie her hair in a delectably dishevelled bun at the base of her neck.
“Splendid.” Removing some foodstuffs from his saddlebags and pulling several preserves from the cabinet shelves in the kitchen, Charles began to prepare the meal. He started the fire in the fireplace and removed the cooking utensils from the cupboard and drawers in the sideboard.
Fluidity and comfort in the kitchen came to him easily. He retrieved several vegetables in what was left of the mostly rotted garden, and water from the pump outside, then placed a pot over the now-roaring fire.
“You are unusually talented in the kitchen, Charles.” Bridget sat on one of the stools, rested her elbows on the roughened table’s surface, and watched him chop vegetables. “However did you learn it?”
Charles shrugged nonchalantly. “The cook in the regiment was terrible. We all discovered that if we did not learn how to cook our own stew or live game, we would eat gruel for the entire time we were at war. Eventually every man in our regiment learned the basics. We took turns cooking for the rest of the men, or worked together to create meals.”
Bridget made a face. “You truly ate gruel?”
He chuckled and continued to slice. “Yes. And it is as awful as you imagine. Likely worse.”
She laughed with him. The sound was light and lovely, and it sent a nervous tingle through his stomach.
Oh, hell. This woman made him feel like a lad in his short pants again.
He tried to alleviate his nervousness with a clearing of his throat. It didn’t work. He had better change the subject.
“There is something I wish to discuss with you, Bridget.”
The smile fell from her beautiful face, and her forest green eyes lost some of their sparkle. Damn.
“Yes?”
“After what occurred this morning in the forest, I have come to the conclusion that we need to readdress the thought of trapping The Boss ourselves.”
The light immediately returned to her eyes and she clapped her hands together. “Oh yes! Charles, you will not regret your decision. We will make an excellent team, I assure you! How shall we do it?”
As much as he enjoyed seeing her enthusiasm, he raised one hand to slow her excitement. “I would not count your proverbial chickens before they have hatched, sweetheart.”
She shook a finger at him. “Now that’s not fair. You cannot—”
“I have a proposition for you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So help me, Charles, if you intend to trick me—”
“I was not present for your victory in the inn last evening, but I witnessed your skill in fencing this morning in the forest.”
Bridget sat straighter, her eyes glinting. “You doubted my abilities with a sword?”
Uh oh. “No. Of course not. Although, I must admit that a woman beating a man at swords is highly…irregular.”
One of her darkened eyebrows rose and he continued quickly. “But now that I have seen you, I would like to engage you in an audition of sorts.”
Her second eyebrow joined the first. “Audition?”
He inclined his head. “If you are able to equal me in a bout, then I will feel confident in your abilities to combat my enemies.”
He knew with unwavering confidence that she would not be able to best him in their match, but then, Charles was an exceptionally talented swordsman. “I keep several weapons hidden here at this cabin with which to engage with you.”
Anticipation and confidence immediately crossed her features. “When shall we have this bout?”
“If you would like time to prepare, we may have it on the morrow with the light of dawn.”
“I do not need time.”
He inclined his head. “Very well. Will this afternoon suffice?”
She rose from her seat and extended her hand to him. He looked inquiringly at her.
“A handshake, Charles. To seal our agreement.”
He had never shaken a woman’s hand before, but he supposed there was a first for everything. His hand gripped hers and she pumped it once.
“I accept your challenge.” She winked at him. “Prepare to be beaten.”
* * *
Bridget cursed the small space behind the privacy screen as she struggled into her fencing clothing. Her plastron, or one-armed padded shirt, was, as of yet, causing her the most difficulty. She had already put on her small, men’s style shirt underneath it, thus ensuring she did not go uncovered in the crisp early November air.
After several moments of working to subdue her plastron into submission, it finally relented.
“Do you need assistance?” Charles’ deep voice called over the screen.
“No, thank you.” She placed first one thick stocking over her foot, rolling it up her leg until it reached her thigh, and then the other. “There is merely very little room back here.”
“My apologies. I have never used it before. I am accustomed to dressing in the open, and the size of the room does not allow for a larger space behind that screen.”
“I will manage perfectly fine.”
“You are aware that I have seen you in the nude. Very recently, in fact. I will not object to your changing out here.”
“I am content in my privacy, thank you very much.”
Reaching behind her neck, Bridget released the clasp of the magnificent necklace that Charles had purchased for her, and then examined it in finer detail. It had an intricate, yet simple design of diamonds and emeralds. Dozens of each stone were set into the ribbon of gold, weaving in a crisscross pattern until they formed a knot in the centre. The effect was stunning. He had impeccable taste in jewellery.
“I cannot help but think that we went to such an effort to disguise ourselves, and we were discovered anyway,” she said thoughtfully.
Charles grunted. “We could not have predicted that they would follow us from the castle.”
Bridget set the necklace aside and bent to step into her breeches, hitting her forehead on the screen’s wooden frame. “Dash it all!”
She heard Charles’ chuckle and she grimaced.
“Pray, do not make fun,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead with one hand
His chuckle turned to outright laughter. “My apologies.”
Bridget buttoned and tied her breeches and walked out from behind the screen.
“I—” He stopped short as his sharp blue gaze took in her attire.
“Is something the matter?” Bridget looked down at herself, but saw nothing amiss. This must be an attempt to flatter her. “Do not feign surprise, Charles. You have seen me once before in this costume.”
“You—” He croaked, then cleared his throat and seemed to regain his composure.
She gestured to his clothing. “Are you going to change your attire for our bout?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I do not have fencing attire. I do not require it.”
“You err in your overconfidence. I do not wish to hurt you, Charles.”
A deep, rumbling laugh escaped him. “You will not hurt me, my dear. My shirtsleeves will suffice for protection.”
Far be it from her to alter his opinion. “I must hear it from your lips that you will not become cross with me when you discover that you are wrong. I do not intend to allow this bout to negatively affect our newfound amity.”
His blue eyes danced with his ill-disguised mirth. “On my word, I shall not become cross with you.”
Bridget inclined her head. �
��Excellent. I will use my French foil so as not to cause undue injury.”
She intended to wipe that expression of self-confidence from Charles’ handsome features. He had witnessed her excel in defending herself against a villain; he should not doubt her abilities to repeat her victory in other circumstances.
Bridget walked past Charles and retrieved her French foil from her trunk, which lay opened at the foot of the bed. Charles joined her and examined the weapons in her trunk.
“It would appear that you did not spare any expense while purchasing your weaponry.” He lifted her smallsword in his hands, bringing it to his eye to gaze down the blade. “Sharp, straight, and very well crafted.” He fingered the design near the hilt, tracing the swirling pattern with the tip of his long, masculine finger. Bridget watched the movement with interest. “It is designed immaculately.”
She shook herself internally. “Yes, I had it specially made.” Bridget loved how the handle curved elegantly over her knuckles and the back of her hand, how the silver reflected the sun, and how the long blade whistled through the air.
Charles turned to her. “Did you, indeed?”
“I did. My rapier as well.”
“And your foil, I suppose?”
“No, actually. I received it as a gift from Oliver when I began lessons with him.”
Charles’ expression turned to stone, and Bridget bit back a smile.
Not only did Bridget plan to defeat Charles, but she also had every intention of convincing him to partner with her in his quest to capture The Boss. She would not accept failure on her part.
Oliver had been very thorough in teaching technique and evasion. Bridget did not have the strength that a man would possess. She did, however, have her small size and speed. It had taken several years of lessons and bouts with Oliver for Bridget to finally engage him as a true—and equal—opponent.
She may have stopped her lessons when Charles had returned from war, and had been meek and morose for several months, but she had felt her confidence slowly return over the past weeks. Becoming a governess, regardless of its being a fiction, had been the wisest decision she had ever made. Learning it had been a falsehood was disappointing, yes, but coming on this…adventure with Charles had livened her spirit. Charles had livened her spirit.
The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2) Page 20
