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

by Cheri Champagne

  Charles mentally kicked himself, though he must admit to some relief at the traitor not being among his men.

  “That is correct, Major.” Helen held her arms aloft, a pistol hanging from one hand and Bridget’s smallsword extended in the other. She caught his gaze and cackled. “It’s a fine piece of weaponry. For a harlot.”

  “Why?” he croaked, cursing the burst of emotions running through him. “Why would you do this? Why would you spy for the French?”

  “Why else but wealth and status, Major?” Helen linked her arm through the slim man’s bony arm. “When this war is over, I will be the Countesse de L’avare.”

  Charles nodded slowly, but became faint at the motion, causing his head to bob, instead. He blinked several times to regain some clarity. “And you, Gilley? What title will you possess?”

  Gilley straightened with a haughty smile. “The Duque du Moreau.”

  “I see.” And he did see. They had been bought.

  “Wake up the woman.” Gilley eyed Bridget with malevolent delight.

  “With pleasure.” Helen strode to a nearby table to deposit Bridget’s smallsword, before she returned to stand before Bridget.

  “Don’t you touch her!” Charles shouted in protest as he tugged at the ropes that bound him.

  With a loud crack, Helen slapped Bridget hard on the cheek.

  Bridget’s head snapped up, instantly alert. “What—?” She struggled against her bindings, eyes wide as she caught sight of Helen. “Where have you brought me, Helen? Why am I—” Her gaze slid past Helen to Charles. She gasped, a fierce frown and deep worry marring her brow. “Charles! Oh, Charles, I have worried about you. How are you? Are you all right?”

  His heart swelled at her concern. “I am as well as can be in such a situation, love. And you?”

  “I have the headache, but I am well. I—”

  “Do shut up! The two of you are enough to give me the headache.” Helen began pacing between them. “It has come to my attention that you two have been eager to meet The Boss.”

  Bridget scowled.

  “T’is a pleasure.” Helen lowered in a mocking curtsey. “Although if I were being honest, I would say that it was a partnership with my lover, Louis. The majority of the work, however, fell to me.”

  “I see.” Bridget glared at Helen. “I am curious, Helen, why you went to such elaborate lengths to capture me, when you had ample opportunity to abduct or murder me should you have wished it. Why did you take the trouble of sending a letter to Charles?”

  Charles watched the exchange, curious at Bridget’s calm anger.

  “Come now, little insect, do not be obtuse. It was Charles that we desired. His information that we coveted.” Her glower deepened. “He was stubborn, however, and focused on saving you. Fortuitously, we now have both of you in our grasp.”

  Chapter 35

  Almost through! Bridget twisted her wrist slightly, poking her finger through the hole she had created in her sleeve and reaching for the blade of the dagger. If she could only keep everyone’s attention on the discussion and not on the movement of her hands, she would have it out in a matter of moments and could begin sawing at the rope.

  “Men,” Gilley barked at his and Helen’s ruffians, “you are free to leave. We will summon you when we have need of your services.” The stout Gilley turned his gleeful gaze on Bridget, then returned it to Charles.

  Bridget paused in her movements for fear that the men walking behind her would observe her attempt at escape.

  Helen trailed a finger down her French lover’s chest. “Louis, you may leave as well. I know you do not have the same taste for violence as I. And I have the delightful feeling that this will get…messy.” She waved the man off and he retreated silently with the other men.

  The moment Bridget heard the door close, she resumed the retrieval of her blade. Her first two fingers wiggled in her sleeve, garnering several small cuts in the process.

  “With whom shall we start, Gilley?” Helen’s pleasure was evident. “Hydra or Lady Bridget?”

  “Me,” Charles said between clenched teeth. “Start with me first.”

  Bridget adored the man his selfless sacrifice. But with luck, he would not have to be tortured; she finally had the blade situated between her fingers. She pinched and pulled the blade closer to the opening in her sleeve. Slowly, she shimmied the dagger, bit by bit, until the blade was fully removed.

  “The woman. It will torture Hydra to see the woman injured.” Gilley licked his wide, frog-like lips and Bridget began to feel as though she would seriously dislike what was to come.

  I must work faster.

  She turned the blade around, her heart stalling briefly as she fumbled clumsily with it. She squeezed her hands together, clasping the blade tight and earning new cuts. Every slice was worth it, however, as she finally placed the blade against the rope tied at her wrists and began to saw.

  “I am capable of handling anything that you decide to punish me with.” Bridget boldly sat straighter beneath her bindings and raised her chin.

  “Bridget, no!” Charles shook his head, his already pale complexion turning increasingly ashen.

  Helen threw her head back in a maniacal laugh. “You have much to learn about torture, and I will be vastly pleased to teach you.”

  Bridget watched as Helen strode to a box sitting on a table against the wall. As Helen opened the latch, Bridget felt an excited flutter in her stomach. Her smallsword was beside the box! If only she could escape her bindings and reach it before Helen shot her, she would be able to garner hers and Charles’ path to safety. She increased the pace of her cutting.

  Helen retrieved an item from her box and turned with a malicious grin on her lips.

  “Helen!” Charles appeared desperate to garner her attention, though his skin had drained of all colour and beads of sweat formed on his brow. “Focus on me first. I shall be an entertaining victim, I assure you.” If only Bridget could inform him of her plan!

  Her bindings were almost cut through, but she needed more time!

  “I will be with you in a moment, Hydra.” Helen lifted the item and Bridget nearly choked on her gasp. “First I intend to play with little Bridget.” She narrowed her spiteful gaze on Bridget, a nasty smile on her lips. “How it must spike your ire that I was able to trick you for so long.”

  While she hated that she’d been so fooled by Helen, Bridget must admit that the woman played the part of friend and confidante very well, painful though it was.

  “I trust that you now see that not all torture is temporary. This one will provide some fun.” She turned the branding iron over in her hand. “Gilley, what say you? Shall I brand her with an ‘H’ for all to see?”

  The vile man laughed low in his gut. “H for harlot. Fitting.”

  “If you brand me, Helen, then oughtn’t you brand yourself, as well?” Bridget cursed her imprudent tongue. She was very nearly through the rope.

  “What I have with Louis is far more than anything you can comprehend!” Helen sneered, her beautiful face twisting into something ghastly. “You will forever more be known for what you truly are, while your lover is charged with treason and hung at the Old Bailey for all to witness.” A wicked smile crossed her features. “I shall enjoy watching you squirm while he is dragged in chains down Dead Man’s Walk.”

  Bridget feigned terror at Helen’s words, while her heartbeat was speeding with anticipation. Her bindings were finally severed!

  She bent her arms further so her hands reached the ties of the rope holding her to the chair, and she nimbly worked her fingers and the blade simultaneously to free herself of those bindings as well.

  “Bridget… No…”

  Bridget’s gaze lifted to Charles seated several feet away from her and detected a faint tinge of green to his pallor. Oh dear. He appeared ready to vomit or faint, and neither were tolerable outcomes. His eyes seemed glazed and unfocused. Her gaze lowered to the wound on his thigh and the darkened, sticky material s
urrounding it, and she began to worry that he had lost too much of his blood.

  If she did not free them of this predicament promptly, Charles may die. And that was not an option, despite what Helen wished.

  The sick feeling in her middle and the sharp pain pulsing in her heart told her one thing for certain. She loved Charles. And she would do anything to have him.

  Her resentment and anger slipped away…though she very much feared that if she did not escape with Charles soon, it might be too late.

  Gilley cursed under his breath and attempted to adjust his vast girth at the hearth of the fireplace. “I have never built a fire before, how in damnation am I to do it?”

  Helen scoffed. “You have likely witnessed countless chambermaids performing the service for you.”

  Gilley turned to glower at Helen over his shoulder. “Watch your tone with me, woman. If it weren’t for me, you would not have had an in at the Home Office.”

  Helen paled, but kept her mouth shut.

  Aha! Bridget wiped her expression clear of any feelings of victory. She had loosened the knot at her back, but did not let it go, holding the ends together in her hands, lest they fall and alert Helen before Bridget could strike.

  She must wait until either Helen and Gilley were positioned far enough away that Bridget could reach her smallsword—with her ankles still tied to the chair—without their interfering, or until Bridget could attack one of them without the other to close by.

  Bridget did not relish the thought of killing or maiming anyone. At the moment, however, she was willing to do whatever it took to earn hers and Charles’ freedom, particularly from the evil, manipulative, and outright insane clutches of Helen and the rotund Gilley.

  Several minutes of tense silence passed in which Gilley attempted to build a fire. And Bridget watched Charles. He required medical aid immediately.

  “Done!” Gilley dusted his hands together, awkwardly rising from his crouched position.

  Helen promptly put the end of the branding iron in the fire and left it to heat. “Where do you suppose I shall brand you?” She strode back to face Bridget, the embodiment of villainous displeasure and maliciousness. Bridget was dumbfounded at how she had not seen such a glaringly obvious aspect of Helen’s character.

  The woman continued issuing threats as she waited for the fire to heat the branding iron, her use of coarse language and colourful threats both shocking and disturbing to Bridget.

  Gilley strode to the table and began organizing other implements for torture. Bridget’s stomach clenched. If only Helen came closer to Bridget, she might be able to strike while Gilley’s back was turned.

  Charles let out a groan as he weakly pulled at his ropes. Bridget wished she could tell him not to worry, but that would not end well for both of them, so she kept her lips sealed.

  “…and those pretty nails?” Helen continued. “They will be ripped off one by one, right along with…”

  One step closer, one step closer, Bridget chanted in her mind.

  Helen finally took the step that brought her directly before the chair.

  This was Bridget’s opportunity. She was not going to squander it!

  Everything happened at once. Bridget let go of the rope in her hands and stood, swinging her arm out and slicing through the sleeve of Helen’s grey servant’s dress. Helen screeched, gripping her arm and stepping back.

  Not wanting to lose her momentum, Bridget followed, swinging the dagger low and sticking it in Helen’s stomach. With a winded yelp, Helen slumped to the floor, leaving the bloodied blade in Bridget’s grasp.

  Having heard Helen’s cries, Gilley spun from the table, a long, thick blade in his meaty fist. His arm arced behind him in a back swing. Bridget instinctively crouched to the ground as the blade flew over her head. While Gilley shouted profanities, she worked her fingers to nimbly untie one of the knots at her ankles.

  Gilley roared his frustration, spinning to retrieve another weapon. Bridget rose, one ankle freed, and threw the blood-soaked blade at Gilley’s back. He released a hoarse cry, staggering back with a pistol in his hand.

  Bridget vaulted toward the table, dragging the chair behind her, and reached for her smallsword.

  She freed her smallsword from its sheath and aimed it at Gilley’s broad chest.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bridget saw Helen slowly sliding across the floor toward the table covered in weaponry, leaving a thin trail of blood behind her. Injured as she was, she could not move quickly, but she was still a danger. But first…

  “Surrender, Gilley.” Bridget lowered her voice in warning.

  Gilley’s chins wiggled in outrage. “Never!” He aimed the pistol at Bridget and cocked it.

  “You won’t…win, Gilley… Br—Bridget is an…exc—excellent swordswoman.” The sound of Charles’ slurred speech caused Bridget’s stomach to flip over, but she kept her gaze unwaveringly on the villain before her.

  Gilley’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the pistol, and Bridget impulsively swung her leg upward, using her impairment to her advantage. The chair crashed into Gilley’s hand, knocking the pistol into the air as it discharged, the chair breaking and sending splinters flying. Bridget cringed, her ears ringing.

  Finally free of her burden, Bridget advanced toward Gilley. He retreated several steps, the fire in the hearth putting him into a silhouette. It was not until he had reached behind himself and lifted the hot, red brander that Bridget realized his intent. She entered the ready position. It would appear that they were to engage in a swordfight…of sorts.

  Preparation, she recited to herself. Advance-lunge.

  Her feet shifted along the floor as her blade dipped into the soft flesh of Gilley’s arm.

  His roar rent the air and he swung the branding iron, catching Bridget’s forearm. The material of her black coat, shirt, and likely her own skin sizzled at the quick contact.

  Bridget put all pain from her mind and focused on the fight.

  Recovery. Feint.

  She swung her sword through the air, catching the light of the fire—and Gilley’s attention—but didn’t attack with it. She lifted her leg, and with all her might, kicked her heel to the side of Gilley’s rounded knee.

  He howled and fell to the ground, dropping the branding iron in the process, the dagger still sticking upright from his back. Bridget kicked the iron away from Gilley’s reach.

  Clutching her sword tightly, Bridget hit him on the side of the head with the hilt.

  The screech of a banshee split the air and Bridget spun around. Helen ran at Bridget with whatever strength she had left, one hand curved to look like a talon and the other gripping an iron rod. She screamed, the high-pitched noise coming from her malevolent, contorted lips. Her eyes were wild and her blood-soaked frock was obscenely distressing.

  Bridget evaded her, side-stepping just at the last moment and sending Helen careening toward the back wall. Bridget whirled, her arm held high. The vile woman hissed and Bridget slashed, her sword whooshing through the air, and catching Helen lightly across the chest. The woman screamed again, jumping backward. She stumbled, her eyes widening and her arms flailing for purchase as she collapsed against the wall. Her voice was cut short by the knock to her head and she slumped to the floor, silent.

  Chapter 36

  The large metal door swung open to reveal two tall, broad men on the other side just as Helen slumped unconscious to the floor.

  Bridget’s chest constricted, but she prepared herself for another fight, lifting her sword in the en garde position.

  “Be at ease, Lady Bridget, it is we.” Bridget recognized Bramwell Stevens’ voice and she immediately sagged with relief.

  “Oh, thank goodness! You followed. I hoped that you would have seen us leave Mason Hall, but I had assumed the worst.” She went to the table, sheathed her sword, and replaced the belt around her waist.

  The two men entered the room and examined the mess she had created.

  “Holy hell, Bridget!�
� Bram Stevens exclaimed. “How did you manage to do this on your own?”

  Bridget’s relief quickly turned to worry. “We do not have time for an explanation.” She hurried to Charles, rounded his chair and gazed into his wide, bleary eyes.

  “You…are a remarkable woman.” Charles gasped. His eyelids began to droop and Bridget cupped his face.

  “Charles, remain awake, please. We will get you to a doctor as soon as possible.”

  Jones and Bram rushed to their side and began working on removing the ropes from around Charles.

  “I’ve…lost too much…blood,” he wheezed. “I don’t know if I will…survive.” The more he spoke the heavier his breathing became.

  “Of course you will.” A pang of terror went through her chest. “Do not say such things.”

  “Bridget, you…must know…”

  “Shh, shh, darling. You will tell me when you have more strength. Do not overtax yourself. Jones and Stevens will have you free in but a moment and we will bring you to a doctor directly.”

  He limply shook his head, causing his blue eyes to roll in their sockets and his face to lose yet more colour. “No…you must know…how much I…I…love you. I always have.” His throat bobbed as he gulped in his air.

  Bridget swallowed past the lump in her throat. “And I love you, Charles.”

  The corner of his lip twitched and curled up before his eyes slid closed and he went limp. Bridget caught his head in her hands, to keep him from further injury.

  Her eyes stung with tears. This was the appropriate situation for weeping, but most certainly not the time. She would have plenty of time when she sat at Charles’ bedside waiting for him to regain consciousness. For now she must concentrate on removing him from this terrible place.

  Bram and Jones stood, having completed their task.

  “How will we bring him home?” Bridget kept a hand on Charles’ head as Jones lifted him effortlessly in his arms. “Are we near to his estate, or his house in town?”

  Stevens bent to lift Charles from his chair. The motion seemed effortless, but a vein in his forehead bulged with the strain. “His estate is a quarter of an hour drive from here. It is also closer to the doctor.”