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

by Cheri Champagne

  Not only could he not find his weapon, but there was a blinding pain shooting through his thigh, and his head swam nauseatingly. He returned his head to his pillow in an attempt to relieve his discomfort.

  “Be at ease, Hydra. It is just you and I in the room.” Charles’ gaze travelled to the chair at his bedside where Stevens sat in a nonchalant pose.

  “I am afraid that I have several questions for you, Stevens.” Charles was thankful that his dizziness had passed.

  Stevens inclined his head. “I had thought you might. I shall be pleased to answer them.”

  “Is Bridget well?”

  “From what I have seen, and what the doctor has said, she is exceedingly well.”

  Charles closed his eyes briefly and released a heavy sigh of relief. “What happened at the mill? The last I recall was”—he squinted his eyes—“blast it. I do not recall much of anything. Please fill me in.”

  “From what I understand, you and Bridget were both tied to chairs, but Bridget had the forethought to sew a dagger into the sleeve of her coat. She used the blade to cut through her ropes and stab The Boss—er, Helen.

  “She retrieved her smallsword from a nearby table and threatened Gilley with it, felling him with the hilt to the back of his head. Helen then sprang back to life and charged Bridget. Jones and I entered just after Bridget fought her off.”

  Charles had been wholly and completely wrong about Bridget. She was entirely capable of defending herself. He was a fool. He needed to make amends to Bridget immediately and take the woman to wife, should she have him. There was nothing holding him back any longer. “Amazing.” Indeed.

  “My thoughts exactly. And I believe you said as much to Bridget.”

  Charles felt his eyes widen. “What did I say to her?”

  Stevens’ gaze lowered to his boots. “This part of the discussion would be better received from Bridget’s perspective, I believe.”

  “I disagree.” Charles fought through the moment of dizziness as he rose up on one elbow. “Tell me what I said to Bridget.”

  “You informed her that you thought her a remarkable woman.” For the second time in as many minutes, Charles sighed with relief. But then Stevens continued. “You also told her that you loved her.”

  Charles’ free hand rose to cover his eyes. “I didn’t!” He had stated as much within her hearing when he spoke with Gilley, but a droopy, slurred declaration of love was not something that Charles wished to have on his conscience.

  Stevens chuckled. “You did, indeed.”

  “Oh Lord. Why could you not have knocked me out or covered my mouth before I went and made a fool of myself?”

  “It didn’t appear as though you made yourself look the fool. She replied in kind.”

  Charles’ hand dropped from his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She said that she loved you as well. Then you fainted.”

  Charles did not know how to respond. Bridget loves me? He felt a pleasing lightness in his chest begin to grow.

  “Yes, you romantic sod. She loves you.”

  A smile lit Charles’ face as he reclined on his bed once more. “I shan’t allow you to dampen my mood, Stevens.”

  “Splendid. Then you should not mind remaining off of your feet for the next several weeks. Dr. Claridge demanded it. He has done an excellent job bandaging your leg. You are fortunate that the ball went through your thigh; should it have remained, the doctor is certain you would have perished. He has ordered several servants to keep watch over you in the event that you should catch the fever, so prepare yourself for several sets of watchful eyes.”

  Charles shrugged. “I will accept it so long as Bridget pays me a visit. Is she at Mason Hall?”

  Stevens’ golden gaze met and held Charles’ blue one. “She is not.”

  The light feeling in his chest began to dissipate. “Where is she, Stevens?”

  “She is on assignment. With Jones.”

  “She what?” Despite the sharp pain in his leg and the unsteadiness still fogging his mind, Charles sat bolt upright in bed.

  Stevens got to his feet. “Now, now. Lay back. Everything is fine. She is with Jones. Do not make yourself faint again.”

  Charles blinked away the spots that danced before his eyes. “Why are you not with them as well? What if something should happen to her? What assignment have they accepted? Who ordered the assignment?”

  “That is a great many questions, Charles.”

  A fierce frown crossed his brow. “Answer me, Stevens before I lose my patience.”

  “I am not with them because I was stabbed by Helen not four hours ago, and Dr. Claridge demanded I remain here. He said that Bridget was in sufficient health to continue with the assignment.”

  “Bridget’s health? What happened to Bridget?”

  “Nothing that you likely do not already know. She was hit on the head by Helen at Mason Hall, and was lightly singed by the branding iron that Gilley had wielded during their fight at the mill.”

  Charles took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. “Then Gilley and Helen have been caught? The assignment that Bridget and Jones have embarked on is not one of a dangerous nature?”

  “Not exactly.” Stevens cautiously resumed his seat. “Helen succumbed to her wounds upon arrival at your family estate, and Gilley managed an escape at the mill.” He held his hand up to halt Charles’ flow of blasphemes. “I know what you are going to say, Hydra, but there is no hope for it. Bridget is with Jones and is very likely already at their intended destination.”

  “Which destination would that be?”

  Charles watched the uncertainty play over Stevens’ features. He was clearly debating internally whether or not he should tell Charles where Bridget and Jones were.

  “Out with it, Stevens, or I will leave this bed and search for her myself.”

  The man let out a frustrated sigh. “Very well. They are perpetrating a scheme that Bridget and I devised in which they pose as servants and enter Gilley’s home in search of evidence of his guilt. She was rather taken with the notion of engaging in subterfuge and infiltration.”

  “Why would you allow her to do such a thing?” Charles cursed.

  “You brought her along on assignment. How is this one any different?”

  “I ensured her safety by hiding her in the shrubbery while I met with Gilley! She was not directly exposed to anyone dangerous.”

  “Until she returned home and was attacked by The Boss. It would seem that Bridget has been exposed to the most dangerous of women for several years.”

  “In that you are correct,” Charles grudgingly admitted. “However, she should not have been allowed to engage in such a dangerous assignment, Stevens.”

  “She handled herself admirably at the mill, and from what I understand, she has succeeded in defending herself against several other attacks, as well. Bridget is far stronger than you believe her to be; than even I had believed her to be.”

  Nothing about this situation felt right. “Bridget should be at home, creating watercolour paintings, having tea with her friends, and pursuing other enjoyable feminine pastimes.”

  “We are in agreement on that score.”

  Charles clenched his jaw as frustration ran rampant through his veins. “She is not a spy, blast it!”

  Chapter 38

  After two days wearing a man’s suit of clothes, it felt distinctly odd to wear petticoats and a dress again.

  Bridget adjusted her apron ties and reached up to slip a few wayward strands of hair back into her mobcap.

  “Your disguise is sufficient,” Jones whispered under his breath. “You are the veritable picture of a chambermaid. In a house this size no one will think twice about a servant girl that they do not recognize. Stop fidgeting or someone will notice you.”

  “My apologies.” She took in his appearance as he walked alongside her. “You look ever the servant, as well. Though slightly more mussed than I would have expected.”

  They slowly wa
lked around the rear of Gilley’s personal stables, just where the shadows shielded them from the mid-afternoon sun.

  “I will not be able to join you inside.”

  Bridget frowned. “Whyever not?”

  Jones’ lips thinned. “A man of my size does not belong indoors as a footman, he would be a stable hand; that is where I shall be.” He tugged on his coarse coat.

  Bridget opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated, then clucked her tongue. “Why do you fidget so?”

  “I despise not having my bow and quiver on my back, but one must endure.” He turned to face her.

  “What if something were to happen?” she asked.

  “I have seen what you are capable of doing, Lady Bridget. I have no doubt that you can handle yourself should someone spot you. You have the blade and pistol I gave you, yes?”

  She tapped a hand against the heavy pocket in her skirts. “I do.”

  “Then you will be fine.” He looked around to ensure that no one was within earshot. “The papers you are looking for would appear as lists, maps, odd, indiscernible drawings, or letters that do not make sense.” Bridget nodded her understanding. “Gilley would not keep these documents sitting on his desk or even within its drawers. You will have to think creatively to discover where a devious mind such as Gilley’s would hide incriminating evidence. My first guess would be his bedchamber. The second would be in a secret compartment hidden in his study.”

  “I understand.”

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded.

  “I apologize in advance, Lady Bridget.”

  “What—”

  Jones’ lips came down hard on hers, stiff and unmoving. Bridget put her hands to his chest and was about to push him away when a voice sounded from behind her.

  “Just what do you think you are doing?” the voice asked.

  Jones hurriedly stepped back, looking sheepish. “I’m right sorry, I am, Mr. Roger.”

  Bridget immediately forgave Jones’ actions.

  “Get back to work, you two. I don’t want to see any more of this nonsense until your duties are completed. Do you understand?” The new head groom watched them sternly.

  “Yes, Mr. Roger,” they said in unison. Bridget dipped in a demure curtsey and Jones bowed.

  The man raised an eyebrow at them both, then turned toward the water pump.

  “Go on with you, now,” Jones whispered.

  Bridget turned on her heel and marched toward the servant’s entrance to Gilley’s home. Situated on the outskirts of London, the building was ostentatiously large with a small, curving forest at its rear.

  Her stomach was at war with itself; it was both tied in knots and fluttering with nervousness. She mustered all her will to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

  For Charles, she would do anything. She wondered how he fared at the Bradley estate. The last she had seen of him was his pale, slumbering form stretched out on his large bed.

  She put her hand on the aged door latch and pulled.

  “Good Lord in heaven! Finally one of you has arrived!” A tall, thin woman with rosy cheeks, a food encrusted apron, and a carving knife in her hand put one fist on her hip. “I requested an upstairs maid’s assistance a quarter of an hour ago.”

  Bridget had lived with servants for the whole of her life, and was familiar with their behaviour. She meekly dipped her head. “It’s sorry I am, ma’am. I tried to get here sooner.”

  “I’ve got no time for your excuses, girl. The master sent word of his arrival; the room needs to be set for his needs.” She waved a bony hand through the air. “Go on with you, now. Come back down to get his tea tray when you’re done.”

  Bridget shuffled out of the room, listening to the cook’s grumblings about a lack of good servants.

  Little did the woman know… Bridget hid a smile at the thought.

  During their journey to London, Jones had given Bridget a thorough description of the layout of Gilley’s town house. Gilley had invited him to the house in town several times to discuss business. Jones, ever trusting of his employer, felt guilty for the information he had divulged to Gilley. The poor man.

  Bridget slipped further into the building. She hurried up one flight of stairs and down another long hallway. Not much further now, surely.

  Reaching what she was certain was the correct row of bedchambers, Bridget began to count the passing rooms. According to Jones, the master bedchamber was eight doors down this corridor. One… two… five… eight! She stopped before the open door.

  She quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind her. If the cook was to be believed, she had very little time to search before Gilley would return.

  Now where would I hide my secret documents if I were Gilley? she wondered. An idea struck her and she hurried to the bed, dropped to her knees, and bent to look under.

  Dash it! Not so simple, then.

  Bridget began searching every possible crevice in Gilley’s bedchamber. She searched his wardrobe, drawers, bedside tables, in his shoe and hat boxes, under his brocade rug, washbasin, and behind his curtains.

  Heaving a sigh, Bridget placed her fists on her hips and looked around the room. It was clear that she had searched the room; clothes, shoes, sheets of vellum, and furniture lay strewn about. She had better find what she was searching for, or she would be in danger of incensing Gilley further.

  She could not think of another place that Gilley would hide his documents. They must be in his study. She would be remiss, however, if she did not conduct a thorough inspection before leaving. The bedchamber might be very obviously searched, but she was certain that there was more to explore. She would not be given a second opportunity at this venture.

  As she stood in the centre of the room, she let her gaze travel over every surface. Could there possibly be something that she missed?

  She turned her gaze upward toward the curtains and the walls… Just a moment…the walls!

  She stepped to the nearest expanse of wall. How could one tell if there was a hallway behind it? She spread her hands over the wallpapered surface, then began lightly tapping her fingers.

  Continuing the movement, Bridget walked around the room, tapping each wall panel. She paused as she reached one that stood beside the wide bed. This one sounds odd. Placing her ear against the wall, she tapped again and heard a distinct echo behind the wood.

  This must be it!

  Spreading her fingers wide, she felt along the wall in search of a way to open it. How had Charles done it?

  Aha! She knelt on the floor, feeling along the seam of the wood with her fingers. In the Castle there had been a small wire along the siding that one would pull to release the latch on the other side.

  Slowly she rose as she continued to feel along the edge. Then she paused. There! Her heart pounded with excitement as she squeezed the wire between her fingers and pulled.

  She could hardly contain her jubilation as, there, on the floor of the entryway to a dark passage behind the wall, sat a small box. Bridget lowered to her knees, eagerly opening it, and peering inside at its contents.

  The box contained several letters, a map, and three lists. She hastily scooped up the contents and placed it in her apron pocket. It was time that she returned to Jones. She closed the box’s lid, slid from the passageway, and closed the panel behind her.

  Her heart stuttered to a halt as she reached the door and heard noise coming from down the hall.

  Heavy footsteps thumped in the corridor, getting steadily closer. “I don’t care if my bedchamber is not yet prepared! I want to bathe and change. I have business to attend to this evening!”

  Oh no! Gilley! Grateful for the forewarning her ears gave her, she spun in a circle, searching for a place to hide, or a way out. Though, when Gilley spotted the condition of his bedchamber, he would know that there was an intruder inside.

  She did not know where the hidden passageway went, so that was not an option. Her gaze flew to the window.

&n
bsp; Surely not.

  “Have tea brought up, woman!”

  As his voice neared, Bridget felt she had only one option available to her. She dashed to the window, drew up the sash. A cold gust of air hit her and she shivered, throwing one leg over the ledge. Sitting on the sill, she brought her second leg over, and, sliding to the very edge, she reached backward to silently close the window behind herself.

  The distance to the ground appeared much greater than she had expected. Good heavens!

  The creak of the latch sounded in the room behind her and she half spun to look over her shoulder. The movement caused her to lose her delicate balance, and her bottom slipped from the edge of the sill. And she fell.

  A loud rip penetrated her panic, as her skirts caught on the brick sill. She bounced, before hanging suspended in the air, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Her heart thundered in her chest as she grasped frantically at the brick sill, the coarse stone abrading the sensitive skin of her fingers.

  Above her, a roar rent the room. “MacRoth! MacRoth, I have need of you!”

  Bridget’s body ached with the need to release the ledge. But how would she make it to the ground, besides plummeting? Perhaps she could lower herself to the next sill.

  A bead of sweat trickled down her spine, the heat of the sun and her strenuous exertion warming her beneath her dark frock.

  She shimmied her hands along the brick, kicking her feet through the air in an attempt to gain some leverage. Just a little further…

  “Let go!” A hissed whisper from below caught her attention. “It’s Jones. Let go and I will catch you.”

  Bridget attempted to see where he stood, but it was not possible from her position.

  A crash and several loud thumps and curses could be heard above her. It was only a matter of time before Gilley opened the window in search of clues as to where she had gone, and they would apprehend her easily without her being able to defend herself.

  “Lady Bridget,” the whisper came again, “let go!”

  She braced herself with a deep breath, closed her eyes and did as she was told, quickly releasing both hands at once. Another rip echoed as her skirts tore. She clapped her hands over her mouth as she fell. Heaven forbid she scream and alert the entire staff to their escape.