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

by Cheri Champagne

  “Please, do tell!” Stevens lifted one leg to rest his ankle over his opposite knee, and reclined against the backrest of the chair.

  Bridget shook her head. “They do not need the details, Mr. Jones.” She turned to look at Stevens and Charles. “The most important thing is that we found the incriminating documents. Gilley has been apprehended by Lord Liverpool and will be going directly to gaol to await his appearance in court.”

  “That is wonderful news, indeed.” Charles could not wait until Jones and Stevens quit the room so he could celebrate with Bridget…in private. “Although, I am rather intrigued.” He turned his gaze on Jones. “What did Bridget do?”

  “She crept, on her own, into Gilley’s home—”

  “On her own? I was told that you would accompany her!”

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t continue the tale.”

  “Oh, bollocks to that.” Stevens turned to face Charles. “She came out of it alive and well, did she not?” At Charles’ nod he continued. “There. Problem solved. Jones, do proceed.”

  Jones looked between the two of them, clearly uncertain whether or not to go on. Soon he began to speak, “I observed from my position by the stables for any sign of Lady Bridget in Gilley’s bedchamber. When I spotted her, I watched as she frantically destroyed the interior of the room.” He let out a laugh. “I realized she must have spotted the documents as she was gone from my view for a moment. Then, suddenly, she was opening one of the bedchamber’s windows in an attempt to escape!”

  Charles bit his tongue to keep from crying out in protest.

  Jones continued, “I saw her slip, and moved to catch her, but she held onto the sill with the tips of her fingers. It took convincing, but Bridget eventually trusted me, and released the brick.”

  “Good God!” Charles cursed.

  “Remarkable.” Stevens shook his head in amazement. “You might not believe her capable of handling the world on her own, Charles, but just after you were captured by Gilley, Bridget travelled to my apartments in Cheapside by herself. In the middle of the night.”

  Charles’ gaze flicked to Bridget, who watched her toes, a pretty pink blush staining her cheeks.

  “The woman’s damn near ready to match our spies on the field,” Jones agreed. “Upon returning to London to speak with Lord Liverpool, Bridget acted the perfect lady while she retold her story once more to his lordship. But then, who would you suppose turns up just after Liverpool examined the documents? The traitor, Gilley, himself! Liverpool put us in his library to listen in on the conversation. Interesting though it was, it was nothing compared to what occurred next.” The corners of Jones’ eyes creased with his mirth as he paused for effect. “After Gilley began making threats to his lordship, Bridget summoned the servants, burst through the adjoining door, leapt upon Gilley’s portly back, wrapped her arms around his neck, and effortlessly put him to sleep.”

  Stevens threw his head back and began to roar with laughter. Jones joined him, and soon Charles could not hold back his own amusement, and the three of them continued to laugh until tears began to stream down his cheeks.

  “Good heavens. It was not so terribly funny,” Bridget said defensively.

  Charles used the sleeve of his white lawn shirt to remove the moisture from his cheeks as he began to regain his composure. He felt the faintness return to him, but waited for a moment and recovered quickly. “Bridget, you astound me.”

  In between residual laughs and hiccups, Stevens wiped at his own eyes. “Bridget, how did you possibly learn how to put a man to sleep in such a way?”

  “My fencing instructor, Oliver, explained many ways in which to fell a man if one’s weapon is somehow lost. Putting a man to sleep is but one.”

  Charles could not wait to ask this woman to be his wife.

  “By God, Bridget.” Stevens forewent his customary roguish grin and smiled broadly. “You most definitely should join our little band of spies. You would fit in admirably.”

  Charles’ gut clenched, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Jones spoke ahead of him.

  “I would gladly welcome her into our group,” he sent a wink to Bridget, “so long as I receive a good luck kiss before each assignment. Your woman has soft lips, Charles.”

  Chapter 41

  “A good luck what?” Charles sat forward and pointed a finger at Jones. “You better not have kissed her, Jones or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, jump out of bed and pummel me?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’m afraid that what has been done cannot be undone, old boy.” Jones shrugged.

  With a growl, Charles threw back his covers and swung his mostly nude legs over the side of the bed. Before his bare feet could touch the ground, however, Bridget grabbed his shoulders from behind, Stevens slid the table back and stood before him, and Jones held his hands out in a gesture for Charles to stay.

  “Darling, Jones is simply taking delight in vexing you. Do not allow his words to affect you so.”

  “Lady Bridget is correct, Charles. Weakly failing in an attempt to thrash me will do your leg little good.”

  “Damn you, Jones.” Charles glared at his valet and friend as he returned to his seat on the bed. “You didn’t kiss Bridget, then?”

  Bridget turned crimson beside him. “You see…”

  “Damn you, Jones!”

  Both Jones and Stevens chuckled, while jealous anger flowed furiously through Charles’ veins.

  “It did not happen as you imagine, Charles,” Bridget explained. “Jones was instructing me on what to do once I entered Gilley’s town house, and Mr. Roger—Gilley’s head groom—approached from behind me. Jones kissed me merely to avoid his suspicion. It was quick, meaningless, and not very pleasing at all.”

  “Oi!” Jones held his arms aloft.

  Charles took a small measure of gratification from Jones’ disheartened expression. But it was most definitely time for him to be alone with Bridget.

  “Both of you”—he pointed to Jones and Stevens—“out.”

  The men continued in their merriment as they left the room.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Charles cupped Bridget’s face and pressed his lips to hers.

  Anticipation bubbled up within him when she responded with a contented sigh. Tangling his fingers through the base of her braided white-blonde hair, he teased her lips open with the tip of his tongue. Her warmth nearly undid him. How good it felt to kiss her!

  “Oh Bridget…” Charles groaned, kissing a path across her jaw and down to the rapid heartbeat on the side of her neck. “How I love you.”

  She froze, her heartbeat thumping against his lips. “I had so hoped that you didn’t say that out of panic and delirium.” Sighing, her forest green eyes swam with unshed tears. “I love you, too, Charles.”

  “Then marry me.”

  Her eyes widened and her kiss-reddened lips formed the shape of an O.

  “Do you truly mean that? What of your position with the Home Office?”

  “I will speak with the Prime Minister on the morrow and settle matters with him. I love you, Bridget, not my position with the Home Office. I wish to make you my wife and have passels of children with you. Of course, they must have your handsome features,” he ran the tips of his fingers over her forehead, curving a stray hair behind her ear.

  “Oh, Charles. Of course, I will marry you!” She threw her arms over his shoulders and kissed him eagerly.

  Charles froze, as a sudden sharp pain radiated up his thigh. He pulled back to hiss in a breath.

  “Oh heavens, your leg! I completely forgot; I am so sorry!”

  Charles closed his eyes as his wooziness returned full force. “It is quite all right, love. I simply need a moment to recover, then we shall resume our amorous activities.”

  “We will do no such thing.”

  Charles’ eyes popped open to stare into Bridget’s stern visage.

  “You require rest. It was just this morning that you lost consciousness from your injurie
s. I will not risk injuring you further.”

  “Very well, my love. I shan’t dispute the matter.” He held her hand in his, rubbing the backs of her fingers with the pad of his thumb. “There is something about which I need to speak with you.”

  “Of course, what is it?”

  His earnest blue gaze met hers. “As I do not ever wish to withhold information from you, or take control of our lives together without first speaking with you, I thought you ought to know that there is a possibility that I might be offered a position within the Home Office. With Gilley gone, his position requires filling.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Is that the sort of life that you would be willing to enter into?”

  Bridget’s chest swelled. She leaned forward to press her lips quickly to his. “Thank you for asking me.” Beaming at him, she continued, “I want a life with you, Charles. Whether you continue working in the field, retire, or take a new position, I will always wish to be with you.”

  “I am very pleased to hear it.” Charles smiled sleepily before a yawn caught him unprepared.

  “It is very late and you must be exhausted. I will give you time to rest, and I shall see you in the morning.” Bridget slipped from the bed and walked toward the door.

  “Do you promise to rise with the sun? I shall not rest knowing that I will have to wait for you.”

  Her smile returned, hitting Charles full in his heart. “I will see you first thing on the morrow.”

  * * *

  “You are up early this morning, Bridget.” Lane entered the breakfast room with a newspaper under one arm, his boot heels clicking on the white marble floor. “After staying up so late having sisterly conversation, I had thought you would enjoy sleeping late this morning.”

  “Good morning, big brother.” Bridget smiled at him over her teacup, her finger holding her place in her book of languages. “I promised Charles that I would pay a call on him early this morning.”

  He nodded as he piled his plate high with eggs, ham, and toasted bread at the short sideboard. The sun shining through the wall of windows made his blond hair appear lighter, though his back was stiff. Bridget knew that Lane was not pleased with her relationship with Charles, but he had yet to learn that they were no longer just lovers, but a couple engaged to be married. She refrained from telling him her big news, as she assumed that Charles would wish to speak with Lane beforehand.

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  Bridget shrugged one shoulder. “I heard a few words in Spanish. I am merely attempting to decipher them.”

  She distinctly recalled him saying “dios mio,” which appeared to mean “my God,” or something of the like. Nodding, she moved on to the next. The word “querida” meant “darling,” but she’d known that since he translated “querido” at the inn. There was one other phrase that he’d repeated several times: “te amo.” It translated to—oh my goodness!—“I love you.” Bridget’s heart skipped a beat. Had he loved her, even then?

  Bridget jumped in her seat as something brushed against her legs beneath the table. Her hand rose to her chest, her fingertips brushing the emerald necklace that Charles had gifted her. Lifting the table’s cream-coloured cloth, she bent to see one of Emaline’s dogs curled up at her feet, which settled her rapid heartbeat.

  “Is everything all right, sister?”

  Bridget waved a hand. “It was merely Soot.”

  He acknowledged her words with a tilt to his head. “I am pleased that everything played out well in the end, Bridget. Though I must say that I am shocked that Helen was actually The Boss.” He took his seat to her right, at the head of their short table.

  Bridget swallowed her bite of toast with marmalade. “I was shocked as well, to say the least, when she pulled a pistol on me.”

  “I should imagine so.” He paused. “I am disappointed, however, that you chose not to tell the family about your fencing lessons. You have no reason to be ashamed of your hobby, Bridget. Katherine sews clothing, for God’s sake, and none of us—apart from mama—have ever deemed it an unsuitable hobby for her. She designs and sews gowns and suits for the entire family, and part of the staff.”

  “I know, Lane, but fencing is far more…aggressive, and masculine than drawing, sewing, and stitching. I had thought that you would forbid it.”

  “Forbid it! I would have likely wished to engage in weekly bouts! You do know how I enjoy the sport.”

  “I do. Shall we plan on it, brother?”

  “I should like that very much indeed, Bridget.” He smiled around a mouthful of eggs.

  She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. She had been up very late into the evening in deep conversation with her sisters, recounting the events of the past days.

  Her sister by marriage, Annabel, absorbed every detail, asking questions and eagerly awaiting the answers. As a lover of gothic novels, Anna enjoyed all sorts of adventure, but Bridget suspected that after her kidnappings, Anna no longer longed for an adventure of her own.

  Emaline sat, enthralled by the retelling. She asked questions, gasped, and exclaimed at the blackguards’ nefarious activities, in addition to her many inquiries about the horses they rode.

  Katherine remained silent for the majority of their discussion, which was rather unusual for her during a tale of romance. She did respond appropriately to each moment of surprise, woe, and victory, however.

  Bridget’s retiring to her own bedchamber for the evening had been blissful…but rather lonely. She could not help but think of Charles throughout the evening. She had requested a bath, which was lovely, but it reminded her of when she and Charles were ensconced in his hunting cabin, and he’d joined her for each of her baths.

  It had felt wonderful to wash and brush her hair; the long locks had been dreadfully knotted from all her hours on horseback. Her night rail was wonderfully clean, and her bed felt like the most comfortable thing in the whole of the world. But somehow it all felt hollow, as Charles was not with her. After so many nights spent in his company, being alone to fall asleep felt almost foreign.

  That morning she had chosen to wear a cheerful pink walking dress and her matching slippers. It was quite the change from her servant’s attire of last evening, her men’s suit of clothes of the days past, and the drab, shapeless and colourless morning dresses she had donned as a governess. It had been days since she had worn a corset as tightly as her current one, however, and it was distinctly uncomfortable. Though Bridget believed it worth it, as she felt more herself this morn.

  With the help of Katherine’s lady’s maid she was able to put her hair in a proper chignon. Of course, her ordinary hairstyle had to be altered to cover the purple bruise marring her temple, and her overall image was peppered with cuts, bruises, scrapes, and a small bandage covering the burn on her forearm. Bridget, however, felt extraordinarily well.

  She set her plate aside and picked up her teacup once more.

  “By God, he’s really going to do it!” Lane looked to her, then tapped the newspaper article that he had been reading.

  “Who is doing what?”

  “Barrick Gray, the new Marquess of Withington, is returning to London!”

  “Why is this shocking?”

  “Have you not heard? No, of course you have not, though Lady Kipling has not stopped speaking of her poor one-armed nephew. He returned from war hoping to seclude himself from society, and through a series of odd, unfortunate events came into a title, an estate, and a load of responsibility that he did not desire. For the past months, the members of the ton have been clamouring for more information about the man. They all wonder if he will emerge from his self-inflicted isolation to embrace his role as the new Marquess. Well, dear sister, this advertisement confirms it.”

  “He has put out an advertisement for himself?”

  “No, no. He has requested the expertise of a tailor to outfit him for his new role, and his re-entry into society!”

  “I had no idea that you were so taken with gossip, Lane.”


  “Not generally, but I was friends with Barrick for years at Eton and Cambridge. I know how devastated he was upon his return from the continent, but I am pleased that I will see him again.”

  “I am glad to hear it.”

  “Good morning, Lord Devon.” A small voice called from the breakfast room door and Bridget smiled broadly as she turned to see young Henry enter the room. His gaze found hers. “Lady Bridget!”

  “Henry!” She left her seat and knelt to give the lad a hug. “I am so pleased to see you well.”

  “I missed you, Lady Bridget. I thought I would never see you again.”

  “Do not fret, Henry, I am returned.”

  “And Major Bradley? How is he?”

  “He is well. The doctor has requested that he remain abed until he has healed completely, but he remains in good spirits.” Still on her knees, she held him at arms length and studied his features. “You have grown, I believe.”

  He stood straighter and Bridget bit back a smile.

  Lane set his newspaper aside and watched the two in their exchange. “I had not noticed how remarkably similar the two of you are. You both have blonde hair and forest green eyes. If I did not know better, which I decidedly do, I would say you were related.”

  Bridget looked again at Henry and nodded her head. “It had not occurred to me, either, but you are correct.” Bridget thought that he would fit in perfectly with the Mason family.

  The clock in the hall chimed the hour. “Oh! Time certainly does pass quickly when one least expects it. I do wish that I could stay and talk with you, Henry, but I must go. Would you take tea with me this afternoon? I promise to have Cook prepare extra cakes.”

  Henry nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

  She placed a quick kiss to Henry’s forehead. “I will return after luncheon.”

  Rising from her crouched position, Bridget strode into the foyer with a smile on her lips. “Good morning, Geoffrey.”

  “Good morning, Lady Bridget.” He held out her pale green redingote and she slipped her arms in, buttoning it to her chin.