Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1)

by Cheri Champagne

  Lane groaned, the sound coming from deep within his chest. “Hell and blazes, Anna,” he choked.

  Before she could ask if she’d hurt him, he bent to grasp the hem of her skirts and lifted them, exposing her drawers.

  He pressed her harder against the wall. “Wrap your legs around me,” he grunted as he lifted her off the ground. He groaned his approval. “Link your ankles about my back.” Lane reached between them to open the slit in her drawers. “My God, you’re wet for me… You drive me to distraction,” he breathed. “I cannot resist you.”

  He impaled her with his pulsing manhood.

  “Oh!” she moaned breathily. “Lane… You have…no idea how good that feels.”

  Sweat beaded on his brow. “I do, sweetheart,” he ground out. “I do.”

  Anna wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, slipping her tongue inside to play with his in an arousing, jousting imitation of the intimate act they now performed.

  Lane growled deep in his throat as he pumped his hips. One hand drifted up the side of her body to cup her breast, while his other gripped her bottom, moving her in sync with his thrusts.

  Her pinnacle approached suddenly, the passion of the moment taking hold of her. “Oh, Lane!” It wound tighter and tighter until it exploded in a swirling dance of colour behind her eyelids. “I love you!” she burst out, unable to halt the impassioned words at the height of orgasm.

  Lane’s lips curled back in an erotic grimace. He held her tighter as he pumped frantically. “I love you…too!” He abruptly stilled, his face flushed and his member pulsing within her as he spilled his seed.

  For a moment, they remained where they were; their damp foreheads pressed together, one of Lane’s hands palming Anna’s breast, his other grasping her bottom, while Anna clung to him, wishing never to let him go.

  Chapter 30

  Charles sat in his tall, wingback chair, his hands fisted on the knobbed armrests as he seethed with rage.

  Thomson exchanged an apprehensive glance with Brown, both of whom had come bearing unhappy news. Charles did not know which to address first. Either of the evils would do, he supposed.

  His gaze flicked up at Thomson. “You say that they were last seen outside of Dover, but their trail has run cold?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Charles tapped the armrest with his index finger as he thought. “Alert the inns on the roads back. Have them alert us if they catch sight of them. I will have those bastards found.” He sent Thomson a curt nod. “Thank you, sir.”

  He hated making the men feel awkward in his presence. He was not their superior, after all, but an equal.

  Thomson nodded and sped from the room as Charles turned his gaze on Brown.

  His insides twisted. “It isn’t true… Tell me, Brown, that it isn’t true,” he implored.

  Brown’s young face distorted with regret. “I am afraid so, sir. The madam at Madam Bordeau’s flash house confirmed it. He picks th’ young women and h—hurts them.” He wrung his hat in his hands as anger reddened his face. “Beats them to within an inch of their life, but the magistrate don’t care on account o’ them being whores.”

  Charles’ blood roared through his veins. “And the other information?”

  “True, as far as I can tell. They always rendezvous in public places. Don’t rightly know why.”

  “I have my suspicions,” Charles rumbled with disgust. “Thank you, Brown.”

  “Of course, sir.” The young man bent in a short bow and fled the room.

  He needed to speak with Anna. He’d given Lane enough time to attempt to glean information from her, but now he had information of his own. He supposed he could give them another moment…

  Charles tapped the armrest of his chair, his mind whirling with possibilities.

  Regretfully, Lane withdrew from Anna’s sweet haven and lowered her feet to the ground. “Blazes, Anna. You are amazing.”

  He pulled his riding breeches up his legs and tucked his shirt into them, doing up the buttons of his falls.

  A beaming smile lit her flushed face as she righted her skirt and covered her glorious breasts. “Thank you,” she said breathlessly. “You are rather magnificent, yourself.”

  Pride rushed through him, and he returned her smile with a toothy one of his own. “Shall I fasten your laces?”

  She nodded and turned her back to him. Though his fingers still shook with the aftereffects of their lovemaking, he managed to fasten her sky-blue day dress. Her alluring scent wafted to him, and he gave in to temptation and pressed his nose to the back of her neck.

  “Mmm,” he moaned, scattering kisses up her spine. “I adore the way you smell.” He inhaled deeply. “Lemons.”

  Gooseflesh bumped her skin and with a light laugh she turned to face him. “I bathe with lemon water. It is my favourite.”

  “It has driven me mad for years.” He gave her a quick kiss.

  She tilted her head, her gaze searching. “Has it truly?” she asked uncertainly.

  Lane’s heart flipped over. “I must ask you something, Anna.”

  Before she could respond, he led her to the settee and gestured for her to sit. He lowered himself beside her as Anna fruitlessly attempted to repair her fallen coiffure.

  Lane felt abruptly nervous. He took a deep, quavering breath and held it. “Did you mean it?”

  Without breaking his gaze, she nodded, swallowing. “Yes. I know that you may not—”

  Lane let out his breath in a relieved whoosh. “I do,” he blurted, clasping her hands in his. “I have loved you for many years, Anna.”

  Her eyes widened. “You have?”

  He dipped his head. “I was not aware of it until recently, but yes, I have loved you since we were very young. My marriage proposal to you, those many weeks ago, was out of love, not merely a desire to preserve your reputation.” He shook his head in self-derision. “I should have told you. It was my curst fear that you did not return my affections that stopped me.”

  “Oh, Lane.” She smiled warmly at him. “I would never have given myself to you had I not loved you.” She lowered her gaze to their clasped hands. “I, however, know how men are with their affections; young men being what they are—”

  “Not I.” Lane cursed himself for his quick tongue and juvenile blush.

  Anna’s brows drew together in a frown. “Pardon? Surely you have had relations with women before.”

  Lane’s damnable blush deepened. Blazes, he had not blushed since he was in short pants. He cleared his throat. “I have attempted the act of lovemaking on many occasions. But never have I once been able to complete the act.” His hands tightened on hers. “Not until you. You changed my life, Anna.”

  A slow smile grew on her lush lips.

  Despite the embarrassment riding him, Lane felt compelled to return her smile. He fingered the lump in his waistcoat pocket. This is the moment.

  “What do you suppose we should do about Lord Boxton?” Anna chewed on her bottom lip, interrupting Lane’s thoughts.

  Disappointment wound through him at the loss of the moment, but he pushed past it. He would find another.

  “I have a thought,” he said, “but I am not yet certain that it would work. I think our best course of action would be to speak with Charles on the matter, that is, if you are willing to reveal the truth about Lord Boxton.”

  She nodded her head. “I believe that I am.”

  As though only just now noticing the tea service, Anna reached over and selected a sandwich, taking a bite.

  “Anna, I had thought…” Lane hesitated, choosing how to phrase his request. “Perhaps until this unfortunate business with Lord Boxton has concluded, we could keep the particulars of our relationship clandestine—”

  Anna swallowed her bite of sandwich. “Goodness, yes! I have no intention of informing Charles that—” Lane and Anna both stilled as the door to the parlour swung open.

  * * *
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  Charles strode in and closed the door behind him, his suspicion heightened. “No intention of informing Charles that what?” Anna’s face grew ashen. “What, Anna?”

  He suspected that he already knew, but Anna and Lane were not privy to that aspect of his life.

  Lane stood, exchanging a meaningful glance with Anna. “Why do you not sit, Charles? We have something we wish to discuss.”

  Charles sat in the deeply cushioned armchair, stiff and deliberately unreadable. “You have five minutes to explain yourself, Anna.”

  She visibly swallowed. “It is Lord Boxton who has been abusing me,” she confessed.

  Charles surged to his feet and yelled angrily, “I knew it! The scurrilous bastard is going to get what is coming to him!”

  “Please, Charles. There is more that I wish to discuss with you.”

  I should say so. Fury still rode him from his meeting with Thomson and Brown, but he kept it in check as he faced Anna.

  She took a deep breath. “He has also been blackmailing me.”

  Charles felt no better for having his suspicion confirmed. His little sister did not deserve such abominable treatment. Lord Boxton would get what was coming to him; Charles would make sure of it.

  “What could he possibly hold against you, Anna, that you would yield to?”

  “You, Mama, Papa…and Lane.”

  Charles’ eyebrows rose. “He threatened to harm us?”

  She shook her head. “He threatened to kill you.” She went on to explain what had occurred the morning of her engagement, how Boxton had delivered his threats and garnered Anna’s acceptance.

  Charles wanted to shout. He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, ask her why the devil she had kept such important facts from him. He could have helped her, for Christ’s sake! But he didn’t. She was under enough duress with the turn of events in her life; she did not need added guilt.

  She touched a hand to his knee. “I apologize for not telling you sooner, Charles.”

  He nodded. “I do not put the blame on you, Anna; I thank you for telling me.” He turned his gaze on Lane. “What thoughts have you in mind for the villain?”

  Who were Boxton’s eyes and how did he feel they were everywhere? It certainly bore looking into—and eliminating.

  Lane cracked a lopsided grin. “I have an idea, but I am missing an integral piece of this puzzle. I had hoped that you would be able to aid me in that area.”

  Charles inclined his head. “I am willing to help in any way that I can, so long as it ends in Lord Boxton ruing the day that he ever laid a hand on my sister.”

  “Excellent.” Lane’s smile grew. “This is what I’d had in mind…”

  Chapter 31

  Anna’s heart continued to beat unsteadily as she watched the Scarsdales’ guests mill about and dance in the grand ballroom. She had yet to see Lord Boxton among the colourful crowd, though having not arrived with him, she did not know how he was costumed.

  She adjusted her plain black domino and hoped that no one would recognize her. She had dressed in an unremarkable, plain, long-sleeved, modest, yet slimming emerald gown. Her hair was tied in a simple knot at the base of her neck with no adornments. Utterly forgettable.

  Lane had disappeared among a group of his Cambridge acquaintances, and Charles waited nearby but out of sight.

  A nervous flutter quivered in her stomach as she ran their plan through her mind. The last fortnight had gone by in a haze of scheming, meetings, and secret rendezvous. Charles had assured her that Lord Boxton’s “eyes” would not give them trouble, though Anna hadn’t the faintest idea how he would fulfill such a promise.

  She had learned several things throughout the plotting that she wished could be unlearned. They were, however, essential to the plan that would hopefully be successful tonight.

  After their last encounter, Anna had no difficulty convincing Lord Boxton that she was ill. Angry though it made him, he hadn’t come to call on her once in the last fortnight to express it. It also meant that she was not expected to attend Lady Scarsdale’s masked ball.

  Nervous anxiety quavered in her stomach and trembled her fingers. She straightened the long sleeves of her gown and toyed with the small reticule that hung from her wrist.

  She shook herself. They had all memorized the plan. Behaving nervously could damage their chances for success. She must embody a character, like the enigmatic Lady Roving in Mr. Mystery’s latest novel, The Highwayman. Yes. She was the mysterious Masked Lady. She attended a ball on the arm of her one true love in the hopes of destroying an infamous scoundrel, thus freeing her from his evil and manipulative clutches. She straightened her shoulders. Indeed. The mysterious Masked Lady.

  Anna wove her way through the crowd toward the refreshment table, eyeing the masked members of the haute ton with the hopes of finding her quarry.

  “Annabel?” A voice whispered.

  Anna jumped.

  “Don’t turn around.”

  She filled a glass with punch and took a sip. “What is it, Charles?” she whispered back.

  “Lady Juliana has been spreading some rather repugnant rumours about you this evening.”

  “Lady Juliana?” Anna’s heart thumped with nervous anticipation. “What are the rumours?”

  He was silent, and she feared for a moment that he might have left. Finally, he hissed, “I would rather not say.”

  Anna clucked her tongue. “It would not be prudent of me to go into our scheme unaware of—”

  “Fine,” he growled. “She has stated to many of the rumourmongers in attendance that you had spent several days in the company of rough men…and enjoyed it thoroughly.”

  “Oh dear,” she breathed. It was close enough to the truth that it could be easily believed. “Where is she?”

  “Moments ago she was entertaining some handsome gentlemen toward the north side of the dance floor. She is wearing a scarlet evening gown, with matching mask adorned with rubies, and a red-and-green tartan sash. I believe her costume is intended to be a Celtic princess of some kind.”

  Anna nodded, placing her empty glass upon a nearby tray. “Thank you.”

  “Good luck.” Charles’ reply rang in her ears as she spun and made her way around the perimeter of the grandly bedecked ballroom.

  Lady Juliana came into her view. She was, as Charles had warned, surrounded by men and wearing an unfortunate Celtic princess costume. The evening gown clashed hideously with her orange hair. Why had she chosen that particular shade of red?

  Anna pressed her back to the wall in an attempt to fade into the background unnoticed.

  “Have you heard the most recent tidbit about Miss Bradley?” Lady Juliana’s strident voice cut through the low hum of conversation and the orchestra’s enthusiastic rendition of the quadrille. “I have been informed, by a very reliable source, that the prim and proper Miss Annabel Bradley is no longer prim and proper.” She tapped the side of her long nose and let out a tittering laugh that was echoed by several lower chuckles.

  Anna felt an absurd, burning desire to walk over to the gossip-mongering woman and pull her hair. Settle down, Anna, she told herself with a secretive smile, you will soon have your chance to end Lady Juliana’s vicious tongue-wagging for good. And my, but that would feel good. I am the mysterious Masked Lady, she reminded herself.

  “Yes,” Lady Juliana continued, “it is said that she spent several days in the company of six men, days and nights, without a chaperone.” Several gasps rippled through the crowd.

  A loud, male voice rose above the snickering and general surprise of the small group. “That cannot be true. I have known Miss Bradley for many years, and she simply does not seem the type of young lady to behave in such a manner.”

  Anna dearly wished she that she could see the face of the gentleman that had so gallantly come to her defense. Nevertheless, she was warmed by the gesture.

  “I assure you, sir,” Lady Juliana’s brittle,
shrill voice rose, “that it is true. I have heard the account personally from a very close acquaintance of Miss Bradley’s.”

  The crowd muttered and whispered, the low hush slowly spreading through the room. Soon Lady Juliana’s credibility would cease to exist, but doubt would likely linger in many a mind…and it smarted. Most particularly when Anna’s enceinte state began to show and the truth would be exposed for all to see.

  She placed a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture.

  A large, shadowy man passed her, bringing her thoughts back to the present. The man smelled strongly of Irish whisky and walked with a self-confident swagger. Anna eyed him carefully. He wore black from head to toe with a black half-mask. His auburn hair and glinting green eyes could only mean one man. Lord Boxton.

  He entered the throng around Lady Juliana, the buzz of conversation slowly dissipating. The discussion turned to the fine weather and other light banter, until the group began to disperse.

  Anna continued to observe inconspicuously from her position against the wall as Lord Boxton and Lady Juliana exchanged pleasantries. Lord Boxton left to retrieve some punch, and then they danced a waltz.

  The business of spying certainly had its dull moments, but the excitement flowing just under her skin was like molten lava ready to erupt in an explosion of exhilaration at any moment.

  She kept her gaze on the couple as they slowly walked away from the other dancers together. Lord Boxton whispered something in her ear, and they went their separate ways. As casually as she could, Anna followed Lord Boxton as he slunk into the hallway, then up the staircase to the upstairs retiring rooms.

  Anna kept her distance, ensuring that Lord Boxton would not see her. She stopped at the second-floor landing and crept her head around the corner.

  The contemptible man disappeared through the doorway to one of the guest bedchambers, and the door closed quietly behind him. She waited for a moment before sneaking down the hall after him.