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

  He ignored her inquiry and effortlessly swept her off her feet. He could not speak even if he’d wanted to, for the lump in his throat would not let him.

  “Oh!” She frowned and batted at his chest. “You and Thomson both seem to think me infirm, but I assure you, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

  Her claims of being capable of walking on her own notwithstanding, Charles could return her to the castle with greater haste if he carried her. He did his utmost to avoid jostling Bridget, but the unbridled fear blazing through him urged him to quicken his speed.

  His heart fluttered as Bridget relaxed against him and her uninjured arm snaked around his neck. It was a damnable time to be aroused, but Charles could not help himself. With Bridget’s warm body in his arms, her breast pressed against his chest, her soft breath caressing his neck, and her sweet honey scent teasing his nostrils, his body instantly responded.

  He forced the heated thoughts from his mind and rounded the side of the castle to march up the front steps.

  Henderson, their acting butler, opened the door and led Charles to Bridget’s bedchamber next to the nursery, several men following him. He carefully set her down on the mattress, then began issuing orders.

  “Thomson, fetch a needle, string for stitching and a poultice. Henderson, get warm water and a lit candle. Callum, get laudanum, whisky, and material for bandages. The rest of you, join the others in searching for the shooter.” The men scattered to do his bidding, leaving Charles alone in the room with Bridget.

  She gazed uncertainly at him. “I sincerely hope that you do not think to stitch me yourself, Charles.”

  Charles’ stomach flipped over at Bridget’s use of his given name. “Of course I intend to. I grew rather proficient at doctoring while on the continent.” He undid the buttons of her spencer with sure and steady fingers, and carefully removed it from her body, along with Thomson’s cravat. He cursed under his breath; the movement had caused her arm to seep more blood.

  “Would you have me assist you in removing your dress, or would you prefer it if I rip your sleeve?” He looked into her pained expression. “It would be more comfortable for you if you were in your chemise. I would ensure that you were covered sufficiently with your bedclothes if you are concerned about modesty.”

  A frown marked her brow. “I would prefer not to undress with you present, but in my current circumstance, I believe it would be unavoidable.”

  “If you would prefer, I could summon Helen so she may assist you.”

  She shook her head. “I allowed Helen time to visit her family today. Her Mama is ill. I am afraid I must prevail upon you for help.”

  Charles’ heart rate tripled its speed and an inappropriate burst of anticipation jumped in his gut, but he steadfastly ignored it. Now was certainly not the time for such feelings. Bridget was injured, for pity’s sake.

  Thankfully Bridget had donned a front-buttoned walking dress, so her wound was easily accessible.

  His body heated as he slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress; exposing the silky mounds of her breasts peeking above her chemise.

  Focus, man. Focus. You do not wish Bridget to get an infection. He shook himself. No, he certainly did not wish for Bridget’s gunshot wound to lead to infection. He must remain single-minded in his attention to her doctoring.

  He efficiently—and as painlessly as possible—removed her garments, leaving her in only her chemise. All the while, she watched in curious silence, her glazed eyes following his deliberate and detached movements.

  The knot in Charles’ stomach twisted.

  He could hear the rumble of male voices down the hall and quickly pulled Bridget’s blankets up to her chin, leaving her injured left arm above the covers.

  Stevens preceded the other men into the large room then quickly strode over to the bedside next to Charles.

  “I heard what happened. How are you, Lady Bridget?” Stevens watched her with concern.

  She gave him a warm smile, then grimaced. “I am well, thank you, Mr. Stevens. How is Henry?”

  “He is well. He is playing in his bedchamber with Robert.” Bridget opened her mouth, but Stevens interrupted, “I made sure that he knew to stay indoors. He is perfectly safe.”

  Bridget appeared only slightly mollified, but nodded in response.

  Stevens turned his gaze on Charles. “How is her arm?”

  “The wound does not appear too severe. There is no entry or exit hole, only a deep gash. It will take several sutures to close it.”

  “Sir?” Henderson stepped forward, a tray clutched in his hands. “The items you requested.”

  Charles nodded at her bedside table. “Just there, if you will.”

  Henderson did as he was bid and quickly retreated. Charles picked up several implements and began to prepare the needle for stitching.

  Bridget licked her lips. “Who shot at me?” she asked into the silence. “Has he been captured?”

  “I sent men in pursuit, but none have returned with news.” Stevens shifted his weight.

  “This is all very vexing.” Bridget scowled at them.

  Carefully keeping his gaze fixed on the task of threading the needle, Charles prevaricated. “What is, my lady?”

  “You men are!” she exclaimed. “I do not understand these circumstances at all. There are no women in the castle, with the exception of Helen and I, an escort must follow me when I am out of doors, Charles is inexplicably in residence, though I have not seen him at any meals, and there was an unknown intruder on the grounds that wished to take my life for reasons unbeknownst to me. I have been shot,” her voice trembled, “and I do not know why. I simply wish someone would enlighten me! It is exceedingly frustrating.”

  Charles understood her vexation, and wished he could explain their situation, but he felt it would be unwise for Bridget to be made aware of his other identity. Although, at the moment he could not recall why.

  “Take a deep breath, Bridget,” he said as soothingly as possible. For what he was about to do was unpleasant, indeed.

  He waited until he was certain she’d taken a deep breath then poured the whisky over Bridget’s bared wound. She arched off the bed, a ragged gasp splitting the air. Guilt assailed him, but he knew that the alcohol was necessary.

  “You are brave, Bridget,” he assured her.

  He looked up at Stevens. “Hold her by the shoulder and do not let her move. I want the stitches to be straight.”

  Stevens rounded the bed, knocked off his boots, then climbed on. Charles squelched the unwarranted jealousy that flared in his gut as Stevens leaned across Bridget’s body to hold her shoulder in place.

  Stevens appeared sheepish as he looked down at Bridget. “My apologies, Lady Bridget. This may be inappropriate, but it is required if Major Bradley is to stich your wound properly.”

  “I—” She squeezed her eyes shut and hissed out a breath as Charles punctured her skin with the needle.

  “You are doing well, Bridget,” Charles said as he continued to stitch her skin. “You are strong.” He stitched several more, his gut clenching at her pain. “You are brave.”

  Charles finished the stitches as quickly as possible, while ensuring that they were carefully done and Bridget’s skin did not ripple or pucker. He doused her arm with whisky once more, then put a poultice and some bandaging on.

  Stevens lifted off Bridget’s shoulder and slid from the bed.

  Charles cleared away the mess he’d created and washed his hands in the basin on Bridget’s washstand

  Bridget lay on her bed, a light sweat beading her neck and brow. She had been brave, hardly uttering a sound but for several gasps and the odd gnashing of teeth.

  Stevens and Henderson left the room, closing the door behind them, leaving Bridget and Charles alone in the room.

  “Do you require help taking your laudanum?” He asked, not wanting to leave her yet.

  Bridget licked her dry lips and whispered, “I do not wish to have any.”


  “I would advise it. You require rest and laudanum will help.”

  “I am not myself when I take it.”

  He winked to lighten the demand. “Doctor’s orders.”

  A laugh escaped her at his levity, but the movement of her shoulders pulled at his stitches, and she grimaced.

  She nodded at Charles. “I believe you are correct. I will take it.”

  He returned to her bedside and prepared the dose. Sliding one arm beneath her neck, Charles lifted her, then brought the spoon to her lips.

  Chapter 14

  “I love you, Bridget.”

  “Oh, I love you, too, Charles.”

  “I was not certain that you would accept my offer, darling, but I am infinitely pleased that you did.” He ran his hands over her bare belly, down to her thighs.

  He slowly slid one stocking off, then the other, rendering her entirely nude.

  Bridget resisted the urge to cover herself. Instead, she ran her hands through Charles’ thick blond locks and let him look his fill. She would call herself a wanton, but this was not illicit. It was love.

  The hard ridge of his aroused member throbbed against her thigh. She exulted at his quickened breath.

  He moved up her body to settle himself between her legs, and her sex throbbed in anticipation. She had never felt such raw, carnal sensations rushing through her before. She thought she would have felt trepidation before such an experience. But with Charles everything felt right.

  His lips sought hers. He lapped hungrily at her, their mouths conducting an arousing prelude to the intimate dance they would soon engage in.

  Bridget let out a moan, raising her hips toward him, eager for him to finally take possession of her.

  He pulled away and Bridget let out a whimper of protest. She sensed him still nearby in the darkness of the room and she reached out toward him. She found his shoulder then wrapped her arms around his neck once more and pulled him down for an intimate kiss.

  He felt oddly stiff at first, but as she opened her mouth beneath his, his shoulders relaxed and he pressed himself closer to her once more.

  She let out another moan as she pulled him down atop her, pressing her hips up against his.

  “Oh, Charles.” She kissed along his jaw to nibble and tongue his earlobe.

  He let out a groan and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “Bridget…” he took a ragged breath, “Good God, Bridget.”

  She brought her mouth back to his to kiss him deeply, heat flooding her body and rushing to her mons, creating a pleasing throb.

  “I love you.”

  * * *

  Charles froze as the words left Bridget’s lips.

  He pulled back to look into her dazed green eyes. The fire in Bridget’s fireplace was blazing high, giving the room a warm glow, enough so that he could see her eyes well.

  Damnation. Disappointment lanced through him. She must be half asleep and still under the effects of the laudanum. Though he’d be damned if he didn’t admit that her words—intended or not—sent a thrill through him.

  She let out a small whimper and pulled at his shoulders, but Charles resisted. He freed himself from her hold and left the bed to sit on the chair at her bedside once more.

  He ran a hand over his face and let out a curse. Hell, he had not meant to end up in her bed when he had come to check on her, but she had moaned and whimpered and he had been concerned. Then she had grabbed him and brought him down on the bed with her, and he could not resist her pull. But bloody hell, he had thought that she knew what she did; he had not considered that she was experiencing a dream or laudanum-induced hallucination.

  “Charles?” She blinked, some of the bewilderment leaving her eyes. “Charles!” She came fully awake, sitting upright in her bed with a wince at the tug on her arm, and pulling her covers up to her neck, where a bright blush had bloomed.

  He cleared his throat. “I came to see how you were faring. How does your arm feel?”

  She visibly swallowed. “It is well. I scarcely feel it at all.”

  “Excellent.” Charles wished he could escape this awkward moment, but he was still, regrettably, fully aroused.

  She gazed at him expectantly. “I suppose you wish to change the bandage?”

  “I… Yes, of course.” He took the necessary items off her night table, and began to change her dressings. “The doctor that Greene had summoned is set to arrive on the morrow. He has been rather busy with the birthing of a child, according to what Greene learned.”

  “It is fortunate that you were here, Charles,” Bridget murmured. “I cannot thank you enough for your expert help and healing hands.”

  Charles paused as he tied the new bandage around her arm. “Do not thank me.” If it were not for him, she would not have been shot from the start; she would be safe at home, most likely engaging in a game of chess with her brother, reading a book, or creating a lovely painting with her watercolours.

  “Of course I should thank you,” she insisted. “You were magnificent in your work with a needle.”

  He cleared his throat. “Your stitches are looking well; there is not much swelling or redness. I do not believe that you will get a fever.”

  “That is good news.” Her eyes twinkled at him.

  Charles finished replacing her bandage, then tidied up.

  “Tell me, Charles, has anything been done about the man that shot me? Has he been caught?”

  Guilt surged through him once more. Good Lord, he could not escape this sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “No.” Whoever it was that had shot Bridget would be found, however, and once caught, would be made to pay for his sins. But not before a lengthy interrogation.

  Charles needed to know for whom the blackguard worked. Was it The Boss? The traitor in the Home Office? Or, perhaps both?

  “Should we not summon the magistrate?” Bridget’s question cut through his thoughts.

  “No!” At her raised eyebrows Charles cleared his throat. “That is to say, we are perfectly capable of finding the villain on our own. There is no need to involve the magistrate.”

  She sat forward eagerly, forgetting to hold her covers to her chest. Charles’ eyes irrevocably slipped to her thinly clad breasts. His blood heated at the sight of her rosy nipples poking through the material.

  “You know Mr. Stevens better than I,” she said thoughtfully. “Are you aware of any enemies that he might have made?”

  His gaze snapped back to her eyes. They were clear and calculating. Evidently the laudanum had worn off and Bridget was in full form for her interrogation.

  Charles was careful not to lie outright. “No, I am not aware of any enemies that Stevens has made that would hide out on his land and shoot his employees.”

  She twisted her lips to one side. “I suspect that Mr. Stevens must have known of the threat before he had hired me, for he warned me upon my arrival that I was not to leave the castle without an escort.” She tapped her chin as she rose to sit on her knees. “What do you make of it, Charles? Do you know of any debts or acquaintances of the wrong sort, that might have—”

  Charles leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. He could think of no other way to stop her line of questioning…

  Stopping her mouth, however, quickly became the farthest thing from his mind.

  He had expected her to resist him, to slap him, but instead, her lips immediately melted against his.

  Her arms came about his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair. The sharp pleasure-pain of her nails scraping against his scalp had his eyes rolling backwards.

  Letting out a growl, Charles rose overtop of her, laying her back against her pillow. “Sweet Jesus, Bridget.” He kissed a path along her jaw and down her neck.

  She pulled frantically at his coat and Charles’ heart nigh stalled in his chest. Her enthusiasm was intoxicating. It had been more than two damned years since he had made love to a woman; he certainly wouldn’t shirk this opportunity if the lady was willing.<
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  He shrugged out of his irksome coat as Bridget made quick work of the buttons on his waistcoat and trousers. He tossed them over his shoulder as Bridget untied his cravat with sure fingers. In a matter of seconds, his clothing had been piled gracelessly on the floor, and he knelt nude before her.

  His pulse quickened as her gaze drank in his nakedness, a responding warmth entering her features. “It has been so long, I…” Her lustful gaze rose to meet his, her thought unfinished.

  “I know, Bridget…”

  By damn he wanted this woman.

  Bridget unhurriedly pulled the tie of her chemise, the toned muscles of her arms flexing, moving the bandage with it. Careful not to aggravate her injury, she inched the edges of her chemise apart, giving him a glimpse of the rounded tops of her breasts. His mouth went dry and his cock leapt in anticipation. Her fiery gaze lowered to his optimistic appendage and she licked her lips, reaching for the hem of her chemise gathered at her knees.

  Lord, she meant to torture him!

  And sweet torture it was.

  His eyes feasted on every bit of flesh that she uncovered, as she unhurriedly lifted the hem of her chemise up to expose her thighs. She paused just before he could get a glimpse of the blonde thatch of hair nesting there, and gave him a coquettish smile with a wink.

  He could not mistake that expression for anything but a blatant invitation…but he still wished to be certain. “Say you’ll make love to me, Bridget.”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Exultation and carnal anticipation flooded him. That was precisely what he wished to hear. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled them toward him, knocking her off her knees and onto her back. His breath stuck in his throat as he watched her breasts bounce at the movement.

  Lust roared through him.

  Out of patience, he reached for the hem of her chemise with both hands and rent the soft fabric in two.

  Bridget let out a surprised gasp as her body was exposed to the warm air of the room.

  Charles groaned. “Your body was surely made in the image of Aphrodite.” Her legs were perfectly muscled and shapely, made for riding a man. Her hips softly rounded, her waist narrow, and her glorious, full, plump breasts…were absolutely begging to be tasted.