The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2) Page 21

  And he hadn’t the faintest notion of what she was capable of.

  Chapter 25

  With his foil in one hand, Charles led Bridget into a clearing in the wooded region behind the cabin. He knew from the way she held herself that she anticipated a victory in their bout.

  Charles knew better.

  He had begun to think that after he had secured Bridget’s safety at the cabin, he would leave her there and seek The Boss out on his own. Regardless of the outcome of this bout, Charles had no intention of taking Bridget with him; just the thought of it sent fear into his heart.

  If she happened to prove victorious, Charles would involve her in the preparation only. Though Charles knew a victory on her part was nigh on impossible, for Bridget was no match for his strength, skill, and experience.

  “Shall we commence, Major?”

  “I believe we must establish the rules first, my lady.”

  She nodded. “Very well. Shall we employ the customary fencing rules? Your weapon must be one-handed use only, the use of your unarmed hand is prohibited, target area is restricted to the torso, and double hits are subject to—”

  “No.”

  “No? I had thought you desired a fair bout, Charles.”

  “My goal is to test your skills should a confrontation arise with one of my enemies, not a light-hearted fencing lesson. Our bout will progress as it would naturally. With no rules.”

  Bridget caught her bottom lip between her teeth, drawing Charles’ gaze down to follow the decidedly lascivious motion. Her movement was so swift Charles scarcely realized what had happened before his left arm smarted with the sting of her foil. He cringed and bared his teeth at the irritation.

  Raising his weapon and entering his ready position, he stared her down. “That is likely the only touché you will earn, my dear.” He ought to have known she would take advantage of his distraction. It will not happen again.

  Bridget did not waste a moment. Her arm lifted and her foil whistled through the air, narrowly missing his chest.

  Charles brought his own foil up in a manoeuvre he learned while in the army. Surely Bridget would not be able to avoid a hit.

  But avoid it she did.

  She easily deflected the hit with her foil and lunged at his gut. He retreated and swung for her arm, but missed.

  Their feet shuffled along the orange and red leaf-covered ground, back and forth, as their foils ricocheted off each other. Their breaths came in rapid puffs from their exertion, the vapour hovering around their heads before dissipating.

  A frown touched his brow, and he increased his speed. His foil whipped through the chilled air with a whoosh…swish…whoosh, but each attempt to make contact was evaded and matched. Damn.

  Charles began to realize that he might have to work for his victory, after all.

  He quickened his movements and finally tapped Bridget on the shoulder with the side of his foil. Charles took an odd sort of satisfaction at the focused expression on Bridget’s beautiful, flushed face.

  The emotion was short lived, however. Her eyes glinted, as though she tasted victory before actually achieving it. Incensed, Charles pressed on, but Bridget matched his movements once more, the clang of their connecting steel and the shuffle of their feet echoing off the surrounding trees.

  If Bridget was to combat men of no restraint and little to live for, she would face more than a weapon of steel. I must think and behave as a villain would. I am dishonest. I am reprehensible. Charles chanted in his mind. I am a scoundrel. I will have this woman.

  His heart beat faster against his ribs as he reached his foot out and hooked it around Bridget’s ankle. He pulled back, lifting her leg out from underneath her, and sending her air-bound to land sprawled on her back with a winded oof.

  “What in heave—”

  Without giving Bridget a moment to complete her thought, Charles leapt atop her.

  “Charles!” She scowled fiercely at him. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “I am not Charles,” he growled. “I work for The Boss, and I am here to ravage and kill you. What are you going to do to stop me?”

  She bucked up beneath him in an attempt to free herself. Charles ignored her struggles and began to work on unbuckling her plastron.

  Charles fought his arousal. He did not want any woman this way, let alone Bridget. For the purposes of his point, however, he must go to such extremes to ensure Bridget did not put herself in a situation such as this in the future. And if, perhaps, she did happen to find herself in such a position, this lesson would teach her how to free herself. But he’d be damned if he didn’t admit to being stirred at the feeling of her beneath him.

  Charles felt the urge to grind his hips against hers as Bridget’s legs came around his waist and her feet hooked behind his back.

  A wave of jubilation went through him at the half-lidded gaze she sent him. Perhaps he could turn this into a seduction. He could spar with her later.

  He bent his head to press his lips to her deliciously salty neck, when her legs tightened around him. He understood her movement as heightened excitement, and an answering rush of blood surged to his groin.

  His tongue flicked over the pulse throbbing at the base of her neck and her legs tightened yet more.

  Resting one arm on the earth beneath them, Charles blindly lowered his other hand to encourage Bridget to loosen her tight grip. Oddly, even as Charles tugged at her ankles, her legs increased their pressure.

  “Relax, Bridget.” He groaned into her neck. “You are clutching overly tight.”

  She relented and Charles let out a breath of relief. Just as soon as he released his breath, however, her legs clamped down around him tighter than before. The tight grip elicited a grunt of pain from deep within Charles’ gut and he pulled back to look down at her.

  Suddenly, her aroused, half-lidded gaze appeared more of a glare.

  Oh hell.

  He had drastically mistaken her reaction. Now, as her legs tightened yet further, Charles knew their bout had never concluded. Her arms were spread at her sides, fisted in the grass and leaves, her foil out of her reach.

  Rising up on his knees, Charles used both his hands to push at her legs. Damn, but they were wrapped impossibly snug. He wiggled his hips as much as he was able, he shimmied, he bucked, but he could not throw her off.

  He was certain that if he used force, he could remove her legs from around him, but he most definitely did not wish to hurt her.

  Bridget held firm, refusing to relent or show any sign of slackening.

  He spied his foil lying several feet away, near to Bridget’s and reached for it in vain.

  Her legs grew steadily tighter, leaving Charles feeling winded and slightly lightheaded.

  “Bridget…” he gasped. “Bridget…I can’t…breathe.”

  Her grip intensified and spots began to dance before his eyes. Charles had vastly underestimated Bridget’s skill.

  He thought through his options with his muddled mind. He had two choices: he could allow Bridget to squeeze the breath from him until he fainted atop her, or he could allow her this victory and have her to assist in the planning of The Boss’ capture.

  Despite the blow to his pride, it was a simple decision, really. “I relent…I relent. You…win.”

  Her legs dropped to the ground and Charles rolled to collapse on his back. His breath came in rapid puffs as he regained his senses.

  Bridget vaulted to her feet, reclaimed her foil and aimed the tip at Charles’ chest. “I do not win until I say I have won.”

  Charles was certain he appeared as puzzled as he felt. “What the devil are you on about? You have won, Bridget.” Much to his dismay.

  “Up with you.” She bent to retrieve his foil, flipped it through the air, catching it by the blade, and held the handle out to him.

  “Are you mad, woman?”

  “Certainly not.”

  He gazed up at her for a moment, then rose to his feet, brushing the leaves fro
m his backside.

  “I am merely determined to have you agree to allow me to join you on your quest. I intend to prove myself once and for all. I will not have you questioning my abilities to defend myself should the need arise.”

  Charles accepted his foil. “And if I agree to it without continuing our bout?”

  “I will not accept.” She entered her en garde position by lowering her body, extending her foil toward his chest, and lifting her free arm.

  Charles suppressed a sigh. He had not anticipated that Bridget would be such a formidable opponent.

  Very well. He would continue. And damn it, he would best her!

  The moment he lifted his foil, Bridget began her attack. Their feet shuffled back and forth as their foils danced through the air, clashing with each touch, each trying to make their hit on the body of their challenger.

  A sweat began to bead over his brow, over his chest, and down his back, his shirt now clinging to him. His muscles began to ache, but he pressed on. He would best her!

  A smile crossed Bridget’s lips and Charles frowned. “What do you find so humorous?”

  “You are truly working to defeat me, are you not?”

  Shock rippled through him. “Yes.” Swish…whoosh. “Are you not doing the same?”

  She grinned as her foil whipped through the air. “I will defeat you when I feel it is time.”

  Irritated, Charles grunted. “Fence to the best of your ability, Bridget. I wish to engage in a true fight.”

  “Very well.”

  Her demeanour altered instantly; from that of a lightly-engaged fencer to that of the Amazonian Goddess he had seen in her after she defeated the two villains at the inn.

  Her foil flew effortlessly through the air in quick successive movements, each flick of her wrist eliciting a sting on his person.

  Charles’ defences rose and he retreated several steps.

  Bridget followed. With swift, easy movements, Bridget continuously struck him with the steel of her foil.

  Finally, with one graceful twirl, Bridget stood behind him with her foil arched and its tip indented in the flesh of his back.

  “Touché!”

  Chapter 26

  Bridget propped her chin in her hands as she sat at the table, watching Charles set a pot over the roaring fire at the fireplace. She was continuously astounded at his adeptness in preparing a meal. Not only did he have the knowledge, the resulting meals were also delicious.

  He removed a small tin from the cupboard and thumped it on the roughened surface of the table beside Bridget’s elbow, the bang reverberating through the small space of the cabin.

  Charles had been behaving distinctly odd since Bridget had won their bout. He was drawn, pale, and nearly volatile. Perhaps he was disappointed with the outcome of their fencing match—if one could call it such. He had appeared rather confident beforehand. Was it possible that she had bruised his manly pride?

  She had better apologize. “Charles, I—”

  Charles’ hands slammed flat on the tabletop before her and she snapped her mouth shut.

  “I am certain I will regret beginning this conversation with you as it will likely encourage a line of questioning which I am disinclined to discuss, but it needs to be said.” His intense blue eyes gazed directly into Bridget’s green ones. “I am not certain that I am capable of following through with our agreement.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her heart plummeted into her stomach. “You mean to renege on our bargain?” She straightened in her seat, placing her hands in her lap.

  He pushed away from the table and began to pace, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. “I have… I believe myself a… Damnation, Bridget. I do not know what to say to you.”

  “The truth, if you please.”

  He stopped his pacing, and turned to face her with his hands on his hips.

  “I can’t…” His throat quivered slightly and Bridget’s eyes were drawn to the movement.

  He seemed genuinely upset, and Bridget abruptly felt concerned. Whatever it was that Charles wished to discuss, it was evidently something very serious in nature.

  His chest rose with his deep breath, and then deflated when he let it out in a whoosh. “To be perfectly honest, I am petrified. I am…afraid that I cannot protect you.”

  Bridget could not hold back the half-smile that threatened. “I believe we have established that I am accomplished with a sword.”

  Charles shook his head. “I am afraid that I am unable to protect you…from myself.”

  She nearly laughed, but the tight expression on Charles’ troubled features told Bridget that he was perfectly serious.

  “From you! Whyever would you fear for my safety from you? For heaven’s sake, Charles, you are hardly dangerous.”

  Her eyes widened in shock as Charles rounded the table, wrapped his hands around her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. “You” he hissed, “have no idea how dangerous I could be.”

  Clearly there was a side to Charles that Bridget had yet to witness. Though with his history as a soldier and a spy, Bridget understood that there was much of Charles’ character that she was not privy to. The man that had fought on the battlefield and killed for his country had yet to be known by his friends and family. Evidently that man was the one before her now. Eyes darkened and wild, nostrils flaring, chest working heavily for each breath, and a burning warning radiating from him.

  A flicker of determination mixed with guilt flashed in his eyes, and she blinked. Could he be trying to frighten her off from her line of questioning?

  If he was, Charles had another thing coming. Bridget was not to be deterred. She had finally gotten to the heart of what had kept Charles from being too close to those he loved. He had admitted to being concerned for her safety, but Bridget sensed that there was something else behind his fear. Now that she was very near to her answer, she would not back down now.

  With renewed fortitude, she returned to their discussion. “Tell me how dangerous you could be.”

  His eyebrows shot skyward and fear briefly crossed his features, before he hid it behind a fierce scowl.

  “It is not something that I am comfortable discussing with you.”

  Ah, he requires a push, then. “You brought up the subject, Charles, I am merely responding to it. If you are unwilling to tell me why you do not wish me to become involved in your hunt for The Boss, then I will have no other recourse but to follow you should you decide to go on your own.” She tapped her chin and feigned thoughtfulness. “Or perhaps I could plan an escape and return to London to search for him mys—”

  “No!” Charles’ shout reverberated throughout the cabin, causing Bridget to jump. “No, Bridget. You will not seek out that monster on your own. After all he has done to you and your family, you would dare to think you could compete against him and his men?”

  Bridget felt abruptly shameful for having suggested it, even if it was simply a tactic to get Charles to talk.

  “I—”

  “You haven’t the faintest idea what the man is capable of, Bridget. He tortures people as a way of life.” He released her and began to pace once more. “Men, women…children, it matters not to him. He will destroy anyone that stands between him and his goal.” He ran one trembling hand through his blackened waves, and his voice lowered to a near whisper. “I do not wish what happened to Pierre to happen to you.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Bridget took a step closer to him. “What happened to Pierre?”

  Charles whirled to face her, suspicious fury lining his features. “How do you know that name?” He grabbed her upper arms once more. “What did you hear? With whom have you been in contact?” His grip tightened. “Whom do you work for?”

  A deep, aching hurt settled on her heart and she held back the tears that threatened. “How dare you?” She struggled out of his grip, certain that he had left bruises. “How dare you? You automatically assume the worst of me at every opportunity!”

  “How did you know
his name?”

  The pain dug deeper in her chest, just as surely as the blade of a sword would pierce her heart. “You said it. Just now. You said you did not wish what happened to Pierre to happen to me.” If she stayed in his presence for a single moment more, she would burst into a silly fit of tears. “Please excuse me.”

  She brushed past Charles’ shoulder and marched out the kitchen door, closing it tightly behind her.

  The chill of the late afternoon air caught her off guard and she wrapped her arms around herself. The padding of her plastron afforded her a small amount of additional warmth, but she was accustomed to several petticoats, and her boys’ breeches and tall stockings were insufficient in comparison.

  She walked through the cold, unmindful of its numbing effect. Perhaps it would numb the hurt in her chest.

  How could Charles be so insensitive and unthinking?

  Although, it was possible that she had crossed a line. He had appeared sincere in his concern for her, and his fear of her learning whatever it was that had happened to Pierre.

  The ache in her chest slowly began to subside as she strode further from the cabin. She may have been hasty in her own defence and anger. Charles was under enough pressure with trying to keep her safe from his enemies, he did not need her to create additional stresses. She should return to the cabin and apologize for pushing him to talk to her about his fears. It was not her place to pry.

  She stopped walking and turned to return the way she had come, but was arrested in her tracks.

  Charles stood before her, his hair dishevelled, his chest heaving, and a pained expression contorting his handsome features.

  Bridget brought one hand to her chest. “Goodness! Wherever did you come from? I had not heard you behind me.”

  “As an intelligence agent, one must learn to be light of foot.” He cleared his throat, and his throat bobbed convulsively. “I…I came to apologize.”