Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1) (16 page)

“I know you protected my sister during this ordeal, Lane,” Charles had said, “and I thank you for it. But Annabel is very dear to me, and I will
not
have you engaging in any tomfoolery in my home. So wipe that lustful gaze off your face when you look at her, and we will get on just fine.” His jaw had twitched. “You are Annabel’s closest friend, and I would hate to have to kill you if you hurt her. It would make her cross with me, and I am not fond of the thought of that.”

Lane had looked Charles directly in his deep, blue eyes. He did not owe the man a damned explanation. He was not Anna’s father, curse it. The only man he would speak to on the subject of his courtship of Anna would be Mr. Joseph Bradley, not her overbearing, overprotective bear of an older brother.

He had put as much meaning in his glance as he could. “Likewise,” he’d spat, furious at the man for implying that Lane would hurt Anna when Charles had done the same damned thing to Bridget.

Charles’ Adam’s apple had bobbed as he swallowed.
Good
. Lane’s response had hit its mark. The man had turned and followed Anna up the steps, disappearing into the warm glow of the town house and leaving Lane alone with his thoughts until the groom returned with his horse.

Lane’s jaw clenched as his home came into view. Most of the windows held only a dim, flickering light, but they were a beacon through the darkness of night. He pushed his gelding harder until he reached the front steps. His head groom came out to hold the reins as he leapt smoothly to the ground.

He fleetingly wondered what new animals Emaline had brought into the house during his absence. She had a penchant for helping sick animals, just as Bridget had a habit of beginning friendship with horrid people in the hopes that she could change their ways. Both sisters would have him go mad if he were not careful.

“Thank you, Jenkins,” Lane murmured to the groom before he bounded up the front steps to his town house.

Geoffrey held the door open for him as he reached the top. “Welcome home, m’lord.”

“Thank you, Geoffrey. It is good to be back.” Lane continued across the foyer toward the wide, curved staircase. “Would you be so kind as to have a bath and a meal brought up to my chambers?”

“Right away, your lordship.”

“Oh, and Geoffrey, do have a physician summoned at first light, will you?”

“Of course, m’lord. Shall I inform the ladies of the household that you have returned?”

Lane halted half way up the staircase and turned to face the butler. “They are not yet to bed?”

“Ladies Katherine and Emaline have retired for the evening. The Dowager Countess and Lady Bridget are in the drawing room.”

He had told his staff and family that he would be away meeting with farmers and business owners, doing research for the best farming equipment for the familial estate. If his mother and sister saw him dressed as he was, there would be far too many questions for him to answer without revealing the truth.

“I will refresh myself before I greet them. If you could keep my return home quiet until then, I would be much obliged.”

“Not at all, your lordship. I will have the footmen prepare a bath directly.”

“Oh, Geoffrey?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Are there any new members of the household of which I should be made aware?” Lane preferred to not be surprised by an unexpected houseguest.

“Lady Emaline has acquired one new puppy she has aptly named Soot, and an injured bird she is calling Tweeters.”

“I see. She has certainly been busy in my absence.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

Lane nodded and continued up the stairs, through the maze of corridors, and into the master chambers. His bath would be brought to his personal sitting room that adjoined his bedchamber, as was usual. The room was decorated minimally; several sitting chairs and a chaise lounge were positioned in the center of the room, around a low, rectangular table, a brocade rug beneath them. To his right was the double-door entry to his bedchamber, and to the left was a massive fireplace. He had several bookshelves filled with books, most of which were on loan from Annabel. On the far side of the room were a writing desk and his Tantalus, filled with liquor decanters. He had chosen dark colours while decorating; deep reds, greens, and blues, coupled with dark, rose-hued wood.

Lane poured himself two fingers of brandy while he waited. It was several minutes before the footmen entered with the tub and hot water, and by then he had finished his drink, its heat settling nicely in his stomach. His valet, Peters, arrived carrying a fresh towel while the brass tub was being filled.

Lane quickly requested his solitude, smiling at his servants as they quit the room. He wasted little time divesting himself of his clothes and entering the steaming water. He sank deeply, resting his head on the back of the tub as he allowed his aching muscles to relax.

Closing his eyes, he recalled the last time he had been sitting thusly in a bath, Anna had joined him—nude, wet, and sultry. She was reminiscent of Venus de Milo rising from the water, though with larger breasts and buttocks made for squeezing.

A lustful shiver ran through him. Making love to Anna had certainly not been a part of his original plan, but he was elated that he had.

His body reacted predictably to the course of his thoughts, and he grimaced.

He now knew the reason for his inability to complete the act of sex with another woman. It was his heart. Unbeknownst to him, he had been hopelessly in love with Anna for years, and deep down, he had not wished to be with anyone else.

He was a fool for not seeing it sooner. He could have courted her long ago, been married…had children.
Bloody hell
, he was a fool!

The wait for Anna had been worth it, however. She was remarkable. He had never thought making love could be so powerful, so beguiling. He would speak with her father on the morrow, begin a proper courtship, and have her pregnant with his babe before the year was out.

The thought of making love to Anna over and over had him hard once more. He would take her slowly, then quickly; he would guide her in riding him; he would bend her over his bed and take her as a stallion does a mare.
Blazes
. He wanted to do so much to her,
for
her. He would teach her the delights of lovemaking while experiencing them fully for the first time himself.

Lane’s hand crept toward his throbbing cock, gripping it firmly to ease the ache that had begun there.

“Lane?” A soft voice and a knock sounded at the door.

“
Damn it
!” Lane shot up from the bath, sending water sloshing over the rim, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I am sorry for disturbing you, Lane. I will see you in the morning.” The quiet voice called, muffled by the door.

“No, no, Bridget. Just a moment.”

He hurriedly dried himself, his once proudly erect cock sadly flagging at the disturbance. As much as he wished to continue what he had scarcely started, he did wish to speak with Bridget.

He dressed quickly, foregoing his coat, cravat, and stockings, and opened the door to admit his younger sister.

“Bridget.” Lane smiled and pulled her in for a hug.

Bridget was his closest sister, both in age and in camaraderie. After their father had passed away, she and Lane had become much closer.

“Please come in.” He stepped aside for her to pass. A small tabby followed her in, making itself comfortable on a chair by the fireplace.

“I apologize for disturbing your bath, Lane. I had no intention of bothering you.”

Lane shook his head. “Do not concern yourself, Bridget. I am pleased that you came to see me.

“I am as well, big brother.” Her lips pulled back in a smile, but her green eyes lacked their sparkle of old.

“Please, do be seated.” Lane gestured toward the tray of food sitting on the low table. “I hope you do not mind that I eat; I have not yet had supper.”

Her white-blonde eyebrows rose. “Not at all! Please, eat.”

Bridget sat on the chaise, straightening the skirt of her lavender dinner dress. She looked impeccable tonight, with her white hair done up in the latest fashion, ringlets framing her thin, heart-shaped face.

Lane sat opposite her and began to eat with gusto.

Bridget waited patiently as Lane consumed his meal. He ate quickly, then wiped his lips with a napkin and sat back in his chair.

“Apologies,” he susurrated. “I was very hungry.”

Bridget chuckled. “You needn’t explain yourself or apologize, Lane. I quite understand.”

“Did Mama retire for the evening?” Lane asked.

“Yes. She does not know yet that you have returned.”

“Good. I will speak with her come the morn.” Lane eyed his sister. “How did you know that I had returned?”

Bridget cast him a coquettish grin. “I have my ways of knowing.” At Lane’s raised eyebrows, she let out another laugh. “I have excellent hearing, or had you forgotten? I should think you would remember; you’ve exploited my talents once or twice.”

Lane barked out a loud laugh. “Indeed I have. I should have known I could not sneak past you, Bridget.”

“Of course.” She paused, eyeing him carefully. “Tell me, Lane, where you really were for the past four days.”

Lane froze, unsure what to say.

“I do not,” Bridget continued, “for one moment believe that you were doing research for the country estate. So, out with the truth.”

“Good God, but you are a termagant.”

“And you are a lying—”

“That is quite enough,
dear
sister.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I will tell you where I have been, but you must promise to keep this information to yourself. It is of a very…sensitive nature.”

Bridget leaned forward in her seat. “I will keep your secrets, Lane. I always do.” She winked at him, and Lane wondered of which secrets she was speaking.

“Very well, I will trust you with my secret. This one, however, is not solely my own.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a resigned sigh. “I was with Annabel.”

“
Annabel
?” Bridget’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I can see that you are shocked. Allow me to explain…” Lane told Bridget about discovering his love for Anna, his plan to have them kidnapped, and the subsequent events of the past four days, once more omitting his and Anna’s sexual encounters, leading up to the moment he returned home.

“Goodness,” Bridget breathed. “How does Annabel fare?”

“I am uncertain.” He shook his head regretfully. “I had thought her well enough, but I was proven wrong while she wept at the inn. It affected her far more deeply than I had thought. Though more the fool am I. Of course she was frightened…” He trailed off with a self-loathing sigh. “I need to make my feelings known to her. I intend to speak with Mr. Bradley tomorrow and request permission to court Anna.”

“I would dearly love to have her as a sister, Lane. She nearly is, already. But you obviously botched your first proposal; this one must be done properly.”

Lane nodded in agreement. He must do something spectacular.

He blinked.
Of
c
ourse!
He still owed Anna her winnings from their last chess game! He could find her something particularly wonderful…

“What of the kidnappers?” Bridget’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“I intend to find them!” Lane blustered.

“That could be dangerous.”

His jaw clenched involuntarily. “Yes it could. But is it any more dangerous than those blackguards loose in England, terrorizing hapless victims?”

“I suppose not,” Bridget said grudgingly. “How do you intend to find them?”

Lane shook his head. “I do not know. Alerting the magistrate would only serve to ruin Anna after her family had taken such pains to preserve her reputation. Perhaps Charles knows of a way.” He nodded to himself as he decided on a course of action. “I will speak with him, as well, on the morrow. I am certain that he would like to see those villains in Newgate just as much as I.”

“How is Charles?” Bridget’s voice was deceptively nonchalant. She cared far more about the answer than she wanted him to see.

“Odd,” he admitted.

Her brows pulled together in a delicate frown. “How do you mean? Is he well?”

Lane looked into Bridget’s concerned, emerald-green eyes. Yes, something had definitely occurred to separate them. And neither was pleased with the situation.

“Charles is fine,” he assured her. “He is merely behaving very oddly. I am not certain what caused it, but I have noticed it since his return from war. He is increasingly distant, more proper, reserved, quick to anger, and he is unmistakably hiding something. God help me, I cannot figure out what that something is.”

“I understand precisely what you mean. Before he left for war, he and I were the best of friends. I received letters weekly from him during his years on the continent. Then one day, nearly two years ago, he stopped. I worried myself sick, as you recall, for months. It was only once I heard of his impending return to London through Annabel, that I—” She took a deep breath. “When his ship docked, I went to greet him…but he behaved as though he did not know me.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “I am sorry.” She stood and walked toward the door. “I should leave you to your rest,” she said over her shoulder. “Good night, Lane.”

Lane stood and followed her. “Wait, Bridget. Are you well?” He put a hand to the door, halting her retreat.

“I am fine, merely tired.”

“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise, dear sister. This is hurting you. Did anything…” He’d wanted to ask this question for nearly two years. He braced himself for Bridget’s evasion. “Did anything happen between the two of you that you have been heretofore unwilling to share?” The tears that had threatened to fall began to stream down Bridget’s pale cheeks. He suppressed a sigh. She would not answer. “I should like you to know, my dear, that if you feel the need, or the desire, to unburden yourself to anyone, you are welcome to confide in me.”

Bridget threw her arms around Lane’s shoulders and buried her face in his chest. Lane returned her hug, wrapping his arms around her small form.

“Thank you. You are a wonderful big brother, Lane.” Her voice was muffled by his shirtfront and waistcoat. “I am not prepared to discuss it quite yet.” She pulled back from his embrace and wiped her tear-streaked cheeks with both hands. “You will be the first to know when I am ready, however.”