Page 53 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
As they prepared to return to the ballroom, Gemma caught Jameson's arm.
"A moment, if you please," she said, nodding for William to proceed without them. When they were alone, she met her husband's gaze directly. "Thank you."
His brow furrowed slightly. "For what, precisely?"
"For not condemning William outright," she said quietly. "For offering help rather than judgment."
"Your brother is young and foolish," Jameson replied, "but not malicious. Besides, his predicament may prove advantageous."
Gemma blinked. "Advantageous? How so?"
"I have been seeking a means to corner Thorne for some time," Jameson explained. "Your brother's situation may provide the opportunity I've been waiting for."
"So you're using William as bait," Gemma concluded, unsure whether to be grateful or appalled. All of a sudden her heart sank. Of course.
Jameson considered this. "I prefer to think of it as turning a liability into an asset. Rest assured, my primary concern is protecting your family's reputation—and by extension, our own."
"How gallant," she murmured, though without real bite.
"Practicality, not gallantry," he corrected, though a hint of amusement lurked in his eyes. "Now, shall we return to the fray? I believe I owe you a drink."
As they reentered the ballroom, Gemma was acutely aware of the eyes that followed them—particularly those of Thorne,whose calculating gaze tracked their every move. She took comfort in the solid presence of Jameson beside her, even as she worried for her brother, who now made his way toward the card room with the air of a man approaching the gallows.
The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and polite conversation. Gemma found herself unable to focus on the pleasantries around her, her attention divided between watching William's increasingly tense demeanor at the card table and monitoring Thorne's predatory circling.
True to Jameson's prediction, William lost heavily to Lord Bentley, each hand seemingly worse than the last. By the time the final hand was played, William's face was ashen, his attempts at good sportsmanship clearly strained.
As the evening drew to a close, Gemma found herself watching the clock with increasing anxiety. Ladies began to call for their wraps, gentlemen settled accounts from the card room, and the musicians played their final set.
"It's time," Jameson murmured, appearing at her elbow. "Is William ready?"
"I believe so," she replied, spotting her brother making his way toward them. "Though he looks ready to collapse."
"A state that will only add credibility to our charade," Jameson noted. "Ah, Lord Sinclair. Ready to depart?"
William nodded jerkily. "Thorne is by the door. Watching."
"Good," Jameson said, surprising them both. "Let him see you leaving with us. The more confused he is about your intentions, the better."
As they collected their things and made their way to the entrance, Gemma felt Thorne's gaze burning into her back. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, focusing instead on maintaining an air of casual conversation.
"Lady Brokeshire, Lord Sinclair," Thorne's smooth voice cut through the air as they reached the foyer. "Departing so soon?"
Gemma turned, her heart hammering behind her ribs. "Mr. Thorne. How pleasant to see you again."
"Indeed," he replied, his smile not reaching his cold eyes. "I had hoped to have a word with your brother before the evening's end."
"I fear William is indisposed," Jameson interjected, his tone pleasant but firm. "Too much excitement, I expect. We're seeing him safely home."
Thorne's gaze flickered between them, calculating. "How considerate. Perhaps tomorrow, then, Lord Sinclair?"
William swallowed visibly. "I—yes, perhaps."
"Excellent," Thorne said, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "I do so dislike unfinished business."
"As do I," Jameson agreed pleasantly. "Good evening, Mr. Thorne."
With that, he ushered Gemma and William toward the waiting carriage, his hand a reassuring pressure at the small of Gemma's back.
