Page 70 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
Chapter 15
Gemma had been seated in the library for barely an hour, a book opens on her lap and not a word absorbed, when the butler's entrance interrupted her.
"Lord William Sinclair, My Lady."
She rose at once, the book tumbling forgotten to the floor. "Send him in immediately."
William entered in a rush—coat askew, face pale, his usually composed expression replaced by wide-eyed desperation. Lately, it seemed this was the only state in which she got to see her brother. Frankly, she was growing tired of it. His fair hair, so like her own, was disheveled, as though he had ridden through a gale to reach her.
"I haven't long," he said, before she could speak, his voice pitched low and urgent. "I only came to say goodbye. I—I must leave town."
"Leave? William, no." She crossed to him, grasping his arm. The fine wool of his sleeve felt damp beneath her fingers, had he been riding in the rain? Or was it perspiration born of fear? "You can stay here. Jameson can help you. You don't need to run."
"I do," he said, shaking his head, his eyes darting to the windows as though expecting to see someone watching. "You don't understand. They're watching me. I've brought enough shame to our family. I won't add danger as well."
"William—" Her voice caught, fear tightening her throat. "Please, tell me what's happened. Let me help you."
He caught her hands in his, and she was shocked by how cold his fingers felt. "It's gone too far this time, Gem. The debts... I thought I could win it back. I was so sure."
"How much?" she asked quietly.
He laughed, a hollow sound utterly devoid of humor. "More than father's estate is worth. More than your dowry. More than I can ever hope to repay."
"And Thorne?" she pressed, recalling Jameson's warning. "Is he involved?"
William's eyes widened, genuine surprise breaking through his panic. He swallowed hard. "Yes. He... he bought my vowels from the gaming hell. Said he'd forgive them if I did him a small favor."
“No…you did not. You did not! How could you?” Gemma nearly shrieked. It was the most emotional she had been in years.
"I had to give him information," he replied, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "About Jameson. About his company. I didn't think... I didn't realize..." His shoulders slumped. "I've been a fool, Gemma. And worse than a fool."
She squeezed his hands. "Whatever you've done, it's not too late. Jameson already suspects Thorneis plotting something. Jameson is a good fellow, he can help. If you tell him everything, perhaps together—"
"I have to go." William pulled away abruptly, moving toward the door. "It's safer for everyone if I simply disappear for a while."
"William, wait!" Gemma called, hurrying after him. "At least tell me where—"
But as he turned toward the door, two men appeared in the entryway. Not household staff—too still, too sharp. Their coats were well-cut but unremarkable, designed to blend into any genteel gathering. Yet there was something in their stance, in the cold assessment of their eyes as they surveyed the room, which marked them as something other than gentlemen.
Their eyes met Gemma's only briefly before they flanked her brother without a word.
"Who are—?" she began, alarm raising her voice.
William paled further, shrinking between the two men. "Please, Gemma. Just forget this.”
He was out the door before she could stop him, the two strangers moving with him like shadows. She rushed to the window, heart thundering against her ribs, skirts tangling around her ankles in her haste and saw it.
William, escorted—no, herded—into a dark carriage waiting in the street. One man climbed in beside him, boxing him against the far door. The other shut the door with a decisive click and mounted the rear step, his eyes scanning the row of elegant townhouses as though memorizing who might have witnessed their departure.
The carriage rolled away at once, wheels clattering on the cobblestones with unnatural haste.
Gemma's hand flew to her mouth, a strangled sound escaping her. Her legs gave way, and she gripped the windowsill, breathless. Good heavens, he hadn't left, he'd been taken.
The realization hit her with physical force, driving the air from her lungs. Those men—their cold efficiency, their silence—they hadn't been William's escorts to some place of refuge. They had been there to ensure he didn't escape. To take him to Thorne, or to someone even more dangerous.
For several moments, she remained frozen at the window, trembling with shock and fear. She should send for Jameson immediately, as he had instructed. But how? The footmen couldn't be trusted to deliver such sensitive information; who knew where their loyalties might lie?
A note, then. But would it reach him in time? And where, precisely, had he gone? He'd mentioned town, but London was vast, and his business interests numerous.
