Page 79 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter-hour.
Eighteen minutes past ten approached with merciless speed.
Jameson would be proceeding to the library now, expecting to meet her with whatever intelligence she had gathered. Instead, he would find an empty room—and would immediatelyrecognize something had gone terribly awry so she needed only to survive until then.
"What manner of gentleman threatens a lady?" she demanded, infusing her voice with scorn. "Truly, Mr. Thorne, your pretensions to gentility grow thinner by the moment."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "And what manner of lady intrudes upon private business transactions? Your reputation for unconventional behavior precedes you, Lady Brokeshire. Though even I had not anticipated such boldness."
"My sister knows nothing of this," William insisted desperately. "She merely became lost in your labyrinthine home. Release her, and I swear upon my honor I shall complete our transaction without further resistance."
Thorne smirked. "Your honor, William? I fear that commodity was forfeited when you falsified the Hawthorne Trading ledgers at my instruction."
Gemma's gaze darted to her brother, whose face crumpled in shame.
"He did no such thing," she said firmly. "My brother is a man of principle."
"Your brother is a man of considerable gambling debts and insufficient courage," Thorne corrected coldly. "A dangerous combination that has served my purposes admirably."
William's head bowed, unable to meet her eyes.
"Whatever he may have done," Gemma declared, "he did believing he protected those he loves. That is not weakness, Mr. Thorne. That is the very definition of honor—something you clearly cannot comprehend."
A muscle twitched in Thorne's jaw. "Your loyalty is touching, if misplaced. Now, shall we proceed to business? There are papers requiring your attention."
"I have told you—I shall sign nothing."
"Then perhaps this might alter your perspective." Thorne nodded to one of his men, who produced a small pistol and aimed it directly at William's temple.
Gemma's blood turned to ice. "You would not dare. Not in your own home, with two hundred of society's finest merely a floor away."
"My cellars are quite soundproof, I assure you," Thorne replied casually. "And accidents befall even the best families. Particularly those with... financial difficulties."
The clock ticked remorselessly forward.
Seventeen minutes past ten, there was one minute remaining before Jameson would expect her in the library. She needed to create a distraction—something, anything that might allow her to signal her predicament.
"Very well," she said at last, her shoulders slumping in apparent defeat. "I shall examine your papers. But I require proper light. This gloom strains the eyes, and I would know precisely what villainy I put my name to."
Thorne's expression brightened with triumph. "A sensible decision, Lady Brokeshire. Jenkins, bring the lady to the desk."
As the burly man gripped her arm to guide her forward, Gemma stumbled deliberately, collapsing against him with a cry of distress.
"Forgive me," she gasped, clutching at her side. "A sudden pain—I fear my stays are laced too tightly. I cannot breathe properly."
William half-rose from his chair. "Gemma!"
"Remain where you are," Thorne snapped, before turning his attention back to her. "This is a transparent attempt at delay."
"I assure you, sir," she managed, her voice faint, "I have no desire to prolong my time in your odious company. But I require a moment to—oh!" She pressed a hand to her foreheaddramatically. "The room spins so. Perhaps if I might have water? And loosen my garments slightly?"
Thorne's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Jenkins, fetch water. You," he addressed the man still holding the pistol, "keep watch on our friend. The lady will recover momentarily—with or without assistance."
As Jenkins released her to obey his master's command, Gemma seized her opportunity. With a swift, decisive movement, she grasped the heavy crystal inkwell from the desk and hurled it with all her strength at the window.
Glass shattered with a resounding crash and then chaos erupted. The guard with the pistol swung toward the noise instinctively. William, seizing the moment, launched himself from his chair, tackling the distracted man to the ground. The weapon discharged with a deafening report, the bullet embedding itself in the ceiling.
Thorne lunged for Gemma, his face contorted with fury, but she was faster.
