Page 13 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
"Hartley has excellent taste," Jameson said. "Miss Winfield appears to be that rare combination of beauty and substance. Rather like yourself, Miss Sinclair."
Gemma's pulse quickened at the compliment, delivered with just enough sincerity to slip past her defenses. "You hardly know me well enough to assess my character, My Lord."
"Perhaps not," he conceded with a slight smile. "But I've always prided myself on being an excellent judge of character. It's a necessary skill in both business and pleasure."
"And which category does our acquaintance fall into?" The words escaped before Gemma could think better of them.
Jameson's smile deepened, revealing a dimple in his left cheek that softened his rakish appearance. "That remains to be determined, does it not?"
Before Gemma could formulate a suitable response to this mildly improper remark a sudden movement across the room caught her attention. She spotted William in deep conversation with Thorne in a quiet corner. The older gentleman's hand rested on William's shoulder in a gesture that appeared friendly, but Gemma sensed an underlying tension in her brother's posture.
Alarm bells rang in her mind, remembering William's confession about his gambling debts and Thorne's growing hold over him. "If you'll excuse me, My Lord," she murmured, already moving away.
"Of course," Jameson replied, his own gaze following hers to where William stood with Thorne. His expression darkened momentarily, but Gemma was too preoccupied to notice.
Determined to intervene, Gemma made her way across the room. However, her path was blocked by a group of matrons eager to engage her in conversation.
Confound it!
Lady Montford, a notorious gossip with a razor-sharp tongue, waved her over imperiously.
"Miss Sinclair, we were just discussing your brother's absence from Lord Pembroke's dinner last week. Such a pity he couldn't attend—it was quite the enlightening evening."
"My brother had a prior engagement," Gemma replied smoothly, trying to edge past the formidable woman.
"Indeed? How curious. I was given to understand he was seen at a certain gaming establishment that very night, in the company of Mr. Thorne." Lady Montford's eyes gleamed with malicious delight as she delivered this barb.
What a vile vixen of a woman she was.
Gemma's stomach clenched, but she maintained her composure. "I'm afraid you've been misinformed, Lady Montford. Now if you'll excuse me, I believe my mother requires my attention."
By the time she extricated herself, both William and Thorne had disappeared from view. Worry gnawing at her, Gemma decided to search for her brother. She slipped out of the main salon, making her way down a dimly lit corridor.
As she passed by a partially open door, she overheard Thorne's voice, low and menacing.
"Your gambling debts mount higher each week, Sinclair," Thorne said silkily. "But keep providing me with information about our mutual acquaintances' business ventures, and I'll ensure your markers never come due."
William's reply was too quiet for Gemma to hear, but the defeat in his tone was clear. She heard a rustle of papers and Thorne's satisfied chuckle.
"Excellent. Now, what can you tell me about Brookfield's latest investment in Hawthorne Trading Company? I understand they're expanding their fleet with three new merchant vessels."
Gemma backed away from the door, her mind whirling with the implications of what she'd overheard. William was indeed being used as Thorne's pawn, trading gossip and business information for temporary relief from his gambling debts. And worse, he was now being asked to gather intelligence about Lord Brokeshire.
In her haste to find a moment alone to collect her thoughts, she stepped out onto the terrace, not realizing that the small group gathered there earlier had dispersed. The cool night air was a momentary balm to her flushed cheeks and racing heart.
She moved to the stone balustrade, gripping it for support as she gazed unseeingly at the moonlit garden below. How had things come to such a pass? William's gambling was not merely a financial threat but had entangled him in what sounded suspiciously like corporate espionage. And Lord Brokeshire—what was his connection to all this?
Gemma recalled their dance at the Ashbury ball, the intense way he had studied her, the inquiries, which at the time had appeared of trifling importance now acquired an altogether new and startling import. Had he been attempting to extricate information about William even then? Was his attention tonight similarly motivated?
The thought brought an unexpected pang of disappointment. She had found herself drawn to the enigmatic baron despite his reputation, sensing depths beneath his rakish facade. To consider that his interest might arise from matters of business rather than genuine affection was, surprisingly, a source of considerable mortification.
"Stop being a goose," she muttered to herself. "As if the attentions of a notorious rake would be any better than those of a calculating businessman."
"I beg your pardon?" a deep voice inquired from the shadows.
Gemma whirled around, her heart leaping to her throat as she realized she was not alone on the terrace. A tall figure stepped forward, moonlight illuminating familiar features.
Lord Brokeshire stood before her, one eyebrow raised in questioning amusement.
