Page 69 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
Lady Belinda's sharp eyes darted between them, one white eyebrow lifting slightly. "You're both dreadfully quiet this morning," she observed, stirring another lump of sugar into her tea. "I should have thought last night's ball would have provided ample gossip. Lady Harrington's feathers were positively molting on the dance floor. And did you notice the Countess of Merewether? Three glasses of champagne at least, and talking far too loudly about her husband's gout."
"A fascinating evening indeed," Jameson agreed absently, accepting a fresh cup of tea from Belinda but making no move to drink it. His eyes remained on Gemma, as though attempting to communicate something wordlessly across the space between them.
Gemma poured herself a cup, grateful for the ritual which gave her hands something to do. The fine porcelain felt cool against her fingers, grounding her amidst the sudden strangeness of this familiar morning scene.
"I must go into town," Jameson said abruptly. "Urgently. There are matters—business matters—that cannot be left unattended."
Gemma studied him over the rim of her teacup. His voice was even, his phrasing diplomatic, but the strain behind it was unmistakable. He was choosing every word too carefully, as though constructing a facade for Belinda's benefit.
"Is it—?" she began, unsure how much to reveal before their elderly companion.
He met her gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. "Yes. It concerns what we spoke of last night."
The tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows—these were subtle signs she might not have noticed weeks ago, but now they spoke volumes. Whatever business drew him to town, it was connected to those fragments of truth he had shared in the empty ballroom. About Thorne. About the company. About the danger that seemed to hover at the edges of their lives.
Belinda looked between them, brows arching nearly to her lace cap. "Is something amiss? You're both behaving most peculiarly."
"Nothing that need concern you," Jameson said smoothly, rising to his feet. "I shall return before dinner, if possible."
Gemma set her cup aside and rose as he made for the foyer. "I'll see you out," she said, ignoring Belinda's speculative gaze as she followed him.
The moment the drawing room door closed behind them, Jameson reached for her hand and drew her gently aside, into the small alcove beneath the stairs. In the filtered light of the entryway, with no one to witness, his carefully composed expression broke into something raw, urgent.
"I do not wish to alarm you," he said lowly, his thumb absently stroking the back of her hand, "but you must be watchful. Particularly where William is concerned."
A chill settled over her, dampening the warmth she had carried from their last encounter. "Why? What's happened?"
"Not yet known. But I suspect Thorneis tightening the net. William may act recklessly. He already has." His voice was tinged with genuine concern—not merely for their situation, but for her brother specifically.
She nodded, her throat tight with sudden fear. William had always been impulsive, prone to gambles both financial and social. It was why their father had insisted Gemma marry well, to provide a safety net for the family William seemed determined to jeopardize through his recklessness. "You'll find out more today?"
"I will try." His eyes searched hers, filled with an intensity that made her breath catch. "There are... complications I hadn't anticipated. Players I didn't account for."
"You don't have to face this alone anymore," she said softly, surprising herself with the conviction in her voice. "Whatever it is, however dangerous—I want to help."
A shadow of emotion crossed his face—gratitude mingled with something that looked almost like fear. "You already have. More than you know."
Before she could respond, he pulled her close—not hurriedly, but with a tenderness that made her breath catch. His embrace was firm, one hand at her back, the other warm against her shoulder. The scent of him—sandalwood and something uniquely his own—enveloped her, familiar now in a way it hadn't been before.
"If anything—anything—seems amiss, you are to send word to me directly," he murmured, his breath warm against her hair. "Promise me."
She looked up at him, struck by the genuine concern etched into his features. "I promise."
He hesitated. Then, after a beat, kissed her forehead—softly, as if the press of his lips might offer her some measure of his own strength. His hand came up to cup her cheek briefly, his thumbbrushing her skin in a gesture of such unexpected tenderness that Gemma felt her eyes prickle with sudden warmth.
And then he was gone, striding out into the morning sunlight, his tall figure silhouetted briefly in the doorway before disappearing into the waiting carriage.
Gemma remained in the foyer for a long moment, her hand pressed to her forehead where the warmth of his lips still lingered. The house around her seemed suddenly too quiet, too still, as though holding its breath in anticipation of something to come.
"Well," came Belinda's voice from behind her, making Gemma startle, "that was most interesting."
Gemma turned to find the older woman watching her with shrewd eyes, her hands folded primly before her.
"I—I'm not sure what you mean," Gemma said, cursing the slight flush she could feel rising in her cheeks.
Belinda's thin lips curved into a knowing smile. "My dear girl, I may be old, but I am not blind. Nor am I a fool. Something has changed between you and my son.”
Gemma opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. What was the use? "It's... complicated."
"Matrimony often is," Belinda replied, with surprising gentleness. "Especially matrimonies that begin as yours did. Jameson needed respectability after that dreadful business with Caroline, and your family needed financial security. A perfectly reasonable arrangement." She tilted her head, studying Gemma with new interest. "But perhaps it has become something else."
Before Gemma could respond, the butler appeared from the back of the house.
"Lady Belinda, your carriage is ready," he announced with a slight bow.
"Ah, yes. My weekly visit to Mrs. Havensham." Belinda sighed dramatically. "The poor dear is confined to her roomswith a most tedious cold, and I have promised to bring her the latest on-dits. I shall return for dinner."
With that, she swept out, leaving Gemma alone with her thoughts.
