Page 26 of The Baron’s Reluctant Bride (Marriage Mart Scandals #4)

"Lady Brokeshire," he said with a polite bow. "I trust you're enjoying the evening?"

"As much as one can enjoy being scrutinized by the entire ton," Gemma replied dryly.

Christopher chuckled. "A fair assessment. Though I must say, you and Brookfield present a most convincing tableau of marital harmony."

"High praise from a man who has long eschewed the institution," Gemma observed with a pointed glance between him and Abigail.

A flush crept up Christopher's neck, and he cleared his throat. "Yes, well, one's perspectives may evolve with proper inducement."

Abigail's blush deepened, and she quickly changed the subject. "I was just telling Gemma how striking her new gown is. Is it not the perfect shade to complement her complexion?"

Christopher nodded, though his gaze had already drifted back to Abigail. "Indeed, though I confess my expertise in ladies' fashion is limited."

"A diplomatic response," Gemma noted, amused by their transparent affection.

The quiet warmth that had begun to bloom was swept away in an instant.

A hush, subtle but unmistakable, fell over the nearby guests. Heads tilted. Fans paused mid-flutter. The ripple of discomfort moved through the ballroom like a shift in the wind. Gemma followed the disturbance to its source. She felt her stomach turn.

William stood at the entrance of the ballroom, slightly breathless, his cravat askew and his dark hair tousled as though he'd either been rushing, or fighting a storm. His gaze swept across the room with uneasy urgency, not unlike a man seeking an escape route rather than an evening's diversion.

"Oh, dear," Abigail murmured. "Your brother appears to have had an... eventful journey here."

"Excuse me," Gemma said tightly, already moving toward the entrance. "I should—"

"Of course," Christopher nodded, his expression shifting to concern. "Should you need assistance...?”

But Gemma was already weaving through the crowd, her heart drumming an anxious rhythm against her ribs. She reached William just as he spotted her, relief washing over his features.

"William," she whispered as she reached him, her gloved hand catching his arm. "You look—what has happened?"

He offered a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing, dearest. Truly, nothing. I only lost track of time."

She frowned, eyes scanning his face. "What in heaven's name are you doing?"

"Attending a ball," he replied with forced lightness. "Is that not the purpose of these gatherings?"

"Not in this state," she hissed, guiding him toward a less trafficked corner. "You look as though you've been dragged behind a carriage."

"Such flattery," he quipped, though the jest fell flat. "I assure you, I'm perfectly well."

Before he could respond, a prickling sensation ran up her spine.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Thorne stood on the far side of the ballroom, half-obscured by a marble column and an overgrown potted fern.

But his eyes were unmistakable, fixed on William like a hawk eyeing a rabbit.

His expression was unreadable, save for the look of satisfaction that curved the corner of his mouth when Gemma met his gaze.

She turned back to her brother, stepping slightly in front of him as though by sheer force of will she could shield him from whatever storm was gathering.

"Gemma, what—" William began, but he, too, caught sight of Thorne. His jaw tensed.

"Is he the reason you're in this state?" she demanded in a low voice.

William's eyes darted around the room. "It's complicated, Gemma. I've... there've been some developments."

"Developments," she repeated flatly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

And then came a voice like silk stretched too thin.

"My, what a charming reunion."

Gemma closed her eyes briefly, bracing herself.

It was Lady Viola Montford. The notorious gossip must have a vendetta against Gemma, she clearly delighted in showing up like a vulture whenever Gemma was in misfortune. From that night when she had seen Gemma with Jameson, to tonight.

She stood poised beside them, an ivory fan in one hand and a smile like a dagger on her lips. She wore peacock blue, of course—always something arresting, always something just a shade too dramatic.

"Gemma, your gown tonight is simply breathtaking," Viola said sweetly, eyes gleaming. "One would hardly guess it was rushed through the dressmaker's hands only a fortnight ago. Such haste is understandable, of course. New brides must make do."

Gemma summoned a smile she did not feel. "You are too kind, Miss Montford."

Viola's eyes flitted to William. "And Lord Sinclair, how refreshing to see you. We were beginning to suspect you'd grown averse to polite society. I do hope you haven't been unwell."

"Not at all," William replied with stiff civility. "I've simply been occupied."

"Indeed," Viola murmured, her gaze flicking once more to Gemma. "Well, let us hope your sister's matrimony has been more… grounded. It would be a shame if both Sinclairs were surrounded by whispers."

Gemma's smile held, but her nails bit into her gloves. She was painfully aware of the surrounding ears, of the glances from nearby matrons pretending not to listen.

"How thoughtful of you to concern yourself with our affairs," Gemma replied, her tone sweet enough to cause tooth decay.

"Though I imagine you must have more pressing matters to attend to.

Lady Hartington was asking after you just moments ago—something about a misplaced invitation to her daughter's coming-out ball? "

Viola's smile froze. "Was she indeed? How curious. I shall seek her out directly."

"Please do," Gemma nodded. "I wouldn't want you to miss such an important occasion due to... oversight."

With a final pointed look at William, Viola drifted away, trailing the scent of lilacs and thwarted malice. Gemma exhaled sharply, her hand still on William's sleeve.

"Come," she said quietly. "We're going to find somewhere private."

And for once, William did not argue. They made their way along the perimeter of the ballroom, Gemma nodding politely to acquaintances while maintaining a firm grip on her brother's arm.

She guided him toward a small antechamber off the main hall, typically used for ladies to refresh themselves between dances.

At this hour, it stood empty save for a maid arranging hairpins on a silver tray.

"A moment, if you please," Gemma said to the girl, who curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind her.

The moment they were alone, Gemma rounded on William.

"Now," she said, her voice tight with concern, "explain yourself. And pray do not insult my intelligence with further evasions."

William sank onto a velvet-upholstered chair, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "It's nothing to concern yourself with, Gemma. Truly."

"Is it not?" she challenged, pacing the small confines of the room.

"When you arrive at the Hartington ball looking as though you've just escaped a brawl, with Thorne watching your every move?

When Viola Montford is circling like a vulture, ready to spread whatever scandal she can glean?

This is precisely the sort of thing I should concern myself with. "

William winced. "You're right, of course. It's just—" He broke off, his expression haunted. "I've made rather a mess of things, Gem."

"So it would seem," she replied, softening slightly at his use of her childhood nickname. "Is it the gambling again?"

"Partly," he admitted, staring at his hands. "Though it's grown rather more complicated."

Gemma sank onto the chair opposite him. "Tell me."

"I—" he began, then paused at the sound of approaching footsteps. They both tensed, but the steps continued past the door.

William lowered his voice nonetheless. "Thorne has been.

.. collecting information through me. About investments, shipping ventures, but he is paying more than usual attention to those connected to the Hawthorne Trading Company.

It appears he has somewhat of a vendetta. But I do not know much detail."

Gemma's blood ran cold as she heard the name of Jameson's company.

"And tonight?" she prompted, dreading the answer.

"I was meant to meet him before the ball, to pass along some information about a shipment from the Indies." William's face contorted with shame. "I couldn't do it, Gemma. I went to tell him I was finished being his pawn."

"And how did he take that news?"

William's bitter laugh told her everything.

"About as well as you might expect. He reminded me of my substantial debts to him, debts that could see me imprisoned if made public.

And then he said—" William swallowed hard.

"He said if I didn't cooperate, he would ensure that my sister's hasty matrimony became the scandal of the Season. "

Gemma's heart pounded in her ears. "What did he mean by that?"

"I don't know exactly," William admitted. "But he implied he had information about Lord Brokeshire, something that would 'make the ton reconsider the match.' His words, not mine."

"I see," Gemma said slowly, her mind racing. What could Thorne possibly know about Jameson that could threaten their matrimony?

The door opened abruptly, and both siblings startled. But it was only Jameson, his expression inscrutable as he took in the scene before him.

"Forgive the intrusion," he said, his gaze settling on William. "I was concerned when my wife vanished so precipitously."

William stood, adjusting his cravat in a futile attempt to appear composed. "Lord Brokeshire. My apologies for disrupting your evening."

"Not at all," Jameson replied mildly, though his eyes were sharp. "Family is always welcome, especially when in distress."

"I'm perfectly fine," William insisted weakly.

"Indeed," Jameson drawled. "You look the very picture of composure."

Gemma rose, placing herself between the two men. "Jameson, perhaps we could continue this discussion later? William and I were just—"