Page 32 of The Baron’s Reluctant Bride (Marriage Mart Scandals #4)

“Of course I am angry.” She laughed then, a short, brittle sound. “I am angry and frightened and humiliated. And most of all—” She drew a sharp breath. “I am alone in this matrimony.”

Jameson stepped closer. “You are not alone.”

“You have shut me out from the beginning.” Her eyes shimmered, though no tears fell. “Every word between us is measured. Every kindness offered with caution. And now, when the ground beneath my feet begins to give way, I find you standing not beside me, but ahead of me blocking the truth.”

His voice was low. “I never intended to—”

“I do not care what you intended,” she interrupted. “I care what you have done . And what you have chosen to keep from me.”

He was silent again, but his jaw was tight, his shoulders taut with restraint. Then, at last, he spoke.

“I was trying to protect you.”

She stared at him. “Then you have failed. Because I am not protected. I am merely kept in the dark.”

“You deserve more,” he said, voice rougher than she had ever heard it.

She blinked, she was undoubtedly startled. “Then give me more.”

Their eyes locked—his burning, hers searching—and for the first time, neither of them turned away.

The silence stretched once more, no longer brittle, but full of possibility.

Heavy with truths unsaid. Jameson took a breath and looked at her, really looked, as though weighing whether she could bear the truth, or whether she should bear it at all.

But the choice, like so much else, had already slipped from his hands.

“I have not lied to you,” he said at last. “But I have omitted.”

Gemma said nothing, but her silence pressed upon him like judgment.

He ran a hand through his hair, the motion weary. “Before we wedded—long before, in fact—I entered into partnership with a group of gentlemen. Men of standing, influence. Hawthorne Trading Company is what we called it, though there is little poetry in trade.”

Gemma’s brows lifted faintly. “I’m aware of your business. You sponsor shipping routes to India and the West Indies. Rum, silks, spices.”

“Yes,” he said. “And more.”

He paused, glancing toward the cold hearth as though the coals might offer him the words he lacked.

“We began with modest ambitions,” he continued, “but as our success grew, so too did our exposure. True trade, the sort that alters economies invites enemies. Albert Thorne is among the most persistent.”

She said his name like a curse. “Thorne has driven entire families into ruin.”

“I am fully aware.” His voice was low, tight. “He seeks to do the same to mine. And not only mine.”

Gemma stepped closer, her eyes fixed on his face. “So you’ve been fighting him.”

“Yes. In silence. In shadows. Because the wrong whisper in the wrong ear could collapse it all, investments, livelihoods, families with names older than the Crown.”

“Then why keep it from me?” Her voice cracked, there was too much emotion spilling through the question. “Why let me believe you were indifferent? Why build walls instead of bridges?”

He turned to her then, fully. His voice, when it came, was gentler than she expected.

“Because I did not believe I could survive it again.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You asked for honesty.” He stepped closer, slowly. “Lady Caroline—what I shared with her, what I lost in her betrayal—it taught me not merely caution, Gemma, but armour. I do not show what I feel because I scarcely know what remains that is safe to reveal.”

Gemma looked down. “You wear your rakish reputation like a medal.”

“It keeps questions at bay. It gives people what they expect. And it ensures that no one looks too closely at the man behind it. Neither in the gentleman’s club nor in Parliament or in my own abode.”

“Not even my wife.”

Her chin lifted. “That choice was yours .”

“I know.”

The silence between them pulsed again, this time not cold, but aching.

“I never intended to keep you entirely in the dark,” he said. “But when I began to care for you, it became more difficult. It is one thing to deceive a stranger. It is quite another to withhold from someone who knows how you take your tea.”

Gemma gave a small, sharp laugh. “So this is your version of vulnerability.”

“It is more than most receive.”

She shook her head. “And less than I deserve.”

He flinched—just barely.

“I am trying to protect you,” he said. “And not in the patronising, romantic sense. If the Hawthorne Company collapses, half of our country’s trade routes will be exposed.

Dozens of households will lose their fortunes.

And you —your family—could be dragged into scandal simply by proximity.

Your brother already teeters too near the edge. ”

Gemma stilled. “So this is about William.”

“In part,” Jameson admitted. “Thorne is circling him like carrion. And William, for all his charm, has not the sense to hide his debts well.”

Her arms crossed, though she did not step away. “And so, what then? You keep secrets in the name of duty? Protect me by lying with silence?”

“I cannot tell you everything,” he said, voice low. “Not because I do not wish to, but because I am not at liberty to involve you in matters that might—if mishandled—bring ruin. But I can tell you this…”

He paused, then met her gaze fully.

“I am not indifferent. I am not unfeeling. I am doing what I can to keep you safe, to protect this family, to fulfil the obligations I have taken on willingly and otherwise. You may think me cold, Gemma, but I assure you—I feel it all.”

Gemma stared at him. For the first time since their wedding, she saw the man stripped of polish. Tired. Guarded. But not cruel. Not unreachable.

Still, the ache remained.

“Then why,” she whispered, “does it feel like you’re always holding something just out of reach?”

Jameson stepped close enough that she felt the heat of his body beneath the crisp formality of his coat. “Because I am.”

A long pause stretched between them—neither soft, nor final.

“Will you let me in?” she asked, the words barely more than breath.

He reached for her hand—hesitated—then took it, his fingers curling slowly around hers.

“I’m trying.”

Gemma didn’t smile. But she didn’t pull away either. Outside, the grey hush of dawn crept across the windows and inside, the first crack of honesty had begun to form.