Page 39 of The Baron’s Reluctant Bride (Marriage Mart Scandals #4)
She gasped as rough palms dragged her forcibly into the chamber, the door slamming shut with finality.
"Well, well," Thorne drawled, rising to his full height. "Lady Brokeshire herself honors us with her presence. And I had believed you possessed no aptitude for matters of commerce."
Gemma struggled against her captors, her voice sharp with indignation. "Release me this instant, sir!"
"I fear you represent far too valuable an asset now," Thorne replied, approaching with measured steps. "Curiosity proves a hazardous inclination in a lady, Lady Brokeshire. Though I must commend your audacity. You nearly succeeded in deceiving me."
William surged to his feet, face contorted with horror. "For God's sake, Thorne, release her! She knows nothing of this business!"
Thorne did not deign to acknowledge him.
"You know, Lady Brokeshire, you might serve a useful purpose in our endeavors.
A well-placed whisper here, a signature upon select documents there.
Your husband attends to your counsel these days, does he not?
Quite an accomplishment, considering the notorious disregard he formerly exhibited toward—well, toward anyone's judgment save his own. "
"I comprehend your scheme perfectly," Gemma declared, her breath unsteady but her voice resolute. "You engage in mere bluster. You act from desperation. Were it otherwise, you should have no need of my brother's involvement, nor any of these elaborate machinations."
Thorne's smile reappeared—but it held the warmth of a January frost. "No, my dear lady. I am merely methodical in my affairs. And unfortunately for you, I now recognize precisely how methodical you are in yours."
Gemma's thoughts raced with feverish intensity.
She dared not permit him to discern the true extent of her knowledge—regarding Hawthorne Trading, concerning Jameson's role, about the counterplot even now unfolding in the glittering assembly above. She must delay him. Confound him. And, should necessity demand it, act with decisive courage.
William stood transfixed, fists clenched in impotent rage. "Release her, Thorne. If it is me you desire as your pawn, you already possess me."
"I have indeed secured your cooperation, William," Thorne replied with glacial composure. "And now, I have acquired hers as well."
"You presume overmuch, sir," Gemma said, her voice cutting. "My husband will not rest until—"
"Until what?" Thorne interrupted, moving closer still. "Until he discovers his wife meddling in affairs beyond her comprehension? Until he learns how his brother-in-law betrayed him? I rather think Lord Brokeshire shall be occupied with more pressing concerns than your whereabouts this evening."
Gemma drew a slow, deliberate breath. Then elevated her chin with all the aristocratic hauteur her lineage had bestowed upon her.
"Then I sincerely hope you derive satisfaction from engaging in chess matches with ladies, Mr. Thorne," she proclaimed with icy precision. "We are exceptionally adept at reversing the board when least expected."
For a fleeting moment, something flickered across his countenance—amusement? Irritation? Uncertainty?
Excellent .
She required precisely such distraction.
Now she need only discover some means of communicating with her allies above stairs... before time expired. And before Thorne discerned precisely how much she truly knew of his designs.
"You speak boldly for one in so compromised a position," Thorne observed, circling her like a predator assessing its prey. "I wonder, does your husband know of your remarkable talent for intrigue? Or have you concealed that aptitude from him as well?"
"My husband knows my every quality," she retorted. "Which is more than can be said for your associates, who believe you a man of honor rather than a common thief dressed in gentleman's attire."
His hand shot out, fingers gripping her chin with bruising force. "Mind your tongue, madam. Your position grows more precarious by the moment."
William lunged forward. "Take your hands from my sister!"
One of Thorne's men intercepted him, shoving him back into his chair with casual violence.
"William," Gemma said, her voice steady despite her racing pulse. "Be still. All shall be well."
"Indeed it shall," Thorne agreed with silken menace. "Once certain documents bear your signature beside your brother's. A unified front of the Montgomery family, transferring their interests to more... capable hands."
"I shall sign nothing," she declared.
"No?" Thorne's smile deepened. "Then perhaps your brother's continued well-being might persuade you otherwise."
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 immediately recognize 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 forehead dramatically. "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.
She darted behind the desk, putting its solid bulk between them. "I should think," she said breathlessly, "that gunfire and breaking glass might attract attention, even in a house as vast as yours, Mr. Thorne."
As if summoned by her words, the door burst open. Jameson stood in the threshold, his expression terrible to behold. Behind him, Christopher appeared, a pistol gripped in each hand.
"Step away from my wife," Jameson commanded, his voice deadly quiet.
Relief flooded through Gemma with such force she nearly wept. Thorne froze, his calculating gaze darting between the newcomers and his own compromised position.
"Lord Brokeshire," he said, composure rapidly reasserting itself. "How fortuitous. We were just discussing a matter of mutual business interest."