Page 66 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
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.
“Iamtrying 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. Andyou—your family—could be dragged into scandal simply by proximity. Your brother already teeters too near the edge.”
Gemma stilled. “So thisisabout 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?”
“Icannottell 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 Icantell 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.
