Page 90 of The Baron's Reluctant Bride
A shared laugh, quiet and shaky, escaped their lips then, a fragile melody amidst the lingering tension. They clung to one another with fierce intensity, two survivors who had weathered a perilous storm and now sought solace in the tangible reality of their reunion.
“I am here, my love,” he murmured, pressing his forehead gently against hers, his gaze unwavering. “And I swear to you, I am not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
“And you, sir,” she replied fiercely, her grip tightening possessively on his coat, her eyes blazing with a newfound resolve, “are never again to be out of my sight. Not for a single moment. Ever.”
A discreet cough interrupted them.
“Ahem.”
Both Jameson and Gemma turned, slightly dazed, breathless, still holding on to one another.
Christopher stood a few steps below, arms crossed, one brow raised with theatrical exasperation. “As stirring as this is, and truly, I could weep into a monogrammed handkerchief, you are stillbleeding, Jameson.”
Gemma blinked, glancing down—then gasped. “Oh, heavens above!”
A fresh bloom of crimson had spread beneath Jameson’s coat, darkening the fabric at his side.
Jameson attempted a weak shrug. “It’s a veryminorwound.”
“You were shot,” Christopher said flatly.
“Only once,” Jameson replied with great dignity.
“You absolute menace,” Gemma scolded, already looping her arm beneath his. “What sort of man declares his undying love and then keels over on the doorstep? You arenotdying in my front hall, do you hear me?”
“I wasn’tplanningto,” Jameson murmured, swaying slightly.
“Christopher, help me,” she ordered, tone brooking no argument.
“I always do,” he said with an easy smirk, slipping to Jameson’s other side. “Though I would like it noted that I am due a very long nap and a commendation from the Crown.”
“After the wound is cleaned and stitched,” Gemma said, dragging them both toward the door. “And possibly after I throttle my husband for good measure.”
“Make sure you aim for the uninjured side,” Christopher muttered.
They staggered inside, the door swinging shut behind them with a gentleclick. The soft glow of lamplight spilled across the foyer, bathing the trio in warmth and familiarity.
Jameson winced as they guided him to the settee, but managed a crooked smile. “You realise, if I perish from this, I expect the most dramatic funeral London has ever seen.”
“I’ll hire three choirs and a weeping soprano,” Gemma said, already barking orders for hot water and bandages. “But first,you’ll live, you impossible man. And then you’ll explain why my best linens are now ruined.”
Christopher sank into a chair. “As you can understand, this all would’ve made an excellent opera. Intrigue, peril, romance, near-fatal blood loss... Someone fetch a composer.”
Gemma ignored him. She knelt beside Jameson, fussing over him with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. “You arenever doing something like this again. No secret plans. No reckless heroics. And absolutelynogetting shot at.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jameson murmured, catching her hand and pressing it to his lips. “But I make no promises where your heart is concerned. That, I fear, is already in very grave danger of being stolen again. Daily.”
She rolled her eyes and kissed his temple.
Christopher groaned. “Very well then. I’m going to find brandy. Or laudanum. Possibly both.”
And as the house stirred into life behind them, and the light of a new day filtered through the windows, something shifted.
The danger had passed. The lies had crumbled.
And in their place stood something far messier and more marvelous—love, earned not by grand gestures alone, but by grit, honesty, and the stubborn, joyful act of choosing each other.
The future remained unwritten, but it had never looked brighter.
