On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons 8)

He stepped forward. “I love you.”

“Gregory, please.”

Even closer. “I love you.”

She took a breath. Squared her shoulders. “I am marrying Lord Haselby tomorrow.”

“No,” he said, “you’re not.”

Her lips parted.

He reached out and captured her hand in his. She did not pull away.

“Lucy,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes.

“Be with me,” he said.

Slowly, she shook her head. “Please don’t.”

He tugged her closer and pulled the candlestick from her slackening fingers. “Be with me, Lucy Abernathy. Be my love, be my wife.”

She opened her eyes, but she held his gaze for only a moment before twisting away. “You’re making it so much worse,” she whispered.

The pain in her voice was unbearable. “Lucy,” he said, touching her cheek, “let me help you.”

She shook her head, but she paused as her cheek settled into his palm. Not for long. Barely a second. But he felt it.

“You can’t marry him,” he said, tilting her face toward his. “You won’t be happy.”

Her eyes glistened as they met his. In the dim light of the night, they looked a dark, dark gray, and achingly sad. He could imagine the entire world there, in the depths of her gaze. Everything he needed to know, everything he might ever need to know—it was there, within her.

“You won’t be happy, Lucy,” he whispered. “You know that you won’t.”

Still, she didn’t speak. The only sound was her breath, moving quietly across her lips. And then, finally—

“I will be content.”

“Content?” he echoed. His hand dropped from her face, falling to his side as he stepped back. “You will be content?”

She nodded.

“And that’s enough?”

She nodded again, but smaller this time.

Anger began to spark within him. She was willing to toss him away for that? Why wasn’t she willing to fight?

She loved him, but did she love him enough?

“Is it his position?” he demanded. “Does it mean so much to you to be a countess?”

She waited too long before replying, and he knew she was lying when she said, “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said, and his voice sounded terrible. Wounded. Angry. He looked at his hand, blinking with surprise as he realized he was still holding the candlestick. He wanted to hurl it at the wall. Instead he set it down. His hands were not quite steady, he saw.

He looked at her. She said nothing.