On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons 8)

Right there in front of everyone, he stopped.

He stopped. And he said, “I love you.”

Beside her Hermione murmured, “Oh my goodness.”

Lucy wanted to cry.

“I love you,” he said again, and he just kept walking, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Don’t do it,” he said, finally reaching the front of the church. “Don’t marry him.”

“Gregory,” she whispered, “why are you doing this?”

“I love you,” he said, as if there could be no other explanation.

A little moan choked in her throat. Tears burned her eyes, and her entire body felt stiff. Stiff and frozen. One little wind, one little breath would knock her over. And she couldn’t manage to think anything but Why?

And No.

And Please.

And—oh heavens, Lord Haselby!

She looked up at him, at the groom who had found himself demoted to a supporting role. He had been standing silently this entire time, watching the unfolding drama with as much interest as the audience. With her eyes she pleaded with him for guidance, but he just shook his head. It was a tiny movement, far too subtle for anyone else to discern, but she saw it, and she knew what it meant.

It is up to you.

She turned back to Gregory. His eyes burned, and he sank to one knee.

Don’t, she tried to say. But she could not move her lips. She could not find her voice.

“Marry me,” Gregory said, and she felt him in his voice. It wrapped around her body, kissed her, embraced her. “Marry me.”

And oh dear Lord, she wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to sink to her knees and take his face in her hands. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to shout out her love for him—here, in front of everyone she knew, possibly everyone she ever would know.

But she had wanted all of that the day before, and the day before that. Nothing had changed. Her world had become more public, but it had not changed.

Her father was still a traitor.

Her family was still being blackmailed.

The fate of her brother and Hermione was still in her hands.

She looked at Gregory, aching for him, aching for them both.

“Marry me,” he whispered.

Her lips parted, and she said—

“No.”

Twenty-two

In which all hell breaks loose.

All hell broke loose.

Lord Davenport charged forward, as did Lucy’s uncle and Gregory’s brother, who had just tripped up the steps to the church after chasing Gregory across Mayfair.