On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons 8)

And then—

“Where is she?” Hermione gasped.

Gregory strode into the small room, his eyes taking in everything—the cut bindings, the overturned chamber pot. “Someone took her,” he said grimly.

“Her uncle?”

“Or Davenport. They are the only two with reason to—” He shook his head. “No, they cannot do her harm. They need the marriage to be legal and binding. And long-standing. Davenport wants an heir off Lucy.”

Hermione nodded.

Gregory turned to her. “You know the house. Where could she be?”

Hermione was shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. If it’s her uncle—”

“Assume it’s her uncle,” Gregory ordered. He wasn’t sure that Davenport was agile enough to abduct Lucy, and besides that, if what Haselby had said about his father was true, then Robert Abernathy was the man with secrets.

He was the man with something to lose.

“His study,” Hermione whispered. “He is always in his study.”

“Where is it?”

“On the ground floor. It looks out the back.”

“He wouldn’t risk it,” Gregory said. “Too close to the ballroom.”

“Then his bedchamber. If he means to avoid the public rooms, then that is where he would take her. That or her own chamber.”

Gregory took her arm and preceded her out the door. They made their way down one flight of stairs, pausing before opening the door that led from the servants’ stairs to the second floor landing.

“Point out his door to me,” he said, “and then go.”

“I’m not—”

“Find your husband,” he ordered. “Bring him back.”

Hermione looked conflicted, but she nodded and did as he asked.

“Go,” he said, once he knew where to go. “Quickly.”

She ran down the stairs as Gregory crept along the hall. He reached the door Hermione had indicated and carefully pressed his ear to it.

“What are you waiting for?”

It was Lucy. Muffled through the heavy wood door, but it was she.

“I don’t know,” came a male voice, and Gregory realized that he could not identify it. He’d had few conversations with Lord Davenport and none with her uncle. He had no idea who was holding her hostage.

He held his breath and slowly turned the knob.

With his left hand.

With his right hand he pulled out his gun.

God help them all if he had to use it.

He managed to get the door open a crack—just enough to peer in without being noticed.