On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons 8)

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I will promise you this. If I cannot find a way to free you from this blackmail in one hour, I will return for you. And I will release you.”

“To return to Haselby?” she whispered, and she sounded—

Did she sound disappointed? Even a little?

“Yes,” he said. Because in truth it was the only thing he could say. Much as he wished to throw caution to the wind, he knew that he could not steal her away. She would be respectable, as he would marry her as soon as Haselby agreed to the annulment, but she would never be happy.

And he knew that he could not live with himself.

“You will not be ruined if you go missing for one hour,” he said to her. “You can simply tell people you were overset. You wished to take a nap. I am sure that Hermione will corroborate your story if you ask her to.”

Lucy nodded. “Will you release my bindings?”

He gave his head a tiny shake and stood. “I would trust you with my life, Lucy, but not with your own. You’re far too honorable for your own good.”

“Gregory!”

He shrugged as he walked to the door. “Your conscience will get the better of you. You know that it will.”

“What if I promise—”

“Sorry.” One corner of his mouth stretched into a not quite apologetic expression. “I won’t believe you.”

He took one last look at her before he left. And he had to smile, which seemed ludicrous, given that he had one hour to neutralize the blackmail threat against Lucy’s family and extract her from her marriage. During her wedding reception.

By comparison, moving heaven and earth seemed a far better prospect.

But when he turned to Lucy, and saw her sitting there, on the floor, she looked…

Like herself again.

“Gregory,” she said, “you cannot leave me here. What if someone finds you and removes you from the house? Who will know I am here? And what if…and what if…and then what if…”

He smiled, enjoying her officiousness too much to actually listen to her words. She was definitely herself again.

“When this is all over,” he said, “I shall bring you a sandwich.”

That stopped her short. “A sandwich? A sandwich?”

He twisted the doorknob but didn’t yet pull. “You want a sandwich, don’t you? You always want a sandwich.”

“You’ve gone mad,” she said.

He couldn’t believe she’d only just come to the conclusion. “Don’t yell,” he warned.

“You know I can’t,” she muttered.

It was true. The last thing she wanted was to be found. If Gregory was not successful, she would need to be able to slip back into the party with as little fuss as possible.

“Goodbye, Lucy,” he said. “I love you.”

She looked up. And she whispered, “One hour. Do you really think you can do it?”

He nodded. It was what she needed to see, and it was what he needed to pretend.

And as he closed the door behind him, he could have sworn he heard her murmur, “Good luck.”

He paused for one deep breath before heading for the stairs. He was going to need more than luck; he was going to need a bloody miracle.