On the Way to the Wedding (Bridgertons 8)

Lucy started to call out for Hermione, but Gregory clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispered in her ear. “If someone else is here, we don’t want them to realize we’re looking for them both.”

Lucy nodded, feeling painfully green. She’d thought she’d known something of the world, but as each day passed, it seemed she understood less and less. Mr. Bridgerton stepped away, moving farther into the room. He stood with his hands on his hips, his stance wide as he scanned the orangery for occupants.

“Lord Fennsworth!” Lady Bridgerton called out again.

This time they heard a rustling. But soft. And slow. As if someone were trying to conceal his presence.

Lucy turned toward the sound, but no one came forward. She bit her lip. Maybe it was just an animal. There were several cats at Aubrey Hall. They slept in a little hutch near the door to the kitchen, but maybe one of them had lost its way and got locked in the orangery.

It had to be a cat. If it were Richard, he’d have come forward when he heard his name.

She looked at Lady Bridgerton, waiting to see what she would do next. The viscountess was looking intently at her brother-in-law, mouthing something and motioning with her hands and pointing in the direction of the noise.

Gregory gave her a nod, then moved forward on silent feet, his long legs crossing the room with impressive speed, until—

Lucy gasped. Before she had time to blink, Gregory had charged forward, a strange, primal sound ripping from his throat. Then he positively leaped through the air, coming down with a thud and a grunt of “I have you!”

“Oh no.” Lucy’s hand rose to cover her mouth. Mr. Bridgerton had someone pinned to the floor, and his hands looked to be very close to his captive’s throat.

Lady Bridgerton rushed toward them, and Lucy, seeing her, finally remembered her own feet and ran to the scene. If it was Richard—oh, please don’t let it be Richard—she needed to reach him before Mr. Bridgerton killed him.

“Let…me…go!”

?

?Richard!” Lucy called out shrilly. It was his voice. There could be no mistaking it.

The figure on the floor of the orangery twisted, and then she could see his face.

“Lucy?” He looked stunned.

“Oh, Richard.” There was a world of disappointment in those two words.

“Where is she?” Gregory demanded.

“Where is who?”

Lucy felt sick. Richard was feigning ignorance. She knew him too well. He was lying.

“Miss Watson,” Gregory ground out.

“I don’t know what y—”

A horrible gurgling noise came from Richard’s throat.

“Gregory!” Lady Bridgerton grabbed his arm. “Stop!”

He loosened his hold. Barely.

“Maybe she’s not here,” Lucy said. She knew it wasn’t true, but somehow it seemed the best way to salvage the situation. “Richard loves flowers. He always has. And he doesn’t like parties.”

“It’s true,” Richard gasped.

“Gregory,” Lady Bridgerton said, “you must let him up.”

Lucy turned to face her as she spoke, and that was when she saw it. Behind Lady Bridgerton.