Gregory squeezed his fingers into fists, then flexed them wide and straight. He knew what he should do. He should release her, let her run downstairs to the party. He should sneak back out the servants’ door and vow never to approach her again.
She had promised to love, honor, and obey another man. She was supposed to forsake all others.
Surely, he fell under that aegis.
And yet he couldn’t give up.
Not yet.
“One hour,” he said, moving into a crouching position beside her. “Just give me one hour.”
She turned, her eyes doubtful and astonished and maybe-maybe-just a little bit hopeful as well. “One hour?” she echoed. “What do you think you can-”
“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.
The odds were against him. The odds were extremely against him. But Gregory had always been one to cheer for the underdog. And if there was any sense of justice in the world, any existential fairness floating through the air…If Do unto others offered any sort of payback, surely he was due.
Love existed.
He knew that it did. And he would be damned if it did not exist for him.
Gregory’s first stop was Lucy’s bedchamber, on the second floor. He couldn’t very well stroll into the ballroom and request an audience with one of the guests, but he thought there was a chance that someone had noticed Lucy’s absence and gone off looking for her. God willing it would be someone sympathetic to their cause, someone who actually cared about Lucy’s happiness.
But when Gregory slipped inside the room, all was exactly as he’d left it. “Damn,” he muttered, striding back to the door. Now he was going to have to figure out how to speak to her brother-or Haselby, he supposed-without attracting attention.
He placed his hand on the knob and yanked, but the weight of the door was all wrong, and Gregory wasn’t certain which happened first-the feminine shriek of surprise or the soft, warm body tumbling into his.
“You!”
“You!” he said in return. “Thank God.”
It was Hermione. The one person he knew cared for Lucy’s happiness above all else.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed. But she closed the door to the corridor, surely a good sign.
“I had to talk to Lucy.”
“She married Lord Haselby.”
He shook his head. “It has not been consummated.”
Her mouth quite literally fell open. “Good God, you don’t mean to-”
“I will be honest with you,” he cut in. “I don’t know what I mean to do, other than find a way to free her.”
Hermione stared at him for several seconds. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, she said, “She loves you.”
“She told you that?”
She shook her head. “No, but it’s obvious. Or at least with hindsight it is.” She paced the room, then turned suddenly around. “Then why did she marry Lord Haselby? I know she feels strongly about honoring commitments, but surely she could have ended it before today.”
“She is being blackmailed,” Gregory said grimly.
Hermione’s eyes grew very large. “With what?”
“I can’t tell you.”
To her credit, she did not waste time protesting. Instead, she looked up at him, her eyes sharp and steady. “What can I do to help?”
Five minutes later, Gregory found himself in the company of both Lord Haselby and Lucy’s brother. He would have preferred to have done without the latter, who looked as if he might cheerfully decapitate Gregory were it not for the presence of his wife.
Who had his arm in a viselike grip.
“Where is Lucy?” Richard demanded.
“She is safe,” Gregory replied.
“Pardon me if I am not reassured,” Richard retorted.
“Richard, stop,” Hermione cut in, forcibly pulling him back. “Mr. Bridgerton is not going to hurt her. He has her best interests at heart.”
“Oh, really?” Richard drawled.
Hermione glared at him with more animation than Gregory had ever seen on her pretty face. “He loves her,” she declared.
“Indeed.”
All eyes turned to Lord Haselby, who had been standing by the door, watching the scene with a strange expression of amusement.
No one seemed to know what to say.
“Well, he certainly made it clear this morning,” Haselby continued, settling into a chair with remarkably easy grace. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Er, yes?” Richard answered, and Gregory couldn’t really blame him for his uncertain tone. Haselby did seem to be taking this in a most uncommon manner. Calm. So calm that Gregory’s pulse seemed to feel the need to race twice as fast, if only to make up for Haselby’s shortcomings.
“She loves me,” Gregory told him, balling his hand into a fist behind his back-not in preparation for violence, but rather because if he didn’t move some part of his body, he was liable to jump out of his skin. “I’m sorry to say it, but-”