“You can’t marry him, Lucy,” he whispered urgently, his words hot against her skin.
“Gregory, don’t,” she moaned.
“You can’t.” And then, because he knew he could not allow this to go any further, he straightened, pressing one last kiss against her lips before setting her back, forcing her to look him in the eye.
“You cannot marry him,” he said again.
“Gregory, what can I—”
He gripped her arms. Hard. And he said it.
“I love you.”
Her lips parted. She could not speak.
“I love you,” he said again.
Lucy had suspected—she’d hoped—but she hadn’t really allowed herself to believe. And so, when she finally found words of her own, they were: “You do?”
He smiled, and then he laughed, and then he rested his forehead on hers. “With all of my heart,” he vowed. “I only just realized it. I’m a fool. A blind man. A—”
“No,” she cut in, shaking her head. “Do not berate yourself. No one ever notices me straightaway when Hermione is about.”
His fingers gripped her all the tighter. “She does not hold a candle to you.”
A warm feeling began to spread through her bones. Not desire, not passion, just pure, unadulterated happiness. “You really mean it,” she whispered.
“Enough to move heaven and earth to make sure you do not go through with your wedding to Haselby.”
She blanched.
“Lucy?”
No. She could do it. She would do it. It was almost funny, really. She had spent three years telling Hermione that she had to be practical, follow the rules. She’d scoffed when Hermione had gone on about love and passion and hearing music. And now . . .
She took a deep, fortifying breath. And now she was going to break her engagement.
That had been arranged for years.
To the son of an earl.
Five days before the wedding.
Dear God, the scandal.
She stepped back, lifting her chin so that she could see Gregory’s face. His eyes were watching her with all the love she herself felt.
“I love you,” she whispered, because she had not yet said it. “I love you, too.”
For once she was going to stop thinking about everyone else. She wasn’t going to take what she was given and make the best of it. She was going to reach for her own happiness, make her own destiny.
She was not going to do what was expected.
She was going to do what she wanted.
It was time.
She squeezed Gregory’s hands. And she smiled. It was no tentative thing, but wide and confident, full of her hopes, full of her dreams—and the knowledge that she would achieve them all.