Not yet.
“What your father did—It is reprehensible. It is—” He swore under his breath. “I will be honest with you. It leaves me sick. But you—you, Lucy—you are innocent. You did nothing wrong, and you should not have to pay for his sins.”
“Neither should my brother,” she said quietly, “but if I do not complete my marriage to Haselby, Richard will—”
“Shhh.” Gregory pressed a finger to her lips. “Listen to me. I love you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I love you,” he said again. “There is nothing in this world or the next that could ever make me stop loving you.”
“You felt that way about Hermione,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, almost smiling at how silly it all seemed now. “I had been waiting so long to fall in love that I wanted the love more than the woman. I never loved Hermione, just the idea of her. But with you…It’s different, Lucy. It’s deeper. It’s…it’s…”
He struggled for words, but there were none. Words simply did not exist to explain what he felt for her. “It’s me,” he finally said, appalled at the inelegance of it. “Without you, I…I am…”
“Gregory,” she whispered, “you don’t have to—”
“I am nothing,” he cut in, because he wasn’t going to allow her to tell him that he didn’t have to explain. “Without you, I am nothing.”
She smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was true, and it felt as if he’d been waiting years for that smile. “That’s not true,” she said. “You know that it’s not.”
He shook his head. “An exaggeration, perhaps, but that is all. You make me better, Lucy. You make me wish, and hope, and aspire. You make me want to do things.”
Tears began to trickle down her cheeks.
With the pads of his thumbs he brushed them away. “You are the finest
person I know,” he said, “the most honorable human being I have ever met. You make me laugh. And you make me think. And I…” He took a deep breath. “I love you.”
And again. “I love you.”
And again. “I love you.” He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know how else to say it.”
She turned away then, twisting her head so that his hands slid from her face to her shoulders, and finally, away from her body completely. Gregory could not see her face, but he could hear her—the quiet, broken sound of her breathing, the soft whimper in her voice.
“I love you,” she finally answered, still not looking at him. “You know that I do. I will not demean us both by lying about it. And if it were only me, I would do anything—anything for that love. I would risk poverty, ruin. I would move to America, I would move to darkest Africa if that were the only way to be with you.”
She let out a long, shaky breath. “I cannot be so selfish as to bring down the two people who have loved me so well and for so long.”
“Lucy…” He had no idea what he wanted to tell her, just that he didn’t want her to finish. He knew he did not want to hear what she had to say.
But she cut him off with—“Don’t, Gregory. Please. I’m sorry. I cannot do it, and if you love me as you say you do, you will bring me back now, before Lord Davenport realizes I’ve gone missing.”
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—”