Julia Quinn - On The Way To The Wedding

Lucy turned ashen. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” her uncle replied. Nothing else. Just no.

“Please,” she said, her voice small and pained. “Do not lie to me. Not about this.”

Her uncle let out an aggravated breath and said, “I know only what the authorities told me. He was found near a gambling hell, shot in the chest and robbed of all of his valuables.”

Lucy watched him for a moment, and then, her eyes brimming with tears, gave a little nod.

Gregory rose slowly to his feet. “It is over, Abernathy,” he said. “Haselby knows, as does Fennsworth. You cannot force Lucy to do your bidding.”

Lucy’s uncle gripped her more tightly. “I can use her to get away.”

“Indeed you can. By letting her go.”

Abernathy laughed at that. It was a bitter, caustic sound.

“We have nothing to gain by exposing you,” Gregory said carefully. “Better to allow you to quietly leave the country.”

“It will never be quiet,” Lucy’s uncle mocked. “If she does not marry that freakish fop, Davenport will shout it from here to Scotland. And the family will be ruined.”

“No.” Gregory shook his head. “They won’t. You were never the earl. You were never their father. There will be a scandal; that cannot be avoided. But Lucy’s brother will not lose his title, and it will all blow over when people begin to recall that they’d never quite liked you.”

In the blink of an eye, Lucy’s uncle moved the gun from her belly to her neck. “You watch what you say,” he snapped.

Gregory blanched and took a step back.

And then they all heard it.

A thunder of footsteps. Moving quickly down the hall.

“Put the gun down,” Gregory said. “You have only a moment before-”

The doorway filled with people. Richard, Haselby, Davenport, Hermione-they all dashed in, unaware of the deadly confrontation taking place.

Lucy’s uncle jumped back, wildly pointing his gun at the lot of them. “Stay away,” he yelled. “Get out! All of you!” His eyes flashed like those of a cornered animal, and his arm waved back and forth, leaving no one untargeted.

But Richard stepped forward. “You bastard,” he hissed. “I will see you in-”

A gun fired.

Gregory watched in horror as Lucy fell to the ground. A guttural cry ripped from his throat; his own gun rose.

He aimed.

He fired.

And for the first time in his life, he hit his mark.

Well, almost.

Lucy’s uncle was not a large man, but nonetheless, when he landed on top of her, it hurt. The air was forced completely from her lungs, leaving her gasping and choking, her eyes squeezed shut from the pain.

“Lucy!”

It was Gregory, tearing her uncle from atop her.

“Where are you hurt?” he demanded, and his hands were everywhere, frantic in their motions as he searched for a wound.

“I didn’t-” She fought for breath. “He didn’t-” She managed to look at her chest. It was covered with blood. “Oh my heavens.”

“I can’t find it,” Gregory said. He took her chin, positioning her face so that she was looking directly into his eyes.

And she almost didn’t recognize him.

His eyes…his beautiful hazel eyes…they looked lost, nearly empty. And it almost seemed to take away whatever it was that made him… him.

“Lucy,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “ please. Speak to me.”

“I’m not hurt,” she finally got out.

His hands froze. “The blood.”

“It’s not mine.” She looked up at him and brought her hand to his cheek. He was shaking. Oh dear God, he was shaking. She had never seen him thus, never imagined he could be brought to this point.

The look in his eyes-She realized it now. It had been terror.

“I’m not hurt,” she whispered. “Please…don’t…it’s all right, darling.” She didn’t know what she was saying; she only wanted to comfort him.

His breath was ragged, and when he spoke, his words were broken, unfinished. “I thought I’d-I don’t know what I thought.”

Something wet touched her finger, and she brushed it gently away. “It’s over now,” she said. “It’s over now, and-”

And suddenly she became aware of the rest of the people in the room. “Well, I think it’s over,” she said hesitantly, pushing herself into a seated position. Was her uncle dead? She knew he’d been shot. By Gregory or Richard, she did not know which. Both had fired their weapons.

But Uncle Robert had not been mortally wounded. He had pulled himself to the side of the room and was propped up against the wall, clutching his shoulder and staring ahead with a defeated expression.

Lucy scowled at him. “You’re lucky he’s not a better shot.”

Gregory made a rather strange, snorting sound.

Over in the corner, Richard and Hermione were clutching each other, but they both appeared unharmed. Lord Davenport was bellowing about something, she wasn’t sure what, and Lord Haselby-good God, her husband -was leaning idly against the doorjamb, watching the scene.

He caught her eye and smiled. Just a bit. No teeth, of course; he never smiled quite so broadly.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

Gregory rose to his knees beside her, one arm draped protectively over her shoulder. Haselby viewed the tableau with patent amusement, and perhaps just a touch of pleasure as well.

“Do you still desire that annulment?” he asked.

Lucy nodded.

“I’ll have the papers drawn up tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?” Lucy asked, concerned. He was a lovely man, really. She didn’t want his reputation to suffer.

“Lucy!”

She turned quickly to Gregory. “Sorry. I didn’t mean-I just-”

Haselby gave her a wave. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. It was the best thing that could possibly have happened. Shootings, blackmail, treason…No one will ever look to me as the cause of the annulment now.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good,” Lucy said brightly. She rose to her feet because, well, it seemed only polite, given how generous he was being. “But do you still wish for a wife? Because I could help you find one, once I’m settled, that is.”

Gregory’s eyes practically rolled back in his head. “Good God, Lucy.”

She watched as he stood. “I feel I must make this right. He thought he was getting a wife. In a way, it’s not precisely fair.”

Gregory closed his eyes for a long moment. “It is a good thing I love you so well,” he said wearily, “because otherwise, I should have to fit you with a muzzle.”

Lucy’s mouth fell open. “Gregory!” And then, “Hermione!”

“Sorry!” Hermione said, one hand still clapped over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “But you are well-matched.”

Haselby strolled into the room and handed her uncle a handkerchief. “You’ll want to staunch that,” he murmured. He turned back to Lucy. “I don’t really want a wife, as I’m sure you’re aware, but I suppose I must find some way to procreate or the title’ll go to my odious cousin. Which would be a shame, really. The House of Lords would surely elect to disband if ever he decided to take up his seat.”

Lucy just looked at him and blinked.

Haselby smiled. “So, yes, I should be grateful if you found someone suitable.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“You’ll need my approval, too,” Lord Davenport blustered, marching forward.

Gregory turned to him with unveiled disgust. “You,” he bit off, “may shut up. Immediately.”

Davenport drew back in a huff. “Do you have any idea to whom you are speaking, you little whelp?”

Gregory’s eyes narrowed and he rose to his feet. “To a man in a very precarious position.”