Free On the Way to the Wedding by Julia Quinn Page A

hand on his arm.
    He nodded. “I will.”
    She felt herself grip him a little more tightly. “I am right about this. I promise you that I am. No one knows Hermione better than I. And no one else has watched all those gentlemen try—and fail—to win her favor.”
    He turned, and his eyes caught hers. For a moment they stood perfectly still, and Lucy realized that he was assessing her, taking her measure in a manner that should have been uncomfortable.
    But it wasn’t. And that was the oddest thing. He was staring at her as if he could see down to her very soul, and it didn’t feel the least bit awkward. In fact, it felt oddly . . . nice.
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    “I would be honored to accept your advice regarding Miss Watson,” he said, turning so that they might return to the picnic spot. “And I thank you for offering to help me win her.”
    “Th-thank you,” Lucy stammered, because really, hadn’t that been her intention?
    But then she realized that she no longer felt quite so nice.
    Gregory followed Lady Lucinda’s directives to the letter.
    That evening, he did not approach Miss Watson in the drawing room, where the guests had assembled before supper.
    When they removed themselves to the dining room, he made no attempt to interfere with the social order and have his seat switched so that he might sit next to her. And once the gentlemen had returned from their port and joined the ladies in the conservatory for a piano recital, he took a seat at the rear, even though she and Lady Lucinda were standing quite alone, and it would have been easy—expected, even—for him to pause and murmur his greetings as he passed by.
    But no, he had committed to this possibly ill-advised scheme, and so the back of the room it was. He watched as Miss Watson found a seat three rows ahead, and then settled into his chair, finally allowing himself the indulgence of gazing upon the back of her neck.
    Which would have been a perfectly fulfi lling pastime were he not completely unable to think of anything other than her absolute lack of interest. In him.
    Truly, he could have grown two heads and a tail and he would have received nothing more than the polite half-smile she seemed to give everyone. If that.
    It was not the sort of reaction Gregory was used to receiving from women. He did not expect universal adulation, but really, when he did make an effort, he usually saw better results than this.
    It was damned irritating, actually.
    And so he watched the two women, willing them to turn, On the Way to the Wedding
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    to squirm, to do something to indicate that they were cognizant of his presence. Finally, after three concertos and a fugue, Lady Lucinda slowly twisted in her seat.
    He could easily imagine her thoughts.
    Slowly, slowly, act as if you’re glancing at the door to see if someone came in. Flick your eyes ever so slightly at Mr.
    Bridgerton—
    He lifted his glass in salute.
    She gasped, or at least he hoped she did, and turned quickly around.
    He smiled. He probably shouldn’t take such joy in her distress, but truly, it was the only bright spot in the evening thus far.
    As for Miss Watson—if she could feel the heat of his stare, she gave no indication. Gregory would have liked to have thought that she was studiously ignoring him—that at least might have indicated some sort of awareness. But as he watched her glance idly around the room, dipping her head every so often to whisper something in Lady Lucinda’s ear, it became painfully clear that she wasn’t ignoring him at all.
    That would imply that she noticed him.
    Which she quite obviously did not.
    Gregory felt his jaw clench. While he did not doubt the good intentions behind Lady Lucinda’s advice, the advice itself had been quite patently dreadful. And with only fi ve days remaining to the house party, he had wasted valuable time.
    “You look bored.”
    He turned. His sister-in-law had slipped into the seat next to him and was speaking in a low undertone so as