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“Will you release her?” Gregory asked. He did not have time to dance around the subject.
“If I weren’t willing to do that, do you really think I’d be standing here speaking with you in the same tones I use to discuss the weather?”
“Er . . . no?”
Haselby smiled. Slightly. “My father will not be pleased. A state of affairs which normally brings me great joy, to be sure, but it does present a host of difficulties. We shall have to proceed with caution.”
“Shouldn’t Lucy be here?” Hermione asked.
Richard resumed his glaring. “Where is my sister?”
“Upstairs,” Gregory said curtly. That narrowed it down to only thirty-odd rooms.
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“Upstairs where?” Richard ground out.
Gregory ignored the question. It really wasn’t the best time to reveal that she was presently tied to a water closet.
He turned back to Haselby, who was still seated, one leg crossed casually over the other. He was examining his fingernails.
Gregory felt ready to climb the walls. How could the bloody man sit there so calmly? This was the single most critical conversation either of them would ever have, and all he could do was inspect his manicure?
“Will you release her?” Gregory ground out.
Haselby looked up at him and blinked. “I said I would.”
“But will you reveal her secrets?”
At that, Haselby’s entire demeanor changed. His body seemed to tighten, and his eyes grew deadly sharp. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, each word crisp and precise.
“Nor do I,” Richard added, stepping close.
Gregory turned briefly in his direction. “She is being blackmailed.”
“Not,” Haselby said sharply, “by me.”
“My apologies,” Gregory said quietly. Blackmail was an ugly thing. “I did not mean to imply.”
“I always wondered why she agreed to marry me,” Haselby said softly.
“It was arranged by her uncle,” Hermione put in. Then, when everyone turned to her in mild surprise, she added, “Well, you know Lucy. She’s not the sort to rebel. She likes order.”
“All the same,” Haselby said, “she did have a rather dramatic opportunity to get out of it.” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “It’s my father, isn’t it?”
Gregory’s chin jerked in a single, grim nod.
“That is not surprising. He is rather eager to have me married. Well, then—” Haselby brought his hands together, twining his fingers and squeezing them down. “What shall we do? Call his bluff, I imagine.”
Gregory shook his head. “We can’t.”
“Oh, come now. It can’t be that bad. What on earth could Lady Lucinda have done?”
“We really should get her,” Hermione said again. And then, when the three men turned to her again, she added, “How would you like your fate to be discussed in your absence?”
Richard stepped in front of Gregory. “Tell me,” he said.
Gregory did not pretend to misunderstand. “It is bad.”
