"Andrew," she said plainly, "you've gone mad."

"You're going to knock it down."

"Just go," Billie said.

"If you -"

"Go!" she and George yelled together.

Andrew threw an evil eye at them both and left the room.

Billie looked at George. He looked at her.

They burst into laughter.

"I don't know about you," Billie said, "but I'm moving to the other side of the room."

"Ah, but then you are admitting defeat."

She tossed him a glance over her shoulder as she walked away. "I prefer to think of it as self-preservation."

George chuckled and followed her to the bank of windows. "The irony," he said, "is that he's terrible at cards."

"He is?" She wrinkled her nose. It was odd, really, but she didn't think she and Andrew had ever played cards.

"All games of chance, actually," George went on. "If you ever need some money, he's your man."

"Alas, I don't gamble."

"With cards," he countered.

She had a feeling he'd meant to sound droll, but to her ears it was patronizing in the extreme. She scowled. "What do you mean by that?"

He looked at her as if he were mildly surprised by her question. "Just that you gamble quite happily with your life all the time."

She felt her chin draw back. "That's absurd."

"Billie, you fell out of a tree."

"Onto a roof."

He almost laughed. "This counters my argument how?"

"You would have done the exact same thing I did," she insisted. "In fact, you did."

"Oh, really."

"I went up the tree to save a cat." She jabbed him in the shoulder with her index finger. "You went up to save me."

"First of all," he shot back, "I did not go up the tree. And secondly, you're comparing yourself to a cat?"

"Yes. No!" For the first time she was grateful she'd injured her foot. She might have stamped it, otherwise.

"What would you have done if I hadn't come along?" he demanded, "Truly, Billie. What would you have done?"

"I'd have been fine."

"I'm sure you would have. You've the devil's own luck. But your family would have been frantic, and likely the entire village would have been called out to search for you."

He was right, damn it, and that just made it worse. "Do you think I'm not aware of that?" she demanded, her voice dropping to a low hiss.

He regarded her for just long enough to make her uncomfortable. "No," he said, "I don't."

She sucked in her breath. "Everything I do, I do for the people here. My whole life... everything. I'm reading a bloody encyclopedia of agriculture," she said, her arm jerking back toward the book in question. "Volume Four. Who else do you know who -" Her words came to a choking halt, and several moments passed before she was able to continue. "Do you really believe me to be so uncaring?"

"No." His voice was devastatingly low and even. "I believe you to be unthinking."

She lurched back. "I can't believe I thought we were starting to be friends."

He didn't say anything.

"You're a terrible person, George Rokesby. You are impatient and intolerant and -"

He grabbed her arm. "Stop this."

Billie yanked back, but his fingers were too firmly wrapped around her flesh. "Why did you even come here this morning? You only look at me to find fault."

"Don't be absurd," he scoffed.

"It's true," she shot back. "You don't see yourself when you're near me. All you do is frown and scold and and everything about you. Your manner, your expressions. You are so disapproving."

"You're being ridiculous."

She shook her head. She felt almost revelatory. "You disapprove of everything about me."

He stepped toward her, his hand tightening on her arm. "That is so far from the truth as to be laughable."

Billie's mouth fell open.

Then she realized that George looked as shocked by his words as she did.

And that he was standing very close.

Her chin tipped up, bringing her eyes to his.

She stopped breathing.

"Billie," he whispered, and his hand rose, as if to touch her cheek.

Chapter 10.

H.

e almost kissed her.

Dear God, he almost kissed Billie Bridgerton.

He had to get out of here.

"It's late," George blurted.

"What?"

"It's late. I need to go."

"It's not late," she said, blinking rapidly. She looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

I don't know, he almost said.

He'd almost kissed her. His eyes had dropped to her mouth and he heard the tiny rush of her breath across her lips, and he'd felt himself leaning, wanting...

Burning.

He prayed she hadn't realized. Surely she'd never been kissed before. She wouldn't have known what was happening.

But he'd wanted her. By God, he'd wanted her. It had hit him like a swell, sneaking up and then washing over him so fast and hard he'd barely been able to think straight.

He still wanted her.

"George?" she said. "Is something wrong?"

His lips parted. He needed to breathe.

She was watching him with an almost wary curiosity. "You were scolding me," she reminded him.

He was fairly certain his brain had not resumed its normal workings. He blinked, trying to absorb her words. "Did you want me to continue?"

She shook her head slowly. "Not particularly."

He raked a hand through his hair and tried to smile. It was the best he could do.

Billie's brow knitted with concern. "Are you sure you're well? You look very pale."

Pale? He felt like he was on fire. "Forgive me," he said. "I think I'm somewhat -" What? Somewhat what? Tired? Hungry? He cleared his throat and decided on: "Light-headed."

She did not look as if she believed him. "Lightheaded?"

"It came on suddenly," he said. That much was true.

She motioned toward the bellpull. "Shall I get you something to eat? Do you want to sit down?"

"No, no," he said stupidly. "I'm fine."

"You're fine," she repeated, her lack of belief in this statement practically radiating from her.

He gave a nod.

"No longer light-headed."

"Not at all."

She was staring at him as if he'd gone mad. Which was quite possible. He couldn't think of any other explanation.

"I should go," he said. He turned, striding to the door. He could not get out of there fast enough.

"George, wait!"

So close. But he stopped. He had to. He could no more leave the room when a gentlewoman was calling his name than spit in the face of the king. It had been bred into his bones.

When he turned around he saw that she'd moved several steps closer. "Don't you think you should wait for Andrew?" she asked.

He exhaled. Andrew. Of course.

"He'll need help, won't he? With his mount?"

Bloody hell. George exhaled. "I will wait."

Billie caught her lower lip between her teeth. The right side. She only ever worried the right side, he realized.

"I can't imagine what is taking him so long," she said, glancing at the door.

George shrugged.

"Maybe he couldn't find Thamesly."

He shrugged again.

"Or perhaps my mother waylaid him. She can be a nuisance that way."

He started to shrug for a third time, realized how inane he looked and instead opted for a who-can-guess sort of smile.

"Well," Billie said, apparently out of suggestions. "Hmmm."

George clasped his hands behind his back. Looked at the window. At the wall. But not at Billie. Anywhere but Billie.

He still wanted to kiss her.

She coughed. He managed to look at her feet.