Or honesty.

"Andrew," George called down, in that haughty I-am-the-eldest-son voice of his, "I will pay you one hundred pounds to take off that sling and fix the ladder into place."

One hundred pounds?

Billie turned on him with wild disbelief. "Are you insane?"

"I don't know," Andrew mused. "It might actually be worth one hundred pounds to watch the two of you kill each other."

"Don't be an ass," George said, flicking a furious look at him.

"You wouldn't even inherit," Billie pointed out, not that Andrew had ever wished to succeed his father as Earl of Manston. He was far too enamored of his footloose life for that sort of responsibility.

"Ah, yes, Edward," Andrew said with an exaggerated sigh, referring to the second Rokesby son, who was two years his senior. "That does throw a fly in the ointment. It'd look deuced suspicious if both of you perish in curious circumstances."

There was a moment of awkward silence as they all realized that Andrew had, perhaps, made light of something far too heavy for offhand quips. Edward Rokesby had taken the proudest route of second sons and was a captain in His Majesty's 54th Regiment of Foot. He'd been sent to the American colonies over a year earlier and had served bravely in the Battle of Quaker Hill. He'd remained in Rhode Island for several months before being transferred to British Headquarters in New York Town. News of his health and welfare came far too infrequently for anyone's comfort.

"If Edward perishes," George said stiffly, "I do not believe that the circumstances would ever be described as 'curious'."

"Oh, come now," Andrew said, rolling his eyes at his older brother, "stop being so bloody serious all the time."

"Your brother risks his life for King and Country," George said, and truly, Billie thought, his voice was clipped and tense, even for him.

"As do I," Andrew said with a cool smile. He tipped his injured arm up toward the roof, his bent and bound limb hinging at the shoulder. "Or at least a bone or two."

Billie swallowed and looked hesitantly over at George, trying to gauge his reaction. As was common for third sons, Andrew had skipped university and gone straight into the Royal Navy as a midshipman. He had been raised to the rank of lieutenant a year earlier. Andrew didn't find himself in harm's way nearly so often as Edward, but still, he wore his uniform proudly.

George, on the other hand, had not been permitted to take a commission; as the heir to the earldom, he had been deemed far too valuable to throw himself in front of American musket balls. And Billie wondered... did that bother him? That his brothers served their country and he did not? Had he even wanted to fight?

Then she wondered... why had she never wondered about this? True, she did not devote much thought to George Rokesby unless he was standing in front of her, but the lives of the Rokesbys and Bridgertons were thoroughly intertwined. It seemed odd that she did not know this.

Her eyes moved slowly from brother to brother. They had not spoken for several moments. Andrew was still staring up with a measure of challenge in his icy blue eyes, and George was looking right back down with... well, it wasn't anger exactly. At least not any longer. But nor was it regret. Or pride. Or anything she could identify.

There was far more to this conversation than rose to the surface.

"Well, I have risked life and limb for an unappreciative feline," she declared, eager to direct the conversation back to less controversial topics. Namely, her rescue.

"Is that what happened?" Andrew murmured, bending over the ladder. "I thought you didn't like cats."

George turned to her with an expression that went somewhere beyond exasperation. "You don't even like cats?"

"Everyone likes cats," Billie said quickly.

George's eyes narrowed, and she knew there was no way he believed that her bland smile was anything but a placation, but thankfully Andrew chose that moment to let out a muffled curse, causing both of them to return their attention to his struggles with the ladder.

"Are you all right?" Billie called out.

"Splinter," Andrew bit off. He sucked on the side of his little finger. "Bloody hell."

"It's not going to kill you," George snapped.

Andrew took a moment to fix his brother with a livid glare.

George rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of God."

"Don't provoke him," Billie hissed.

George made an odd, growly sound, but he remained silent, crossing his arms as he stared down at his younger brother.

Billie scooted a tiny bit closer to the end for a better view of Andrew as he wedged one of his feet against the bottom of the rail and then bent over to grasp a rung. He grunted audibly as he pulled the ladder upright. The physics of the maneuver were all wrong, but there was only so much a one-armed man could do.

But at least he was a strong one-armed man, and with great exertion and not a little inappropriate language, he managed to set the ladder into place against the side of the building.

"Thank you," George breathed, although from his tone Billie wasn't sure if he was thanking his brother or the Almighty.

With Andrew to brace the ladder and no cats underfoot the descent was considerably simpler than their first attempt. But it hurt. By God, the pain in her ankle stole the very breath from her body. And there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't very well hop down the rungs, so with each step she had to put some weight on her injured ankle. By the time she reached the third-to-last rung, it was all she could do to keep her tears silent.

Strong hands settled at her waist. "I've got you," George said quietly, and she let herself collapse.

Chapter 4.

G.

eorge had had a feeling that Billie was in more pain than she'd let on, but he didn't realize how much until they finally made their way down the ladder. He briefly considered taking her down on his back, but it seemed safer to have her follow him instead. He moved down three rungs before she set her good foot onto the ladder, then he watched as she gingerly followed with its injured companion. For a moment she stood still, probably trying to decide how best to proceed to the next rung.

"I'd lead with the good one," he said quietly, "and grip the rails hard to absorb some of your weight."

She gave a tense nod of acknowledgment and followed his instructions, her breath escaping with an agonized hiss when her good foot was solid and secure, and she was able to lift the injured one from the upper rung.

She'd been holding her breath. He didn't blame her.

He waited as she composed herself, well aware that he needed to remain only a few rungs ahead; if she fell and she might; he could see that her ankle was very weak he had to be close enough to stop her from tumbling all the way to the ground.

"Maybe if I try it the other way..." she said, breathing hard through her pain.

"I wouldn't," he replied, keeping his voice purposefully even and humble. Billie had never taken well to being told what to do. He supposed he understood this better than anyone. "You don't want your lower foot to be the weak one," he said. "Your leg could buckle -"

"Of course," she said tightly. Not angrily, just tightly. He knew that tone. It was the tone of one who had conceded a point and really didn't want any further elucidation on the matter.

It was one he himself used quite often.

Well, as often as he deigned to concede points.

"You can do this," he said. "I know it hurts."

"It really does," she admitted.

He smiled a little. He wasn't sure why, but he was glad she couldn't see his face. "I won't let you fall."

"Everything all right up there?" Andrew called out.

"Tell him to shut up," Billie ground out.

George laughed despite himself. "Miss Bridgerton requests that you shut the hell up," he called down.

Andrew let out a bark of laughter. "It's all good, then."

"I wouldn't say that," Billie grumbled, gasping her way through another step.

"You're almost halfway there," George said encouragingly.

"You're lying, but I do appreciate the show of support."

He smiled, and this time he did know why. Billie might be a right pain in the ass most of the time, but she'd always had a good sense of humor. "You're halfway to halfway, then," he said.

"Such an optimist," she muttered.

She made it down another rung without incident, and George realized that their conversation was proving an able distraction. "You can do this, Billie," he said.

"You said that already."

"It bears repeating."

"I think -" She hissed, then sucked in her breath as she moved down another rung.

He waited while she collected herself, her body quivering as she balanced for a moment on her good foot.

"I think," she said again, her voice more carefully modulated, as if she were determined to get the sentence out in an orderly manner, "that this might be the most amiable you have ever behaved in my presence."

"I could say the same," he commented.

She made it down to the halfway mark. "Touche."

"There is nothing quite so invigorating as an able opponent," he said, thinking of all the times they had crossed verbal swords. Billie had never been an easy person to best in conversation, which was why it was always so delicious when he did.

"I'm not sure that holds true on the battle oh!"

George waited as she gritted her teeth and continued.

"- on the battlefield," she said, after a rather angry-sounding inhalation. "My God, this hurts," she muttered.

"I know," he said encouragingly.

"No you don't."

He smiled yet again. "No, I don't."

She gave a terse nod and took another step. Then, because she was Billie Bridgerton and thus fundamentally unable to allow an unfinished point to lay dormant, she said, "On the battlefield, I think I might find an able opponent inspiring."

"Inspiring?" he murmured, eager to keep her talking.

"But not invigorating."

"One would lead to the other," he said, not that he had any firsthand experience. His only battles had taken place in fencing salons and boxing rings, where the most serious risk was to one's pride. He eased down another step, giving Billie room to maneuver, then peered over his shoulder at Andrew, who appeared to be whistling while he waited.

"Can I help?" Andrew asked, catching his glance.

George shook his head, then looked back up to Billie. "You're almost to the bottom," he told her.

"Please tell me you're not lying this time."

"I'm not lying."

And he wasn't. He hopped down, skipping the last two rungs, and waited for her to draw close enough for him to grab her. A moment later she was within reach, and he swept her into his arms.

"I've got you," he murmured, and he felt her collapse a little, for once in her life allowing someone else to take charge of her.

"Well done," Andrew said cheerfully, poking his head in close. "Are you all right there, Billie-goat?"

Billie nodded, but she didn't look all right. Her jaw was still clenched, and from the way her throat worked, it was clear she was trying her damnedest not to cry.

"You little fool," George murmured, and then he knew she wasn't all right, because she let that pass without a word of protest. In fact, she apologized, which was so wholly unlike her as to be almost alarming.

"Time to go home," George said.

"Let's take a look at that foot," Andrew said, his voice still an obnoxiously bright note in the tableau. He peeled off her stocking, let out a low whistle, and said with some admiration, "Ech, Billie, what did you do to yourself? That looks brutal."

"Shut up," George said.

Andrew just shrugged. "It doesn't look broken -"

"It's not," Billie cut in.

"Still, you'll be off it for a week, at least."

"Perhaps not quite so long," George said, even though he rather thought Andrew was correct in his assessment. Still, there was no point in debating her condition. They weren't saying anything Billie didn't already know. "Shall we go?" he said.

Billie closed her eyes and nodded. "We should put the ladder away," she mumbled.

George tightened his arms around her and headed east toward Aubrey Hall, where Billie lived with her parents and three younger siblings. "We'll get it tomorrow."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"That covers quite a lot," he said in a dry voice. "Are you sure you wish to be in such debt?"