But Arbuthnot didn't know him very well, and so he was chuckling as he said, "You don't think we'd trust just anyone with sensitive information."

"I think you'd trust me," George growled.

"No," Arbuthnot said with an odd, owlish solemnity. "Not even you. Besides," he added, his mien perking back up, "'Pease, porridge, and pudding?' A bit of credit, if you will. We've more creativity than that."

George sucked in his lips as he pondered his next action. Tossing Arbuthnot out on his ear was tempting, but so was a well-thrown punch to the jaw.

"All in the past now," Arbuthnot said. "Now we need you to deliver a package."

"I think it's time you left," George said.

Arbuthnot drew back in surprise. "It's essential."

"So was pease, porridge, and pudding," George reminded him.

"Yes, yes," the general said condescendingly, "you have every right to feel abused, but now that we know we can trust you, we need your help."

George crossed his arms.

"Do it for your brother, Kennard."

"Don't you dare bring him into this," George hissed.

"It's a little late to be so high and mighty," Arbuthnot shot back, his friendly demeanor beginning to slip. "Do not forget that you were the one who came to me."

"And you could have declined my request for help."

"How do you think we go about defeating the enemy?" Arbuthnot demanded. "Do you think it's all shiny uniforms and marching in formation? The real war is won behind the scenes, and if you're too much of a coward -"

In an instant, George had him pinned against the wall. "Do not," he spat, "make the mistake of thinking you can shame me into becoming your errand boy." His hand tightened on the older man's shoulder, and then abruptly, he let go.

"I thought you wished to do your part for your country," Arbuthnot said, tugging on the hem of his jacket to smooth it out.

George nearly bit his tongue, stopping himself from making an untempered retort. He almost said something about how he had spent three years wishing he was with his brothers, serving with his rifle and sword, prepared to give his life for the good of England.

He almost said that it had made him feel useless, ashamed that he was somehow judged to be more valuable than his brothers by virtue of his birth.

But then he thought of Billie, and of Crake and Aubrey Hall, and all the people there who depended upon them. He thought of the harvest, and of the village, and of his sister, who would soon bring the first of a new generation into this world.

And he remembered what Billie had said, just two nights earlier.

He looked Lord Arbuthnot in the eye and said, "If my brothers are going to risk their lives for King and Country, then by God, I am going to make sure it's a good King and Country. And that does not include carrying messages I do not know the meaning of to people I do not trust."

Arbuthnot regarded him soberly. "Do you not trust me?"

"I am furious that you came to my home."

"I am a friend of your father's, Lord Kennard. My presence here is hardly suspect. And that wasn't what I asked you. Do you not trust me?"

"Do you know, Lord Arbuthnot, I don't think it matters."

And it didn't. George had no doubt that Arbuthnot had fought and continued to fight, in his own way for his country. For all that George was furious that he'd been subjected to the War Office's version of an initiation rite, he knew that if Arbuthnot asked him to do something, it would be a legitimate request.

But he also knew now, at last, he knew that he was not the right man for the job. He would have made a fine soldier. But he was a better steward of the land. And with Billie by his side, he would be excellent.

He would be getting married soon. Very soon, if he had anything to do with it. He had no business running around like some sort of spy, risking his life without fully knowing why.

"I will serve in my own way," he said to Arbuthnot.

Arbuthnot sighed, his mouth twisting with resignation. "Very well. I thank you for your assistance last night. I do realize that it disrupted your evening."

George thought that he might have finally got through to him, but then Arbuthnot said, "I have just one more request, Lord Kennard."

"No," George tried to say.

"Hear me out," Arbuthnot interrupted. "I swear to you, I would not ask if the situation were not so critical. I have a packet that needs to go to a posting inn in Kent. On the coast. Not far from your home, I should think."

"Stop," George began.

"No, please, allow me to finish. If you do this, I promise I shall not bother you again. I will be honest, there is some danger involved. There are men who know it is coming, and they will wish to stop it. But these are documents of vital importance." And then Arbuthnot went in for the kill. "It could even save your brother."

Arbuthnot was good, George would give him that. He did not believe for a second that this Kent-bound packet had anything to do with Edward, and he still almost blurted his assent the moment the general had stopped talking.

"I'm not your man," he said quietly.

That should have been the end of it.

It would have been the end of it, but then the door slammed open and there, standing in the doorway, eyes shining with reckless purpose, was Billie.

Billie had not meant to eavesdrop. She had been on her way down to breakfast, her hair perhaps too-hastily pinned due to her eagerness to see George again, when she'd heard his voice in the drawing room. She'd assumed he was with his mother who else would be at Manston House this time in the morning? but then she heard the voice of another gentleman, and he was saying something about the night before.

The night that George had said he could not tell her about.

She shouldn't have listened, but honestly, what woman could have pulled herself away? And then the man asked George to deliver a package, and he said it might help Edward?

She could not stop herself. All she could think was this was Edward. Her dearest childhood friend. If she was prepared to fall out of a tree to save an ungrateful cat, she could certainly take a package to some inn on the coast. How difficult could it be? And if it was dangerous, if it was something that required discretion, surely she was an excellent decoy. No one would expect a woman to be making the delivery.

She didn't think. She didn't need to think. She just ran into the room and declared, "I'll do it!"

George didn't think. He didn't need to think. "The hell you will," he roared.

Billie froze for a moment, clearly not expecting this sort of reaction. Then she girded her shoulders and hurried in. "George," she said entreatingly, "we're talking about Edward. How can we not do everything -"

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her aside. "You do not have all of the facts," he hissed.

"I don't need all the facts."

"You never do," he muttered.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I can do this," she insisted.

Good God, she was going to be the death of him. "I'm sure you can, but you won't."

"But -"

"I forbid it."

Billie drew back. "You forbid -"

That was the moment Arbuthnot sidled over. "I don't think we were properly introduced last night," he said with an avuncular smile. "I am Lord Arbuthnot. I -"

"Get out of my house," George bit off.

"George!" Billie exclaimed, her face betraying her shock at his rudeness.

Arbuthnot turned to him with a thoughtful expression. "The lady appears to be quite resourceful. I think we could -"

"Get out!"

"George?" Now his mother appeared in the doorway. "What is all the yelling about? Oh, I'm sorry, Lord Arbuthnot. I did not see you there."

"Lady Manston." He bowed properly. "Forgive my early visit. I had business with your son."

"He was just leaving," George said, tightening his grip on Billie's arm when she started to squirm.

"Let me go," she ground out. "I might be able to help."

"Or you might not."

"Stop it," she hissed, now pulling furiously. "You cannot order me about."

"I assure you I can," he shot back, his eyes burning down into hers. He was going to be her husband, for God's sake. Did that not count for anything?

"But I want to help," she said, lowering her voice as she turned her back on the rest of the room.

"So do I, but this is not the way."

"It may be the only way."

For a moment he could do nothing but close his eyes. Was this a taste of the rest of his life as Billie Bridgerton's husband? Was he destined to live in terror, wondering what sort of danger she'd thrown herself into that day?

Was it worth it?

"George?" she whispered. She sounded uneasy. Had she seen something in his expression? A sign of doubt?

He touched her cheek, and he looked into her eyes.

He saw his whole world there.

"I love you," he said.

Someone gasped. It might have been his mother.

"I cannot live without you," he said, "and in fact, I refuse to do so. So no, you will not be going on some ill-advised mission to the coast to hand off a potentially dangerous package to people you don't know. Because if anything happened to you..." His voice broke, but he didn't care. "If anything happened to you, it would kill me. And I'd like to think you love me too much to let that happen."

Billie stared at him in wonder, her softly parted lips trembling as she blinked back tears. "You love me?" she whispered.

He nearly rolled his eyes. "Of course I do."

"You never said."

"I must have done."

"You didn't. I would have remembered."

"I would remember, too," he said softly, "if you'd ever said it to me."

"I love you," she said immediately. "I do. I love you so much. I -"

"Thank God," Lady Manston exclaimed.

George and Billie both turned. He didn't know about Billie, but he'd quite forgotten they had an audience.

"Do you know how hard I've been working toward this? My word, I thought I was going to have to beat you with a stick."

"You planned this?" George asked in disbelief.

She turned to Billie. "Sybilla? Really? When have I ever called you Sybilla?"

George looked over at Billie. She couldn't seem to stop blinking.

"I have waited a long time to call you daughter," Lady Manston said, tucking a lock of Billie's hair behind her ear.

Billie frowned, her head moving from side to side as she tried to puzzle it all out. "But I always thought... you wanted Edward. Or Andrew."

Lady Manston shook her head with a smile. "It was always George, my dear. In my mind, at least." She looked over at her son with a considerably more focused expression. "You have asked her to marry you, I hope."

"I might have demanded it," he admitted.

"Even better."

George suddenly straightened, glancing about the room. "What happened to Lord Arbuthnot?"

"He excused himself when the two of you started declaring your love," his mother said.

Well, George thought. Maybe the old man had more discretion than he'd thought.

"Why was he here, anyway?" Lady Manston asked.