Page 6

George shrugged, not wanting to concede the point, even though Andrew had always been a superb athlete. “He’ll want the fresh air, at the very least. He’s been climbing the walls all week. Mother has been trying to put him on broth and bedrest.”
“For a broken arm?” Billie’s snort gave way to a giggle.
George glanced at her sideways. “Taking joy in the misery of others?”
“Always.”
He smiled despite himself. It was difficult to take offense, not when he’d spent the last week enjoying – nay, encouraging – his younger brother’s frustration.
Billie gingerly shifted her position, bending her legs so that she could rest her chin on her knees.
“Watch that foot,” George said, almost absently.
She nodded, and together they lapsed into silence. George stared straight ahead, but he could feel every motion Billie made at his side. She brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes, then stretched one arm out in front of her, her elbow creaking like an old wooden chair. Then, with the tenacity she displayed in all aspects of her life, she circled back around to their previous conversation and said, “All the same, he could have got a ride.”
He almost smiled. “He could.”
She was quiet for a few more seconds, then said, “It doesn’t look like rain.”
He looked up. It was overcast, but not thickly so. The clouds were too pale to be holding much water.
“And surely we will be missed.”
He allowed himself a smirk. “I will, at least.”
She elbowed him. Hard. Hard enough to make him laugh.
“You’re a terrible person, George Rokesby.” But she was grinning when she said it.
He chuckled again, surprised by how much he enjoyed the light fizz of amusement in his chest. He wasn’t sure that he and Billie qualified as friends – they’d butted heads far too many times for that – but she was familiar. That wasn’t always a good thing, but right now…
It was.
“Well,” she announced, “I suppose there’s no one with whom I’d rather be stranded on a roof.”
He swung his head toward her. “Why, Miss Bridgerton, was that a compliment?”
“You can’t tell?”
“From you?” he parried.
She smiled in an endearingly lopsided manner. “I suppose I deserve that. But, you know, you’re very dependable.”
“Dependable,” he repeated.
She nodded. “Very much so.”
He felt himself scowl, although for all that was holy, he had no idea why.
“If I hadn’t hurt my ankle,” Billie continued blithely, “I’m sure I would have found a way down.”
He regarded her with clear skepticism. Aside from the fact that this had nothing to with his dependability… “Didn’t you just say that it’s too far to jump?”
“Well, yes,” she said, her hand making a dismissive little wave in front of her face, “but I would have thought of something.”
“Of course,” he said, mostly because he lacked the energy to say anything else.
“The point is,” she continued, “that as long as I’m here with you…”
Her face went suddenly pale. Even her eyes, normally a fathomless shade of brown, seemed to blanch down to something decidedly more tepid.
George’s heart stopped. He had never, ever seen Billie Bridgerton with such an expression on her face.
She was terrified.
“What is it?” he demanded.
She turned to him. “You don’t think…”
He waited, but she seemed beyond words. “What?”
Her ashen face took on a greenish hue. “You don’t think that someone would think that you… that we…” She swallowed. “That we disappeared… together?”
George’s entire world lurched. “God, no,” he said. Instantly.
“I know,” she agreed. With equal alacrity. “I mean, you. And me. It’s laughable.”
“Absurd.”
“Anyone who knows us…”
“Will know we’d never…”
“And yet…” This time Billie’s words did not merely trail off, they sank into a desperate whisper.
He gave her an impatient look. “What?”
“If Andrew doesn’t come along as expected… and you’re missed… and I’m missed…” She looked up at him, her eyes huge and horrified in her face. “Eventually someone will realize that we’ve both been missed.”
“Your point?” he snapped.
She turned to face him directly. “Just that why wouldn’t someone assume…?”
“Because they have a brain in their head,” he shot back. “No one would ever think I would be with you on purpose.”
She lurched back. “Oh, well, thank you.”
“Are you saying you wish someone did?” he retorted.
“No!”
He rolled his eyes. Women. And yet, this was Billie. The least womanly woman of his acquaintance.
She let out a long, steadying breath. “Regardless of what you think of me, George…”
How did she make his name sound like an insult?
“… I do have my reputation to consider. And while my family knows me well enough, and” – her voice took on a reluctant edge here – “I suppose trusts you well enough to know that our concurrent disappearances signify nothing untoward…”
Her words trailed off, and she chewed on her lip, looking uncomfortable, and, if one was honest, vaguely ill.