Because of Miss Bridgerton

“Words to strike terror in his heart,” Andrew drawled.

So true, George thought, although not for the reasons Andrew supposed.

“Stop.” Billie scowled at him before turning back to George. “We need you to settle a point.”

“If it’s who can climb a tree faster, it’s Billie,” George said without missing a beat. “If it’s who can shoot with more accuracy, it’s Andrew.”

“It’s neither,” Billie said with a light frown. “It’s got to do with Pall Mall.”

“Then God help us all,” George muttered, getting up and heading for the door. He’d played Pall Mall with his brother and Billie; it was a vicious, bloodthirsty sport involving wooden balls, heavy mallets, and the constant risk of grievous head injury. Definitely not something for Lady Bridgerton’s gentle house party.

“Andrew accused me of cheating,” Billie said.

“When?” George asked, honestly perplexed. As far as he knew, the entire morning had been taken up by the ladies’ archery tournament. (Billie had won, not that anyone named Rokesby or Bridgerton was surprised.) “Last April,” Billie said.

“And you’re arguing about it now?”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Andrew said.

George looked at Billie. “Did you cheat?”

“Of course not! I don’t need to cheat to beat Andrew. Edward maybe,” she allowed with a flick of her eyes, “but not Andrew.”

“Uncalled for, Billie,” Andrew scolded.

“But true,” she returned.

“I’m leaving,” George said. Neither was listening, but it seemed only polite to announce his departure. Besides, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea for him to be in the same room as Billie just then. His pulse had already begun a slow, inexorable acceleration and he knew he didn’t want to be near her when it reached its crescendo.

This way lies ruin, his mind was screaming. Miraculously, his legs didn’t put up any resistance, and he made it all the way to the door before Billie said, “Oh, don’t go. It’s just about to get interesting.”

He managed a small but exhausted smile as he turned around. “With you it’s always about to get interesting.”

“Do you think so?” she asked delightedly.

Andrew gave her a look of pure disbelief. “That wasn’t a compliment, Billie.”

Billie looked at George.

“I have no idea what it was,” he admitted.

Billie just chuckled, then jerked her head toward Andrew. “I’m calling him out.”

George knew better – oh, he definitely knew better – but he couldn’t stop himself from turning the rest of the way around to gape at her.

“You’re calling me out?” Andrew repeated.

“Mallets at dawn,” she said with flair. Then she shrugged. “Or this afternoon. I’d rather avoid getting up early, wouldn’t you?”

Andrew raised one brow. “You’d challenge a one-armed man to a game of Pall Mall?”

“I’d challenge you.”

He leaned in, blue eyes glittering. “I’ll still beat you, you know.”

“George!” Billie yelled.

Damn it. He’d almost escaped. “Yes?” he murmured, poking his head back through the doorway.

“We need you.”

“No you don’t. You need a nanny. You can barely walk.”

“I can walk perfectly well.” She limped a few steps. “See? I can’t even feel it.”

George looked at Andrew, not that he expected him to exhibit anything remotely approaching sense.

“I have a broken arm,” Andrew said, which George supposed was meant to serve as an explanation. Or an excuse.

“You’re idiots. The both of you.”

“Idiots who need more players,” Billie said. “It doesn’t work with only two.”

Technically that was true. The Pall Mall set was meant to be played with six, although anything over three would do in a pinch. But George had played this scene before; the rest of them were bit players to Andrew and Billie’s tragic, vicious leads. For the two of them, the game was less about winning than it was making sure the other didn’t. George was expected merely to move his ball along in their fray.

“You still don’t have enough players,” George said.

“Georgiana!” Billie yelled.

“Georgiana?” Andrew echoed. “You know your mother doesn’t let her play.”

“For the love of heaven, she hasn’t been ill for years. It’s time we stopped coddling her.”

Georgiana came skidding around the corner. “Stop bellowing, Billie. You’re going to give Mama a palpitation, and then I’ll have to be the one to deal with her.”

“We’re playing Pall Mall,” Billie told her.

“Oh. That’s nice. I’ll —” Georgiana’s words tumbled to a halt, and her blue eyes went wide. “Wait, I get to play, too?”

“Of course,” Billie said, almost dismissively. “You’re a Bridgerton.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Georgiana practically leapt into the air. “Can I be orange? No, green. I wish to be green.”