Because of Miss Bridgerton

He smiled. “Does she?”

“She says a great many things, actually. I’m sure I’ve forgotten whatever it is that I didn’t ignore.”

George stood like a statue, knowing he should bid her goodnight, but somehow unable to form the words. The moment was too intimate, too perfectly candlelit and lovely.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Yes. Well, no.” He thought of the kippers. “Not exactly.”

Her brows rose. “That sounds intriguing.”

“Hardly. I’m having a tray sent to my room, actually. I’ve always hated dining alone downstairs.”

“I’m the same,” she agreed. She stood for a moment, then said. “It’s ham pie. Very good.”

“Excellent.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I… ought to go. Good night, Billie.”

He turned. He didn’t want to turn.

“George, wait!”

He hated that he was holding his breath.

“George, this is madness.”

He turned back. She was still standing in the entrance to her room, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the door. Her face was so expressive. Had it always been so?

Yes, he thought. She’d never been one to hide her feelings beneath a mask of indifference. It was one of the things he’d found so annoying about her when they were growing up. She simply refused to be ignored.

But that was then. And this was…

Something else entirely.

“Madness?” he echoed. He wasn’t sure what she meant. He didn’t want to make assumptions.

Her lips trembled into a tentative smile. “Surely we can be friends.”

Friends?

“I mean, I know…”

“That I kissed you?” he supplied.

She gasped, then practically hissed, “I wasn’t going to say it quite so bluntly. For heaven’s sake, George, your mother is still awake.” And while she was frantically peering down the hall, George threw over a lifetime of gentlemanly behavior and stepped into her bedroom.

“George!”

“Apparently one can whisper and scream at the same time,” he mused.

“You can’t be in here,” she said.

He grinned as she closed the door. “I didn’t think you wished to conduct this sort of conversation in the hall.”

The look she gave him was sarcasm in its purest form. “I believe there are two drawing rooms and a library downstairs.”

“And look what happened last time we were in a drawing room together.”

Her face flushed instantly. But Billie was a trouper, and after a moment of what appeared to be gnashing her teeth and telling herself to calm down, she asked, “Have you learned anything of Edward?”

Like that, his jaunty mood deflated. “Nothing of substance.”

“But something?” she asked hopefully.

He didn’t want to talk about Edward. For so many reasons. But Billie deserved a reply, so he said, “Just the suppositions of a retired general.”

“I’m sorry. That must be terribly frustrating. I wish there was something I could do to help.” She leaned on the edge of her bed and looked over at him with an earnest frown. “It’s so hard to do nothing. I hate it.”

He closed his eyes. Breathed out through his nose. Once again, they were in perfect agreement.

“Sometimes I think I should have been born a boy.”

“No.” His response was immediate and emphatic.

She let out a little laugh. “That’s very kind of you. I suppose you have to say that after, well, you know…”

He knew. But not nearly enough.

“I would love to own Aubrey,” she said wistfully. “I know every corner. I can name every crop in every field, and every name of every tenant, and half of their birthdays, too.”

He looked at her in wonderment. She was so much more than he’d ever allowed himself to see.

“I would have been an excellent Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Your brother will learn his way,” George said gently. He sat down in the chair by the desk. She wasn’t sitting down, but she wasn’t exactly standing, either, and as he was alone with her behind a closed door, he rather thought this would not be the critical breach of propriety.

“Oh, I know he will,” Billie said. “Edmund is very clever, actually, when he’s not being annoying.”

“He’s fifteen. He can’t help being annoying.”

She gave him a look. “If I recall correctly, you were already a god among men by the time you were his age.”

He lifted a lazy brow. There were so many droll rejoinders to such a statement, but he decided to let them all pass and simply enjoy the easy camaraderie of the moment.

“How do you bear it?” she asked.

“Bear what?”

“This.” She raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. “The helplessness.”

He sat up a little straighter, blinking her into focus.

“You do feel it, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning,” he murmured. But he had a feeling he did.

“I know you wish you could have taken a commission. I see it in your face every time your brothers talk about it.”