Because of Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #1)(86)

“Are you crying?” he asked, coming quickly to his feet.

“No,” came her too-quick reply.

He could not bear it. He took a step forward without even realizing it. “Don’t cry,” he said.

“I’m not crying!” she choked out.

“No,” he said gently. “Of course you’re not.”

She dragged the back of her hand inelegantly across her nose. “I don’t cry,” she protested, “and I certainly don’t cry because of you.”

“Billie,” he said, and before he knew it, she was in his arms. He held her against his heart, and he stroked her back while her tears dropped one by one from her eyes.

She cried delicately, which seemed somehow unexpected. Billie had never done anything by half measure, and if she were going to cry, he would have thought she’d have done so with great big sobs.

And that was when he realized – she had been speaking true. She didn’t cry. He had known her for twenty-three years, and he had never seen her shed a tear. Even when she’d hurt her ankle and had had to climb down that ladder on her own, she had not cried. For a moment she’d looked as if she might, but then she had steeled her shoulders, and swallowed her pain, and got on with it.

But she was crying now.

He had made her cry.

“I am so sorry,” he murmured into her hair. He didn’t know what he could have done differently, but that didn’t seem to matter. She was crying, and every sniffle held the sound of his own heart breaking.

“Please don’t cry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “It will be all right. I promise, everything will be all right.”

He felt her nod against his chest, a tiny little movement, but one that somehow was enough to tell him that she had turned a corner. “You see,” he said, touching her chin and smiling when she finally raised her eyes to his, “I told you, it’s all right.”

She took a shaky breath. “I was worried about you.”

“You were worried?” He hadn’t meant to sound pleased, but he couldn’t help it.

“And angry,” she continued.

“I know.”

“You left,” she said baldly.

“I know.” He wasn’t going to make excuses. She deserved better.

“Why?” she asked him. And when he did not reply she stepped out of his embrace and said it again. “Why did you leave?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said regretfully.

“Were you with her?”

He did not pretend to misunderstand. “Only briefly.”

There was but one three-pronged candelabra in the room, but there was light enough for George to see the pain flash across Billie’s face. She swallowed, the motion trembling through her throat.

But the way she was standing, with her arms wrapped protectively around her waist… She might as well have donned a suit of armor.

“I will not lie to you,” he said quietly. “I may not be able to answer your questions, but I will tell you no falsehoods.” He stepped forward, his eyes boring into hers as he made his vow. “Do you understand? I will never lie to you.”

She nodded, and he saw something change in her face. Her eyes grew softer, more concerned. “You’re hurt,” she said.

“Not very much.”

“But still…” She reached toward his face, her hand stopping an inch short of its destination. “Did someone hit you?”

He shook his head. He’d probably acquired the abrasion when he’d been persuaded to have a pint with Tallywhite. “I don’t remember, honestly,” he told her. “It was a very strange evening.”

Her lips parted, and he could tell she wanted to question him further, but instead she said, very softly, “You never danced with me.”

His eyes met hers. “I regret that.”

“I’d wanted… I’d hoped…” Her lips pressed together as she swallowed, and he realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her to continue. “I don’t think…”

Whatever it was, she could not bring herself to say it, and he realized that he needed to be as brave as she was.

“It was agony,” he whispered.

She looked up, startled.

He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to tell Freddie Coventry to go ahead and dance with you? What it felt like to watch him take your hand and whisper in your ear like he had a right to be near you?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “I know it exactly.”

And then, in that moment, it all became clear. There was only one thing he could do.

He did the only thing he could do.

He kissed her.


Chapter 23


B
illie wasn’t stupid. She had known, when she decided to wait for George in his bedroom, that this might happen. But it wasn’t why she had done it. It wasn’t why she had crept so silently into his room, turning the door handle with practiced ease so it slipped through the locking mechanism without a click. It wasn’t why she’d sat in his chair, listening for sounds of his return, and it wasn’t why she had stared at his bed the whole time, achingly aware that this was where he slept, where his body lay at his most vulnerable, where, should he take a wife, they would make love.