“As do I,” Andrew said with a cool smile. He tipped his injured arm up toward the roof, his bent and bound limb hinging at the shoulder. “Or at least a bone or two.”
Billie swallowed and looked hesitantly over at George, trying to gauge his reaction. As was common for third sons, Andrew had skipped university and gone straight into the Royal Navy as a midshipman. He had been raised to the rank of lieutenant a year earlier. Andrew didn’t find himself in harm’s way nearly so often as Edward, but still, he wore his uniform proudly.
George, on the other hand, had not been permitted to take a commission; as the heir to the earldom, he had been deemed far too valuable to throw himself in front of American musket balls. And Billie wondered… did that bother him? That his brothers served their country and he did not? Had he even wanted to fight?
Then she wondered… why had she never wondered about this? True, she did not devote much thought to George Rokesby unless he was standing in front of her, but the lives of the Rokesbys and Bridgertons were thoroughly intertwined. It seemed odd that she did not know this.
Her eyes moved slowly from brother to brother. They had not spoken for several moments. Andrew was still staring up with a measure of challenge in his icy blue eyes, and George was looking right back down with… well, it wasn’t anger exactly. At least not any longer. But nor was it regret. Or pride. Or anything she could identify.
There was far more to this conversation than rose to the surface.
“Well, I have risked life and limb for an unappreciative feline,” she declared, eager to direct the conversation back to less controversial topics. Namely, her rescue.
“Is that what happened?” Andrew murmured, bending over the ladder. “I thought you didn’t like cats.”
George turned to her with an expression that went somewhere beyond exasperation. “You don’t even like cats?”
“Everyone likes cats,” Billie said quickly.
George’s eyes narrowed, and she knew there was no way he believed that her bland smile was anything but a placation, but thankfully Andrew chose that moment to let out a muffled curse, causing both of them to return their attention to his struggles with the ladder.
“Are you all right?” Billie called out.
“Splinter,” Andrew bit off. He sucked on the side of his little finger. “Bloody hell.”
“It’s not going to kill you,” George snapped.
Andrew took a moment to fix his brother with a livid glare.
George rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of God.”
“Don’t provoke him,” Billie hissed.
George made an odd, growly sound, but he remained silent, crossing his arms as he stared down at his younger brother.
Billie scooted a tiny bit closer to the end for a better view of Andrew as he wedged one of his feet against the bottom of the rail and then bent over to grasp a rung. He grunted audibly as he pulled the ladder upright. The physics of the maneuver were all wrong, but there was only so much a one-armed man could do.
But at least he was a strong one-armed man, and with great exertion and not a little inappropriate language, he managed to set the ladder into place against the side of the building.
“Thank you,” George breathed, although from his tone Billie wasn’t sure if he was thanking his brother or the Almighty.
With Andrew to brace the ladder – and no cats underfoot – the descent was considerably simpler than their first attempt. But it hurt. By God, the pain in her ankle stole the very breath from her body. And there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t very well hop down the rungs, so with each step she had to put some weight on her injured ankle. By the time she reached the third-to-last rung, it was all she could do to keep her tears silent.
Strong hands settled at her waist. “I’ve got you,” George said quietly, and she let herself collapse.
Chapter 4
G
eorge had had a feeling that Billie was in more pain than she’d let on, but he didn’t realize how much until they finally made their way down the ladder. He briefly considered taking her down on his back, but it seemed safer to have her follow him instead. He moved down three rungs before she set her good foot onto the ladder, then he watched as she gingerly followed with its injured companion. For a moment she stood still, probably trying to decide how best to proceed to the next rung.
“I’d lead with the good one,” he said quietly, “and grip the rails hard to absorb some of your weight.”
She gave a tense nod of acknowledgment and followed his instructions, her breath escaping with an agonized hiss when her good foot was solid and secure, and she was able to lift the injured one from the upper rung.
She’d been holding her breath. He didn’t blame her.
He waited as she composed herself, well aware that he needed to remain only a few rungs ahead; if she fell – and she might; he could see that her ankle was very weak – he had to be close enough to stop her from tumbling all the way to the ground.