He looked over at her, unable to stop the wry smile that flitted across his lips. How very like her that statement was. But he just shook his head and said in a tired voice, “Not tonight.”
She crossed her arms.
“For the love of God, Billie, I’m exhausted.”
“I don’t care.”
That took him off guard, and for a moment he could only stare, blinking like some idiot owl.
“Where were you?” she demanded.
And because the truth was always best when possible, he told her, “At a pub.”
Her head jerked back with surprise, but her voice was cool when she said, “You smell like it.”
That earned her a grim chuckle. “I do, don’t I?”
“Why were you at a pub? What could you possibly have been doing that was more important than —” She stopped herself with a horrified gasp, clasping her hand to her mouth.
He could not answer her, so he said nothing. There was nothing in the world that was more important than she was. But there were things more important than dancing with her, no matter how much he wished it were otherwise.
His brother was missing. Maybe tonight’s absurd errand had nothing to do with Edward. Hell, George was certain it did not. How could it? Edward was lost in the wilds of Connecticut, and he was here in London, reciting nursery rhymes with a madman.
But he had been asked by his government to carry out this task, and more importantly, he had given his word that it would be done.
George would feel no compunction in refusing Lord Arbuthnot should he come with another fool’s errand. He had not the temperament to follow orders blindly. But he had agreed this time, and he had followed through.
The silence in the room grew thick, and then Billie, who had turned away from him, hugging her arms to her body, said in a very small voice, “I should go to bed.”
“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?”