She’d known even then that she wasn’t like other girls. She didn’t want to play the pianoforte or pick at her sewing. She wanted to be outside, to fly through the air on the back of her horse, sunlight dancing across her skin as her heart skipped and raced with the wind.

She wanted to soar.

She still did.

If she kissed George . . . if he kissed her . . . Would it feel the same way?

She trailed her fingers along the back of the sofa, trying to fill the moment with idle movement. But then she made the mistake of looking up . . .

He was staring at her, his eyes fierce and curious and something else, too, something she could not precisely name.

But whatever it was . . . she felt it. Her heart leapt, and her breath quickened, and she realized it was just like when she raced on her mare. Breathless and giddy and determined and wild . . . It was all there within her, bursting to get free.

All because he’d looked at her.

Dear God, if he actually kissed her she might fall apart.

She tapped nervous fingers on the edge of the sofa, then gestured stupidly to a chair. “I should sit.”

“If you wish.”

But her feet wouldn’t move. “I seem not to know what to do with myself,” she admitted.

“Join the club,” he muttered.

“Oh, George . . .”

“Do you want a drink?” he asked suddenly.

“Now?” It was barely past eleven.

His shrug bordered on insolence. Billie could only wonder at how much he’d already had.

But he didn’t head for the brandy decanter. Instead he stood by the window, staring out over the garden. It had started to rain; a light misty drizzle that made the air thick and gray.

She waited for several moments, but he did not turn around. His hands were clasped behind his back—the classic stance of a gentleman. But it wasn’t quite right. There was a certain harshness to his pose, a tension in his shoulders that she wasn’t used to seeing there.

He was brittle. Bleak.

“What will you do?” she finally forced herself to ask. She did not think she could bear the silence for another moment.

His posture changed, a slight movement in his neck maybe, and then he turned his head to the side. But not far enough to actually look at her. Instead she was treated to his profile as he said, “Go to London, I suppose.”

“To London?” she echoed.

He snorted. “There’s not much else I can do.”

“You don’t want to go to the Colonies to look for him?”

“Of course I want to go to the Colonies,” he snapped, whirling around to face her. “But that’s not what I do.”

Billie’s lips parted, but the only sound was her pulse, racing wildly through her veins. His outburst was unexpected. Unprecedented.

She had seen George lose his temper before. She could hardly have grown up alongside his younger brothers and not have done so. But she had never seen this.