BILLIE HAD NOT meant to eavesdrop. She had been on her way down to breakfast, her hair perhaps too-hastily pinned due to her eagerness to see George again, when she’d heard his voice in the drawing room. She’d assumed he was with his mother—who else would be at Manston House this time in the morning?—but then she heard the voice of another gentleman, and he was saying something about the night before.

The night that George had said he could not tell her about.

She shouldn’t have listened, but honestly, what woman could have pulled herself away? And then the man asked George to deliver a package, and he said it might help Edward?

She could not stop herself. All she could think was—this was Edward. Her dearest childhood friend. If she was prepared to fall out of a tree to save an ungrateful cat, she could certainly take a package to some inn on the coast. How difficult could it be? And if it was dangerous, if it was something that required discretion, surely she was an excellent decoy. No one would expect a woman to be making the delivery.

She didn’t think. She didn’t need to think. She just ran into the room and declared, “I’ll do it!”

GEORGE DIDN’T THINK. He didn’t need to think. “The hell you will,” he roared.

Billie froze for a moment, clearly not expecting this sort of reaction. Then she girded her shoulders and hurried in. “George,” she said entreatingly, “we’re talking about Edward. How can we not do everything—”

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her aside. “You do not have all of the facts,” he hissed.

“I don’t need all the facts.”

“You never do,” he muttered.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I can do this,” she insisted.

Good God, she was going to be the death of him. “I’m sure you can, but you won’t.”

“But—”

“I forbid it.”

Billie drew back. “You forbid—”

That was the moment Arbuthnot sidled over. “I don’t think we were properly introduced last night,” he said with an avuncular smile. “I am Lord Arbuthnot. I—”

“Get out of my house,” George bit off.

“George!” Billie exclaimed, her face betraying her shock at his rudeness.

Arbuthnot turned to him with a thoughtful expression. “The lady appears to be quite resourceful. I think we could—”

“Get out!”

“George?” Now his mother appeared in the doorway. “What is all the yelling about? Oh, I’m sorry, Lord Arbuthnot. I did not see you there.”

“Lady Manston.” He bowed properly. “Forgive my early visit. I had business with your son.”

“He was just leaving,” George said, tightening his grip on Billie’s arm when she started to squirm.

“Let me go,” she ground out. “I might be able to help.”

“Or you might not.”

“Stop it,” she hissed, now pulling furiously. “You cannot order me about.”

“I assure you I can,” he shot back, his eyes burning down into hers. He was going to be her husband, for God’s sake. Did that not count for anything?