“Andrew,” Billie all but growled.

Andrew laid his good hand on his heart in feigned affront. “Hurt. Hurt, I say.”

“Do we think we could not mock me?” Billie asked in an exasperated voice. “Just for one evening?”

“I suppose,” Andrew said, “but George isn’t nearly so much fun.”

George started to say something, but then he caught a glance at Billie’s face. She was tired. And in pain. What Andrew had taken as customary banter was actually a plea for relief.

He brought his lips close to her ear, lowering his voice to a quiet murmur. “Are you certain you’re up to supper?”

“Of course!” she replied, visibly chagrined that he’d asked. “I’m fine.”

“But are you well?”

Her lips tightened. Then trembled.

George slowed his pace, allowing Andrew to amble ahead of them. “There is no shame in needing a rest, Billie.”

She looked up at him, something almost rueful in her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she said.

He nodded. “I can ask that a small ottoman be placed under the table so that you might elevate your leg.”

Billie blinked up at him in surprise, and for a moment he could have sworn he could hear the sound of her breath passing across her lips. “That would be most welcome,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Consider it done.” He paused. “You do look rather fetching in that gown, by the way.”

“What?”

He had no idea why he’d said that. And judging from her shocked expression, neither did she.

He shrugged, wishing he had a free hand to adjust his cravat. It felt unaccountably tight. And of course he would say something complimentary about her gown; wasn’t that what gentlemen did? Plus, she’d looked as if she could use a little boost. And it did suit her quite well. “It’s a nice color,” he improvised. He could be occasionally charming. “It, ehrm . . . brings out your eyes.”

“My eyes are brown.”

“It still brings them out.”

She looked vaguely alarmed. “Good heavens, George. Have you ever paid a lady a compliment before?”

“Have you ever received one?”

Too late he realized how awful that sounded, and he stammered something that was meant to approximate an apology, but Billie was already shaking with laughter. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped, wiping her eyes on her shoulder since her hands were around his neck. “Oh, that was funny. Your face . . .”

Amazingly, George felt himself smile. “I was trying to ask if you’d ever accepted one,” he was compelled to say. Then he muttered, “Obviously, you’ve received them.”

“Oh, obviously.”

He shook his head. “Truly, I’m sorry.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” she teased.

“This surprises you?”

“Not at all. I think you would die before insulting a lady, however inadvertently.”

“I’m fairly certain I’ve insulted you at some point in our history.”

She waved that off. “I’m not sure I count.”

“I will confess,” he said, “you do seem more of a lady than usual this evening.”

Her expression grew shrewd. “There is an insult in there somewhere, I’m sure.”