George followed her gaze to where the crutches lay askew on the ground, one slightly atop the other. He leaned down and picked them up, setting them gently against the side of the library table. “If you need help,” he said in a quiet voice, “you should ask for it.”

She looked at him and blinked. “I didn’t need help.”

George started to tell her not to be so defensive, but then he realized she hadn’t been defensive. She was merely stating a fact. A fact as she saw it.

He shook his head. Billie could be so bloody literal.

“What was that?” she asked.

He shrugged. He had no idea what she was about.

“What were you going to say?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

Her mouth tightened at the corners. “That’s not true. You were definitely going to say something.”

Literal and tenacious. It was a frightening combination. “Did you sleep well?” he asked politely.

“Of course,” she said, with just enough of an arch to her brows to tell him that she was well aware that he’d changed the subject. “I told you yesterday. I never have trouble sleeping.”

“You said you never have trouble falling asleep,” he corrected, somewhat surprised that he recalled the distinction.

She shrugged. “It’s much the same thing.”

“The pain did not wake you up?”

She glanced down at her foot as if she’d quite forgotten it was there. “Apparently not.”

“If I might interrupt,” Andrew said, bowing to Billie with a ridiculous sweep of his arm, “we are here to offer our assistance and succor in any way you deem necessary.”

She gave Andrew the sort of look George normally reserved for small, recalcitrant children. “Are you sure you want to make such a sweeping promise?”

George leaned down until his lips were at the same latitude as her ear. “Pray remember that he uses ‘we’ as a grandiose gesture, not as a plural pronoun.”

She grinned. “In other words, you want no part of it?”

“None whatsoever.”

“You insult the lady,” Andrew said without a hint of protest in his voice. He sprawled in one of the Bridgertons’ fine wingback chairs, his long legs stretched out so that the heels of his boots rested against the carpet.

Billie gave him an exasperated glance before turning back to George. “Why are you here?”

George took a seat at the table across from her. “What he said, but without the hyperbole. We thought you might need company.”

“Oh.” She drew back a touch, clearly surprised by his frankness. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you?” Andrew echoed. “Who are you?”

She whipped her head to face him. “Was I supposed to curtsy?”

“It would have been nice,” he demurred.

“Impossible on crutches.”

“Well, if that’s the case . . .”

Billie turned back to George. “He’s an idiot.”

He held up his hands. “You will find no argument here.”

“The plight of the younger son,” Andrew said with a sigh.