Nevertheless, her pace was considerably slower than her usual stride as she headed toward the drawing room a few hours after breakfast. Andrew was waiting for her, Thamesly had informed her. This was not terribly surprising; Andrew had called upon her every day since her injury.

It was really quite sweet of him.

They’d been building card houses, a characteristically perverse choice for Andrew, whose dominant arm was still immobilized in a sling. He’d said that as long as he was coming over to keep her company, he might as well do something useful.

Billie didn’t bother pointing out that building a house of cards might very well be the definition of not useful.

As for his having only one working arm, he needed help getting the first few cards balanced, but after that, he could set up the rest just as well as she could.

Or better, really. She’d forgotten how freakishly good he was at building card houses—and how freakishly obsessed he became during the process. The day before had been the worst. As soon as they’d completed the first level he’d banned her from construction. Then he banned her from the entire area, claiming that she breathed too hard.

Which of course left her with no choice but to sneeze.

She might also have kicked the table.

There had been a fleeting moment of regret when it had all come down in a spectacular earthquake of destruction, but the look on Andrew’s face had been worth it, even if he had gone home immediately following the collapse.

But that was yesterday, and knowing Andrew, he’d want to start again, bigger and better the fifth time around. So Billie had collected another two decks on her way to the drawing room. It should be enough for him to add another story or two to his next architectural masterpiece.

“Good morning,” she said as she entered the drawing room. He was standing over by a plate of biscuits someone had left out on the table that ran behind the sofa. A maid, probably. One of the sillier ones. They were always giggling over him.

“You’ve jettisoned the crutches,” he said with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She glanced about the room. Still no George. He had not visited since that first morning in the library. Not that she had expected him to. She and George were not friends.

They weren’t enemies, of course. Just not friends. They never had been. Although maybe they were a little bit . . . now.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew asked.

Billie blinked. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re scowling.”

“I’m not scowling.”

His expression turned condescending. “You can see your own face?”

“And you’re here to cheer me up,” she drawled.

“Gad no, I’m here for the shortbread.” He reached out and took some of the playing cards from her. “And maybe to build a house.”

“At last, some honesty.”

Andrew laughed and flopped down on the sofa. “I have hardly been hiding my motives.”

Billie acknowledged this with a flick of her eyes. He had eaten a prodigious amount of shortbread in the past few days.