George chuckled and followed her to the bank of windows. “The irony,” he said, “is that he’s terrible at cards.”

“He is?” She wrinkled her nose. It was odd, really, but she didn’t think she and Andrew had ever played cards.

“All games of chance, actually,” George went on. “If you ever need some money, he’s your man.”

“Alas, I don’t gamble.”

“With cards,” he countered.

She had a feeling he’d meant to sound droll, but to her ears it was patronizing in the extreme. She scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

He looked at her as if he were mildly surprised by her question. “Just that you gamble quite happily with your life all the time.”

She felt her chin draw back. “That’s absurd.”

“Billie, you fell out of a tree.”

“Onto a roof.”

He almost laughed. “This counters my argument how?”

“You would have done the exact same thing I did,” she insisted. “In fact, you did.”

“Oh, really.”

“I went up the tree to save a cat.” She jabbed him in the shoulder with her index finger. “You went up to save me.”

“First of all,” he shot back, “I did not go up the tree. And secondly, you’re comparing yourself to a cat?”

“Yes. No!” For the first time she was grateful she’d injured her foot. She might have stamped it, otherwise.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t come along?” he demanded, “Truly, Billie. What would you have done?”

“I’d have been fine.”

“I’m sure you would have. You’ve the devil’s own luck. But your family would have been frantic, and likely the entire village would have been called out to search for you.”

He was right, damn it, and that just made it worse. “Do you think I’m not aware of that?” she demanded, her voice dropping to a low hiss.

He regarded her for just long enough to make her uncomfortable. “No,” he said, “I don’t.”

She sucked in her breath. “Everything I do, I do for the people here. My whole life . . . everything. I’m reading a bloody encyclopedia of agriculture,” she said, her arm jerking back toward the book in question. “Volume Four. Who else do you know who—” Her words came to a choking halt, and several moments passed before she was able to continue. “Do you really believe me to be so uncaring?”

“No.” His voice was devastatingly low and even. “I believe you to be unthinking.”

She lurched back. “I can’t believe I thought we were starting to be friends.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’re a terrible person, George Rokesby. You are impatient and intolerant and—”

He grabbed her arm. “Stop this.”

Billie yanked back, but his fingers were too firmly wrapped around her flesh. “Why did you even come here this morning? You only look at me to find fault.”

“Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed.

“It’s true,” she shot back. “You don’t see yourself when you’re near me. All you do is frown and scold and—and—everything about you. Your manner, your expressions. You are so disapproving.”