“You’re being ridiculous.”

She shook her head. She felt almost revelatory. “You disapprove of everything about me.”

He stepped toward her, his hand tightening on her arm. “That is so far from the truth as to be laughable.”

Billie’s mouth fell open.

Then she realized that George looked as shocked by his words as she did.

And that he was standing very close.

Her chin tipped up, bringing her eyes to his.

She stopped breathing.

“Billie,” he whispered, and his hand rose, as if to touch her cheek.

Chapter 10

He almost kissed her.

Dear God, he almost kissed Billie Bridgerton.

He had to get out of here.

“It’s late,” George blurted.

“What?”

“It’s late. I need to go.”

“It’s not late,” she said, blinking rapidly. She looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

I don’t know, he almost said.

He’d almost kissed her. His eyes had dropped to her mouth and he heard the tiny rush of her breath across her lips, and he’d felt himself leaning, wanting . . .

Burning.

He prayed she hadn’t realized. Surely she’d never been kissed before. She wouldn’t have known what was happening.

But he’d wanted her. By God, he’d wanted her. It had hit him like a swell, sneaking up and then washing over him so fast and hard he’d barely been able to think straight.

He still wanted her.

“George?” she said. “Is something wrong?”

His lips parted. He needed to breathe.

She was watching him with an almost wary curiosity. “You were scolding me,” she reminded him.

He was fairly certain his brain had not resumed its normal workings. He blinked, trying to absorb her words. “Did you want me to continue?”

She shook her head slowly. “Not particularly.”

He raked a hand through his hair and tried to smile. It was the best he could do.

Billie’s brow knitted with concern. “Are you sure you’re well? You look very pale.”

Pale? He felt like he was on fire. “Forgive me,” he said. “I think I’m somewhat—” What? Somewhat what? Tired? Hungry? He cleared his throat and decided on: “Light-headed.”

She did not look as if she believed him. “Lightheaded?”

“It came on suddenly,” he said. That much was true.

She motioned toward the bellpull. “Shall I get you something to eat? Do you want to sit down?”

“No, no,” he said stupidly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine,” she repeated, her lack of belief in this statement practically radiating from her.

He gave a nod.

“No longer light-headed.”

“Not at all.”

She was staring at him as if he’d gone mad. Which was quite possible. He couldn’t think of any other explanation.

“I should go,” he said. He turned, striding to the door. He could not get out of there fast enough.

“George, wait!”

So close. But he stopped. He had to. He could no more leave the room when a gentlewoman was calling his name than spit in the face of the king. It had been bred into his bones.