BECAUSE MISS "BRIDGERTON"
chapter 10
HE ALMOST KISSED HER.
My God, he almost kissed Billie Bridgerton.
He has to get out of here.
“It's noon,” spray George.
“What?”
“It's noon. I have to go.”
“Not noon,” said Billie, gasping. He looks confused. “What are you talking about?”
I don't know, George almost said.
He almost kissed Billie. His eyes fell into the girl's mouth and he heard the roar of breath from his lips, and George felt he was advancing forward, wanting…
Burned.
She hoped Billie wouldn't notice. That girl has never been kissed. He won't know what's going on.
George wanted it. For God's sake, he wants it. It hit him like a wave, slipped and then flushed him so fast and hard that he was unable to think clearly.
He still wants Billie.
“George?” said Billie. “There is wrong?”
George's lips were open. He has to breathe.
Billie observed him with a curiosity that was close to being anxious. “You were scolding me,” he reminded.
George was pretty sure his brain hadn't returned to normal work. He gasped, trying to absorb Billie's words. “Do you want me to continue?”
The girl nodded slowly. “Not really.”
George pulled out his hair and tried to smile. This is the best he can do.
Billie's forehead is concerned. “Are you sure you're okay? You look so pale.”
Pale? George felt like he was on fire. “I'm sorry,” said. “I think I'm a little—” What? Little what? Tired up? Hungry up? It cleared its throat and decided: “Pening.”
Billie did not seem to believe his words. “Pening?”
“Sudden arrival,” continued George. Thas right.
Billie pointed at the bell rope. “Should I ask something for you? Do you want to sit down?”
“No, no,” says stupid George. “I'm fine.”
“You're fine,” Billie repeated, her disbelief over this statement could be said to be emanating from her body.
George nodded.
“No longer dizziness.”
“Not at all.”
Billie looked at him as if he was crazy. And this is very possible. George could not think of any other explanation.
“I have to go,” he said. He turned around, walked to the door. He's got to get out of there.
“George, wait!”
Almost anyway. But George stopped. He should stop. He could not leave the room when an honorable woman called his name, just as he could not spit on the king's face. It has been implanted into him.
When he turned around he saw the girl had already moved a few steps closer. “Do you better wait for Andrew?” ask Billie.
George exhaled. Andrews. Sure oes.
“He'll need help, won't he? With horse?”
God fucking. George exhaled. “I'll wait.”
Billie biting on the lower lip. Right flank. He just bit the right one, George realized.
“I can't imagine what took him away so long,” Billie turned to the door.
George put his shoulders.
“Maybe he can't find Thamesly.”
George is back again.
“Or maybe my mom intercepted him. He can be troublesome like that.”
George began to dedicate for the third time, realizing how foolish he looked and instead let out the kind of smile who-who-could-be-expected.
“Well,” said Billie, looks like it's running out of proposals. “Hmmm.”
George held both hands behind his back. Looking towards the window. To wall. But not Billie's. Anywhere you go, don't go in Billie's direction.
He still wants to kiss her.
The girl coughed. George managed to look at his feet.
It's awkward.
Maddened.
“Mary and Felix will arrive in two days,” Billie said.
George urged the part in his brain that knew how to make conversation. “Didn't everyone arrive in two days?”
“Well, of course,” replied Billie, somehow sounding relieved at getting real questions to answer, “but they're the only ones I care about.”
George smiled unconsciously. It's typical of Billie to throw a party and hate every minute of it. Though the girl didn't really have much choice; they all knew the house party was Lady Bridgerton's idea.
“Is the guest list final?” he asks. He knew the answer, of course; the guest list had been made for days, and the invitation had been sent with the sender of the express message with the command to wait for the answer.
But this is a silence that requires content. Billie was no longer on the couch with her book and George was not in a chair with the newspaper. They had no equipment, nothing but themselves, and every time he looked at the girl, his eyes fell to Billie's lips, and nothing could be more wrong.
Billie moved aimlessly towards the writing desk and tapped her hand at the table. “Duchess of Westborough is coming,” she said. “Mother is very happy that she is willing to accept our invitation. I was told that it was a win.”
“A duchess is always a win,” says George sour, “and usually also very troublesome.”
Billie turned and looked at him. “Do you know him?”
“We were once introduced.”
Billie's expression turned sad. “Imagine you've been introduced to everyone.”
George thought. “Maybe,” said. “All those who come to London, at least.” Like most men in his position, George spends several months each year in the capital. He usually enjoys it. He met friends, figuring out the latest developments in state affairs. Lately he has been observing a few brides-to-be; a much more tedious endeavor than he ever anticipated.
Billie biting lips. “Is he so great?”
“Sang duchess?”
Billie nodded.
“Not grander than other duchess.”
“George! You know that's not what I asked.”
“Ya,” says George, pity the girl, “dia is quite regal. But you're gonna—” His speech stopped, and he looked at Billie. Fervently looking at her, and finally grasping how the girl's eyes lost their usual sparkle. “Are you nervous?”
Billie took a thread from the sleeve of her dress. “Do not be foolish.”
“Karena—”
“Of course I'm nervous.”
That surprised George. She nervous? Billie's?
“What?” sue the girl, see the disbelief on her face.
George shakes. Billie admitted to being nervous after all the things she did. All the things she did with a wide grin on the face.
“You jumped off a tree,” he finally said.
“I fell from a tree,” reply Billie ketus, “and what does that have to do with the Duchess of Westborough?”
“Nothing,” I'm George, “it's just hard to imagine you're nervous about.” He felt his head shake slowly and faintly, then an irresistible admiration rose up in him. The girl knows no fear. He never knew fear. “Any problem,” he finished.
Billie's lips are tight. “Have you ever danced with me?”
George was shocked. “What?”
“Have you ever danced with me?” billie's voice began to sound impatient.
“Ya?” George said it slowly, asking.
“Never, you have never been,” said Billie.
“That's impossible,” says George. She once danced with Billie. He has known the girl his whole life.
Billie.
“You can't dance?” ask George.
The girl made an angry look. “Of course I can dance.”
George will kill him.
“I'm not very smart, but I'm smart enough, I guess,”. “Not that the point.”
George was pretty sure they got to a point where there was no point.
“The bottom line is, you never danced with me because I didn't go to the dance,” Billie continued.
“Maybe you should have done it.”
Billie scowled loudly. “I don't slide when I walk, and I don't know how to tease, and last time I tried to use a fan I poked someone in the eye.” He's sinking. “I obviously don't know how to make a man feel smart, strong, and better than me.”
George chuckles. “I'm pretty sure the Duchess of Westborough is female.”
“George!”
George was stunned, shocked. Billie's really upset. “I'm sorry,” he said, and observed the girl carefully, even vigilantly. Billie looked hesitant, pinching the folds of her skirt nervously. His forehead is sad. George never saw her like this.
He doesn't know this girl.
“I can't get along well in official occasions,” Billie said in a low tone. “I'm not—I'm not smart doing it.”
George knew he had better not make another joke, but he didn't know what kind of words Billie needed. How does one calm a whirlwind? Convince the girl who does everything well then does it all again from behind for fun? “You did it perfectly at dinner at Crake,”, he said, though he knew this was not what Billie was talking about.
“That doesn't count,” says Billie impatiently.
“When you were in the village..”
“Really? You're going to compare the villagers to the duchess? After all, I've known the villagers all my life. They know me.”
George cleared his throat. “Billie, you're the most confident and competent woman I've ever known.”
“I drove you crazy,” Billie said as she is.
“True,” George agreed, although the madness has taken on a different and disturbing color lately. “But,” he continued, trying to say his words in the right order, “you're a Bridgerton. The daughter of a viscount. There's no reason why you can't hold your head up high in any room in the country.”
Billie grunts in denial. “You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.” To George's surprise, he realized he meant it.
Billie did not answer. He didn't even look at George. Billie was still leaning against the table, and her eyes seemed to be locked onto both of her hands. He looked up, briefly, and it occurred to George that Billie was trying to ascertain whether his words were sincere.
But that changed. That has changed over the past week. George had no idea why; none of them had changed.
His respect for the woman he no longer felt reluctantly. Oh, he still thinks Billie is too stubborn and very careless, but behind it all, his heart is sincere.
George always knew it. It's just that he's too busy being annoyed with Billie that he doesn't notice.
“Billie?” she said slowly, her voice pressing gently.
Billie looked up, one corner of her mouth curving miserably. “It's not about lifting my head up high.”
George made sure to throw a little bit of an impatient tone out of his voice when he asked, “Then what's the problem?”
Billie stared at George for a long time, her lips tightly clenched, before saying, “Do you know I was introduced in the palace?”
“I thought you weren't following Season.”
“Indeed not” —Billie Deham—”after that.”
George grimacing. “What happened?”
Billie did not look at her as she replied, “I might make someone's dress burn.”
George almost lost his balance. “You burned someone else's dress?”
Billie waited with exaggerated patience, as if she had experienced this conversation and knew exactly how long it would take to complete it.
George stupefied at her, dumbfounded. “You burned someone's dress.”
“Inadvertently,” said Billie Sharp.
“Well,” inevitably George impressed, “ I think if anyone will—”
“Don't say,” Billie gave a warning.
“How can I not hear about this?” he wonders.
“The fire is very small,” Billie said, a little stiff.
“But still it..”.
“Really?” sue Billie. “I burned someone's dress, and your biggest question is how can you miss the gossip?”
“I'm sorry,” said George quickly, but then he couldn't help but ask rather carefully, “Do you invite me to ask how you can burn his dress?”
“No, and it's not that I said it,” Billie said exasperatedly.
George's first wish was to tempt Billie further, but then the girl sighed, and her voice sounded so tired and desperate that George's tingling was sliding away. “Billie,” he said gently and with sympathy, “you can't—”
But Billie didn't let him finish his sentence. “I don't match my status, George.”
Right, it doesn't. And didn't George think the same thing a few days ago? If Billie went to London for the party season with her sister, it would be a perfect disaster. All the things that made the girl great and strong would be her downfall in the exclusive upper-class world.
They will use it as a training target.
Not all lords and ladies in the upper society are cruel. But their words are weapons, and they use them like bayonets.
“Why did you tell me this?” suddenly he asked.
Billie's lips opened, and a glint of pain darted across her eyes.
“I mean, why me?” george said quickly, just in case Billie thought she didn't care enough to hear it. “Why not Andrew?”
Billie didn't say anything. Not immediately, then—”Entahlah. I'm not.. Andrew and I don't talk about such things.”
“Mary will be here soon,” said George, trying to help.
“For God's sake, George,” Billie almost snapped at him, “if you don't want to talk to me, you can say it.”
“No,” he snatched Billie's wrist before the girl had time to leave. “That's not what I mean. I'm happy to talk to you,” he made sure. “I'm glad to hear. I just thought you'd rather have someone who..”.
Billie looked at him, waiting. But George could not make himself say the words that were at the end of his tongue.
Someone who cares.
Because it hurts. And that's petty. And on top of that, that's not true.
He cares.
He. very much cares.
“I will...” His words gradually disappeared, lost in his raging thoughts, and all he could do was stare at the girl. Staring at Billie who was looking at him while he tried to remember how to speak his mother tongue, trying to think of the right words, which words were soothing. Because Billie looks sad. And he looks agitated. And George hates to see it.
“If you want,” he said, slowly enough to give himself time to sort out his thoughts while saying, “I'll keep an eye on you.”
Billie watched on with caution. “What do you mean?”
“Make sure you..” George made a gesture in the air with both hands, not daring they both understood it. “You.... fine.”
“I'm fine?” repeat Billie.
“Entai,” George frustrated with his inability to structure his thoughts, let alone translate them into sentences. “Only when you need a friend, I will be there.”
Billie's mouth opened, and George saw the movement around the girl's neck, all her words stuck there, her whole emotions under control.
“Thank you,” said Billie. “You..”.
“Don't say I'm so good,” the order.
“Why not?”
“Because this is not a kindness. This... I don't know what this is,” said George helplessly. “But this is not a kindness.”
Billie's lips twitched as she smiled. Jail smile. “Alright,” said. “You're not good.”
“Never.”
“Can I call you selfish?”
“It's too far.”
“Congkak?”
George walked towards her. “You forced your luck, Billie.”
“Arogan.” Billie ran around the table, laughing while making some distance between the two of them using the table. “Come, George. You can't deny arrogant.”
Something naughty rose up in George. Something naughty and hot. “Then should I call what you?”
“Brilian?”
George moved closer. “How about annoying?”
“Ah, but that's the opinion of each.”
“Sembrono,” said.
Billie pretends to move left as George pretends to right. “Not reckless, if you know what you're doing.”
“You fell off the roof,” George reminded.
Billie smiled mischievously. “I thought you said I jumped.”
George growled towards the girl and lunged, chasing as Billie screeched, “I tried to save the cat! I'm trying to be noble!”
“I'll show you what noble is like..”.
Billie screamed and jumped back.
Go straight to the card house.
And the house collapsed, not gracefully.
So did Billie, actually. As it was all over, he sat down on the table, the wreckage of Andrew's masterpiece splattered all around as if Chinese fireworks were lit underneath.
He looked up and said in a soft voice, “I guess we both can't set it up anymore.”
Without a sound, George shook his head.
Billie gulps. “I think maybe I sprained my ankle again.”
“Severe?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you start with that when Andrew comes back,” George says.
And of course that's when Andrew stepped through the door.
“I hurt my ankle,” Billie almost yelled. “It hurts once.”
George had to turn around. That's the only way not to laugh.
Andrew was just stunned. “Again,” he finally said. “You did it again.”
“Be the house is very nice,” said Billie weakly.
“I think it's talent,” says Andrew.
“Oh, absolutely right,” says Billie bright. “You were brilliant while doing it.”
“No, I mean you.”
“Oh.” Billie gulped down the saliva—price herself, most likely—and smiled with great difficulty. “Well, yes. There's no point in doing something if you can't do it well, don't you agree?”
Andrew said nothing. George felt an urge to clap both hands in front of his sister's face. Just to make sure Andrew wasn't being delirious.
“I'm really sorry,” said Billie. “I'll fix it for you.” He pushed himself off the table and limped to his feet. “Although I don't know how.”
“It was my fault,” said George suddenly.
Billie turned towards him. “You don't have to bear mistakes.”
George raised both his hands to plead. “I was chasing you.”
It woke Andrew up. “You chasing him?”
God fucking. He didn't think about it carefully. “Not directly,” replied George.
Andrew turned to Billie. “He's chasing you?”
Billie did not flinch, but her facial expression turned timid. “I may have somehow been fishing..”.
“Mancing?” grunts George. “You?”
“Indeed the cat,” replied. “I would never fall if my ankles were not so weak.” His forehead is seriously wrinkled. “I'll probably blame that dirty animal for anything from now on.”
“What happened here?” andrew asked, his head moving slowly from Billie to George and back again. “Why don't you two kill each other?”
“Because of a small problem with the gallows.”
“Not to mention your mother will be very irritated,” Billie added.
Andrew just kept looking at them, his mouth agape. “I want to go home,” he finally said.
Billie giggles.
And George. Because he had heard Billie giggle. He heard it a thousand times. But this time it was different. It sounded exactly the same, but when the light laughter reached his ears…
That's the most beautiful voice he's ever heard.
And perhaps most terrifying. Because he knows what it means. And if there's anyone in the world who won't make her fall in love, it's Billie Bridgerton
