Page 1 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

Prologue

1805 — Guernsey Manor

Spluttering and splashing in the distance had Olivia’s short legs moving as fast as they could. She might have been small in stature, but she was strong and fast for a girl who was about to celebrate her eleventh year on earth. Pumping her arms, she hoped she was wrong and that the commotion was merely a large fish jumping in the pond. Disregarding all the rules of etiquette that her poor aunt had labored to impart upon her, Olivia tugged her skirts up above her knees and ran straight into the water, only to discover her fears were in fact valid when she spotted the tips of someone’s fingers breaking the water's surface.

Waist deep in the freezing cold pond, she propelled herself forward out to the spot she’d last sighted the hand that had pointed heavenward. Gasping for one last deep breath before plunging under the water, Olivia sent up a quick prayer: please, Lord, help me. When her cold fingers brushed against soft linen, she felt about until she could wind her hand tightly around a scrawny wrist and kick her legs with all her might to return to the surface. Gulping for air, Olivia turned onto her back to half float, half swim back to shore. Holding onto the lifeless form, she closed her eyes until her heels hit the pebbly floor of the pond. With a burst of energy she didn’t know she possessed, she stood and hauled the body up and out of the water.

“Oh, my. Oh, my.” She clamped a hand over her mouth as she gazed down at the boy lying limp next to her. His lips were nearly the same shade of blue as his eyes. Eyes that had Olivia ducking behind curtains and walls at Guernsey Manor. What if the young lord is dead? Whose head would roll for the disaster? Hers! She had to save him.

Olivia fell to her knees and leaned down to place her ear over the unmoving heir's chest. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Thank goodness, he was alive. Sitting back on her heels, Olivia stared down at the boy who usually proudly marched about Guernsey Manor with his chin held high as if he was already the master of the country estate that her mama had luckily gained a position in as one of the kitchen hands with the aid of her aunt. However, up close, Warren Dowling, the future Viscount of Guernsey, couldn’t be more than two or three years older than she. With his piercing eyes closed and his lips relaxed rather than pursed into a straight line, he was quite pleasant to look upon.

Olivia shook her head. She should act. But if she were to attempt to wake him, she would have to grab him, and without the protection of her gloves, the close contact could be dangerous. Brows knitted, she stared down at his still limp form. She had pulled him to shore. Was his prolonged inability to regain consciousness due to her touch? What was the matter with her? She couldn’t simply do nothing, but what should she do next?

Her hands were poised no more than an inch above his chest when Warren sputtered and gasped for air. Water spilled from the corners of his mouth. His eyes blinked open as he pushed himself up to sit. Olivia found herself face-to-face with the boy who sent shivers down her spine every time his gaze fell upon her. She was undeniably drawn to him. For the past month, since her arrival at Guernsey Manor, she had followed him about as if he led her with an invisible string. Which was exactly how she’d found herself in her current predicament.

“Finally, a chance to discover the identity of my shadow. Pray tell me, what is your name?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. His lips curved into a smile, an expression Olivia had been convinced he was incapable of making.

Her breath caught in her chest as she found herself entranced and unable to speak.

“Olivia!”

Blast. She turned to glare at the stable master’s son, Ian McDougall, who had been instructed by his father to watch over her. If she was Warren’s shadow, then Ian was hers.

Olivia scrambled backward and then popped up to her feet and turned around as Ian came to an abrupt halt. “Olivia.” Ian heaved in a deep breath. “Ye can’t…” He stopped mid-sentence as he peered around her and caught sight of Warren.

“Ian. A hand, if you please,” Warren ordered with a hand outstretched.

“Of course, me lord.”

Olivia rolled her eyes as Ian rushed to Warren’s side. Despite being about the same age, the two had nothing else in common. Warren had blue blood running through his veins, was at least a foot shorter than Ian, and was slight in build compared to Ian’s bronzed, filled-out frame. With Ian’s aid, Warren stood but immediately winced as he placed weight upon his right foot to take a step forward. Without hesitation, Ian wrapped Warren’s arm about his shoulders and asked, “Can ye walk or should I carry ye on me back?”

Warren flickered a glance at her and declared, “I’ll walk… unassisted. Escort Olivia back, before anyone discovers she is missing from the kitchens.”

Brows knitted, Ian looked over at Olivia and then back to Warren. In a low whisper that Olivia strained to hear, Ian cupped a hand about his mouth and asked Warren, “Are ye worried about her or are ye wanting to be alone?”

Apparently, Ian wasn’t a total dunderhead after all.

Warren pushed Ian away. “Go. Go now.”

When Ian reached out to grab Olivia by the wrist, she quickly tucked both her hands behind her and stomped her way back to Guernsey Manor. Her mama had made it abundantly clear that if she came into close contact with others only harm would come to them. She’d dared not confirm if she was truly dangerous to others, since her mama had no reason to lie to her.

With the servants’ entrance in sight, she stopped and turned to face Ian, who had been trailing her. “I didn’t harm the young master. I saved him.”

Ian placed his right hand over his chest. “I won’t tell… but I won’t lie for ye either.”

Olivia smiled involuntarily at Ian’s unfailing honesty. She admired him for his straightforward manner and his ability to put others at ease regardless of their status. She wasn’t the only one who envied Ian; an image of Warren’s longing gaze as he peered around the stable doors flashed through her mind. Olivia had been trailing Warren one early morn, when she caught the first glimpse of his true nature. Warren had stumbled upon Ian and Lord Guernsey in the stables. Rather than entering, Warren had stopped and stood silently by the barn doors, listening in on his father’s conversation with the stable boy.

At the time, Olivia had been rooted to the spot in utter bewilderment that the young lord would even consider eavesdropping, an act her aunt considered a heinous breach of etiquette and a sign of poor upbringing. It wasn’t until Lord Guernsey had patted Ian’s shoulder and praised him that Warren’s features revealed the hurt and longing she could feel deep in her heart. The sadness in Warren’s eyes was replaced by a flash of jealousy before his glacier stare returned as he strode into the stables and began to saddle his mare.

Ian had rushed over to assist but was immediately dismissed by a solitary glare from Warren. She had yet to decipher if Warren and Ian were boon companions, as there were times when she’d caught the pair conversing like close siblings when they thought no one was about, or if they were born enemies, since the pair tended to avoid being in each other's company most of the time.

“Go change into something dry before ye catch a cold,” Ian ordered as he strode past her. When she didn’t immediately follow, he looked over his shoulder. “Ye better move or yer aunt will be dragging you back by yer ear.”

At the threat of her aunt finding her, Olivia ran past Ian and caught the lopsided grin plastered on his smug face. Ugh. Torn between gratitude for his help and irritation at being reminded he was once again right, she burst through the servants’ entrance to the kitchens only to run headlong into her mama with a very unladylike, “Umph.”

Her mama steadied her by the shoulders. “Olivia. Marion. Walton.”