Page 12 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

Lord Camden chuckled. “If my wife says you are to ride with us, then you must.” He took her by the hand and assisted her up the steps. “If you haven’t determined who is in charge yet, you soon will.”

Left with no choice, Olivia ducked her head and entered the carriage. Not wishing to dirty the seats, she stood, crouched in the middle.

“Miss O, please be seated.”

She looked to her left then her right. Lord Camden claimed the seat next to his wife, leaving her no choice but to sit on the edge of the rear-facing seat. When the carriage remained stationary, she glanced up at Lord Camden, who said, “I’ll not risk having one of my staff injured. Please sit back, so we may set off.”

How on earth had Ian found such caring employers? She’d have to find a way to thank him properly for finding her a place in such a household. Except, Olivia wasn’t certain she would ever be able to show her appreciation for it in the manner she suspected Ian hoped.

Warren turned to his mama, “I don’t recall receiving an invitation from the Duke of Avondale.”

“Mayhap you overlooked it.” She shrugged and took Anne’s arm, leading her toward the modiste.

He glanced over in Lord Camden’s direction. Lord Camden and the Duke of Avondale had been close friends long before the earl married the Duke of Avondale’s younger sister. His sister-in-law, the Duchess of Avondale, was renowned for hosting smaller, more intimate gatherings. Invitations were rare and while Warren knew of the members of Avondale’s set, he was not particularly close to any of the gentlemen who were frequently abroad and often absent from the House of Lords. A homebody, he had no reason or cause to associate with Avondale or his cronies in Town, preferring the solitude of his country estate whenever possible.

At the sight of the woman placing her hand in Lord Camden’s, Warren’s own hands instantly balled into fists at his side. Why does her name set off bells in my head? What is this unprecedented need to whisk the woman, Olivia, away?

“Warren, dear,” his mama called out and waved for him to rejoin her and Anne, who was staring in the same direction as he. Does Anne recognize her? Striding forward, he arched an eyebrow in Anne’s direction, intending to ask her. However, Anne turned and engaged his mama in conversation that she made clear was not meant for his ears. Unlike Anne, he was patient, and he would extract the answers from her, sooner or later.

Leaned up against a lamp post in front of the modiste shop filled with women, Warren waited for the two women to complete their orders. His mind replayed the encounter with Miss Olivia over and over. He hadn't imagined the brief spark of recognition in his mama’s gaze or her overly enthusiastic greeting. Warren couldn’t recall having ever met the woman, yet there was a sense of familiarity about her.

Miss Olivia.

He retrieved the coin that was worn smooth from his pocket and absently rolled it over and between his fingers. Miss Olivia was of a similar build and height to the chit who had assisted his mama at the Velvet Hell, but the lady today was more… subservient rather than bold and daring.

Miss Olivia. Olivia.

The name, combined with the woman’s sweet, lopsided smile, had him wishing she was wearing the silver necklace adorned with his signet ring. Egad. Anne’s endless monologues on fate and destiny had his imagination in a whirl.

He’d given his word to the angel who had saved him. His mama had her mind set on someone else becoming the next Viscountess of Guernsey. Was marrying for love rather than convention even possible? He flipped the coin in the air, caught it, and placed it on the back of his hand. Bah. He didn’t believe in fate. Without peeking to see whether the coin had landed heads or tails up, Warren tucked the coin safely back into his pocket.

He had to ground himself, as his mama suddenly appeared at his side and asked, “How did you return so quickly?”

“Return? From where?” he asked.

She linked her arm through his and set off in the direction from which they had come. “From escorting Anne home, of course.”

“I haven’t seen Anne since the two of you entered the modiste.”

“Oh, dear.” The calm facade plastered upon her features contradicted her concerned words. Anne was up to mischief, and he suspected his mama was aiding the chit. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Mama, I’m no longer a boy, and I’m certainly far too old to be playing games like hide and seek. Where did Anne go?”

“How would I know?” Her feigned look of innocence had the corner of his lips curling into a smile.

“You are her chaperone for the Season, are you not?”

“There’s naught to be concerned about. Anne is no innocent straight out of the school room. She knows her way about Town and how to avoid prying eyes. She promised not to be gone for too long. She simply wished to run an errand on her own.”

“The words ‘simply’ and ‘Anne’ are not congruent. I’ll escort you back to the coach, and then I’ll track the minx down.” They made their way down a side street to where the Guernsey coach awaited them. As he handed his mama over to the waiting footman, he bent at the waist and asked, “Won’t you at least give me a clue as to which direction Anne might have ventured off to?”

“You know her better than I do. I suggest you do not dally any more than necessary. Even though she is on foot, she has a significant start on you.”

Women!

Warren turned about and retraced his steps back to the modiste. He’d been posted facing the south, which meant Anne had ventured north. He stopped mid-stride and turned back around.

I would have seen Anne leave the modiste earlier… wouldn’t I? Blast. It was quite possible that Anne had slipped past him without notice. After all, his thoughts had been on the fascinating Miss Olivia. Bloody Hell. The last thing Warren needed was another lady to drive him to distraction. Hands fisted behind his back, Warren marched forward, determined to track Anne down post haste.