Page 18 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

He refrained from looking to see what held her attention. Instead, he waited for Olivia to join him. With each step closing the distance between them, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. The slight pinkish tint to her cheeks hastened his pulse, which was tempered by her hesitant steps.

An arm’s length away, Olivia finally shifted her gaze to focus upon him. “Lord Guernsey.”

He offered her his arm as he turned to face the terrace doors. “Shall we?”

Lady Charlotte, who was hovering close by, said, “I beg of you to remain in sight, Lord Guernsey.”

Warren ignored the countess and led Olivia out into the gardens. He sensed the tension mounting in her as they made their way across the room. Did the thought of being alone with him evoke fear within her? An unfamiliar tug at his heart led him to study Olivia more closely, hoping to understand his peculiar need to see her smile. His gaze followed hers as she glanced at the footman posted at the door.

A jolt of familiarity hit him, and Warren’s gaze remained on the man’s features. Unable to place where he had seen the footman before, he deduced it must have been during the ball the previous night. Yet as he walked past the man, he was left with the strong impression that he and the footman had crossed paths many a time. But when? Where?

Olivia tugged on his sleeve. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“My apologies, Miss Olivia.” Banishing the footman from his mind, he smiled at his companion. “Shall we enjoy the gardens?”

“Let’s.” She left his side with a bounce in her step as if the fresh air had infused her with new life.

He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, and as he suspected, the footman who had caught his attention was watching them with an intensity that had Warren on edge. “Do you often visit the duke and duchess while you are in London?”

“No,” she answered as she stopped to admire the blooms. “Why do you ask?”

“The footman, the one by the door…”

“Are you referring to Ian?”

“Ian, is it? How is it that you are on a first-name basis with the staff here?” An irrational lump of jealousy lodged in his chest.

“Do you not remember him?” Olivia straightened and then turned to face him. “Or me?”

He blinked at her twice. “I recognized my signet ring that it appears you no longer wear. But you wore it once, at the Velvet Hell.”

“I surmised that you don’t have any recollection of me or Ian, which is why I’ve chosen to return this to you.” She reached into her skirts and withdrew his signet ring along with the chain that had kept it safely in place about her neck all these years.

He did not want to take it back, but he held out his palm, regardless. The weight of the ring was far greater than he’d anticipated. “I may not recall events as clearly as you, Miss Olivia, but I’ve been searching for you, and now that I’ve found you⁠—”

“I’m no Lady,” Olivia stated plainly and squared her shoulders. “I’m simply Olivia.”

“Very well, I have no objection to calling you by your given name if you agree to do the same.”

“That would be entirely inappropriate.” She lowered her gaze.

He reached out and tipped her chin up so that their gazes met. “Then I formally give you leave to call me Warren, or Guernsey at the very least.”

“Lord Guernsey, allow me to explain.” Olivia took a step backward and began to pace in front of him. “You see, while I was the one who fished you….”

Her worried brow was simultaneously adorable and troublesome. Warren found it hard to focus on her monologue.

She twirled about once more and poked him in the chest. “Are you listening?”

“Of course. Most certainly.” He shrugged. “You saved me. I suffered a fever. You left.”

“Good.” She nodded, and his heart felt like it was about to burst at her praise. With her hands crossed over her chest, she began rocking back and forth from heel to toe. “Then you understand why I should like to return to my position as maid to Lady Charlotte and cease pretending to be a lady.”

“Maid?” he repeated, bamboozled by her words. Seeking clarification, he asked, “You’re Lady Charlotte’s maid?”

“Ugh. Why do men only hear what they want to?” She narrowed her gaze and confirmed, “Yes, I am Lady Charlotte’s maid. And when you regain your memories, you will be grateful to me for setting matters straight.”

“If I did something to offend you when I was young, I apologize.” He couldn’t imagine why he would have been at odds with the female to whom he was inexplicitly drawn, especially as a lad, regardless of her station.