Page 26 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

“If your skilled gardeners had left it alone, would you not consider it appealing?”

He turned to carefully examine the hedges. “Are you suggesting that in its natural form it would hold more appeal?”

Olivia sighed. “I had forgotten your tendency to answer my questions with one of your own.”

“Did you find me tiresome? Is that why you have avoided me all these years?” The questions continued to roll off his tongue before he could catch himself. Ugh. He sounded as if he was deaf to her complaint.

Confirming his thoughts, Olivia continued down the path without a word. Her fingers interlaced behind her back. What would it take for her to take his hand in hers? Lengthening his stride, he caught up to her. After a few more measured steps, he answered, “Regardless of whether its appearance is transformed or not, it’s still a living, breathing, ever-changing organism.”

“So, you don’t place much weight on appearances?”

“Of course not.”

His gaze drawn to her, he nearly tripped as they rounded the corner. Olivia’s arm was extended as if she would brace his fall. The corner of his lips curved into a smirk that felt vaguely familiar from his childhood, far from the stiff, forced smiles that formed in the company of ladies of the ton. A warmth blanketed his heart and solidified his decision. There was no other woman for him, only Olivia.

Olivia stopped at the center fountain, removed her glove, and dipped her fingertips into what he guessed had to be frigid water. She whirled it about and flicked the droplets at him. “Do you remember anything at all about me?”

His heart crumpled inside his chest as he answered, “Unfortunately, no.” He reached out to cup her cheek and was pleasantly surprised when she did not back away from him. “Is that relief I see in your eyes?”

Brows knitted and lips pursed, she glared up at him.

“Hmm, now you appear vexed. Did I guess wrong?” He knew he hadn’t, but he wanted her smile to return. His thumb stroked her smooth yet now flushed skin. “Tell me. Were we boon companions, ones who would playfully splash one another without hesitation?”

“No. We were definitely not close.” Olivia shook her head, dislodging his touch. She turned her back to him. “In fact, you were rather distant, and rightfully so. You were the heir, and I was the daughter of a kitchen maid. We never really spoke to one another until that day.”

“What exactly happened that day?” He held his breath. After ten long years, he might finally be able to discover the truth of the events that led to his memory loss.

“I’m sure your mama knows and told you what occurred.” She paused, brows raised nearly up to her hairline. When he shrugged, she shook her head once more. “You fell ill. You came down with a fever.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And we left.”

“And who exactly are you referring to when you say we?”

“My mama, Ian, his papa, and me.”

“Ian? The footman.” A blaze of jealousy hit him. Was she in love with the damned footman? He couldn’t bring himself to say the man’s name again even in his own mind.

“Well, Ian wasn’t a footman back then.” Olivia’s gaze had dropped to the ground.

Despite her obvious discomfort, he wanted… no, he needed to know the truth. “I wouldn’t have gifted you my signet ring for naught. There must be more you are not telling me.” After silently counting to ten, he released a sigh. “If there is no more for you to share, then I see no reason not to agree to let the past be the past and forget the events that transpired. I shall look forward to spending every moment courting you over the next nine days and then forever after we are married.”

Her hands shot to hips, and her gaze pinned him to the spot. “The fever must have made you daft.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. A second later, she had turned him to face the fountain once more and tugged him lower until he was bent at the waist. This time, she scooped up a handful of water and splashed it in his face.

“Bloody hell, Olivia!” he sputtered as he shook his head.

“Remember now?” she asked, releasing his arm.

He blinked to see her face mottled with splotches of pink. The woman was mad, hopping mad, at him. “I fail to see how splashing me with icy water will help me recall memories I’ve not been able to recall for…” A shiver ran down his spine as deep cold settled in his chest and an image of him heaving for air flashed before him. He grabbed Olivia by the shoulders. “The pond.”

He held her gaze that was filled with fear, but why? Warren closed his eyes, hoping to recall more, but all he saw was blackness.

When Olivia’s shoulders sagged, he opened his eyes to be met with sad brown eyes. “I can’t remember, but if I’m interpreting your features correctly, I must have been in danger, and the only reasonable explanation for why you wore my most prized possession for a decade was because you saved me.”

“I saved you so you could live.” She tried to back away from him. “To live and become the Viscount of Guernsey. Not to waste your life searching for me.” Olivia took a determined step back, dislodging his hold on her. “And definitely not to be looked down upon by your peers for marrying a bloody maid!”

Why was she so hopping mad? Warren stepped forward, as if she might disappear if she wasn’t within reach. “I seriously doubt I gave a fig about what others thought of me before I came down with a fever, and I still don’t.”