Page 2 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

Unlike her aunt, Olivia’s mother never harped on following rules, but when she adopted her no-nonsense tone, Olivia knew she’d pushed her mama to her limits. Head bowed, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Steady once again on her feet, Olivia’s mother released her but put a finger under her chin to lift her face so that she met her gaze. “You had me worried.”

A warm blanket fell about her shoulders, and Ian stood behind her. “Mrs. Walton, it's nearly time for supper. I’ll take Olivia back to her room.”

Ian and his blasted charm made her mama’s frown disappear, replaced with a broad smile. “My thanks to you, Ian.”

Once again, Olivia let the silence hang between them as they weaved their way through the tight passages used only by the Guernsey Manor staff. How many times would she be in debt to him? Lost in her worries, she stiffened briefly when Ian hauled her back against his chest.

“Ian!” She whirled out of his arms as quickly as possible. Ian was the last person she wanted to harm with her touch. Hands tucked safely behind her back, Olivia gazed up at Ian, shock and concern competing within her. She looked him over from head to toe, praying that he wasn’t feeling any ill effects from the brief embrace. “What are you…?”

“He’s saving you. From me.”

Olivia froze as she recognized Warren’s voice behind her. How had he managed to return to the manor with such haste?

“I believe your father has requested that you return to the stables,” Warren told Ian.

Her body turned of its own accord to face the boy she couldn’t dispel from her mind. Simultaneously, she took another step away from Ian, which placed her dangerously close—almost within arm’s length—of Warren, whose gaze was also firmly affixed on Ian.

The shuffle of feet behind her had her peering over her shoulder.

Brows knitted and hands clenched at his side, Ian gave Warren a nod of acknowledgment and then swiveled and stomped away.

As soon as Ian was out of sight, Olivia slowly turned back to face the young lord, prepared to receive the lecture or whatever punishment the cold and indifferent young lord had devised, except she found Warren had slumped to the floor. She fell to her knees and leaned in close. Egad. She need not touch him to see what was wrong for the heat of a fever radiating from his body was like that of a scorching blaze in the kitchens.

She couldn’t leave him in the service halls. Left with no choice, she draped the boy's arms over her shoulders and hauled him as best as she could onto her back. Half dragging, half carrying Warren through the servant corridors, Olivia managed to safely haul him into his chambers.

Positioning him to lean against the nearest wall, she rose to go get help, but Warren caught her by the wrist. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“I must go get help.”

His fingers tightened about her arm, and he pleaded, “Stay with me.”

He was clearly not right in the head, yet his grip was firm. His grip! It was no wonder his thoughts were jumbled; it must be due to him holding her. She tried to pull away, but he held on.

“I owe you. I am indebted to you, for life, and I shall honor my promises.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

Tentative but firmly, he pressed his signet ring into her palm and declared, “I shall forever be your shadow.” His head rolled forward seconds before his body slid down to the cold wood floor.

She should have run to go get help, but her gaze remained on the helpless, unconscious boy before her. What had he meant? From her observations of Warren, he wasn’t the type to spout romantic notions. He was a proud, heartless soul who went about his business without emotion.

Yet she couldn’t shake the notion that the young lord had made a pledge to her, of all people, a promise that he would surely regret once he regained his wits. Careful not to make a sound, Olivia crept out of Warren’s chambers and, rather than heading in the direction of the kitchens, she ran to the stables to seek out Ian.

Chapter One

1815 — Guernsey Manor

A vision of long blond hair curling along creamy pink cheeks and big brown eyes had Warren reaching out, and yet again, his fingers were met with nothing but the jarring emptiness of the cold night air as he arose from sleep. For a decade, he had dreamed of the angel who had saved him. And despite his efforts, he’d gained no further insight into the truth about his near fatal incident, only the perpetuation of lies that had been reiterated by the staff at his father’s command, even after the old bastard had passed. It was as if after all these years, the lies had morphed into the truth. While the fever had erased his memory of the events leading up to his illness, it hadn’t banished the partial vision of a girl who had consumed his thoughts and burrowed deeper and deeper into his heart over the years.

His forearm fell to cover his eyes. He had failed to discover any clues that might assist him in identifying or locating the girl to whom he was indebted. Warren pushed himself up to lean back against the headboard at the patter of slippers out in the hall. His mama, just as unrelenting and stubborn as he, was about to enter and declare he pay a call upon yet another spoiled debutante or vexed spinster. He braced himself at the perfunctory rap as the door swung open.

With her hands firmly planted on her hips, the woman who gave him life inquired, “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do you plan to waste the entire day abed, or merely until calling hours have come and gone?”

“I haven’t decided.”

His ambiguous answer garnered him a stern glare and an arched brow. His mama’s sole purpose for the past year had been to see him wed. “Well, mayhap the arrival of Lady Anne will prompt you to emerge from your chambers.”