Page 47 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

“I think you are mistaken. He is grateful to me. He even convinced himself that I’m some sort of angel.” She shook her head. “Trust me, I’m not what he has built me up to be, and I certainly didn’t save him all those years ago simply for him to go and give his title to another.”

Anne grabbed her by the shoulders and gave Olivia a good shake. “What is the matter with the both of you? The issue here has nothing to do with titles or what occurred in the past. What counts is that you are in love with Warren and he is in love with you/ If you would simply admit it, I can be of help.”

Once she uttered the words, Olivia knew she would never be able to take them back. If she were to confess, shouldn’t Warren be the first to hear it from her? Lips pinched tightly, Olivia stared at her friend, whose ire was visibly mounting as her cheeks became flushed.

“Liv, even if you don’t say the words, your eyes tell me the truth.”

When Olivia searched her friend’s gaze, she saw Anne’s concern wasn’t for Warren, it was for her.

“Do you want my help or are you willing to sit by and let Warren ruin his life?” Anne’s features transformed from stormy to sunny, as she sat back and clapped her hands together. “Ah, I see you have decided.”

Were her thoughts so transparent that both Charlotte and Anne had no issues identifying her intentions before they were even straight in her own mind? Yet there was no denying the fact that she would choose to save Warren no matter the consequences, just as she had a decade ago. For some inexplicable reason, she was bound to him no matter how hard she tried to deny the importance he held in her life.

Olivia reached out for Anne’s hands. “I have an idea.”

“Should we fetch Charlotte?” Anne asked with a broad and knowing smile.

After a quick nod, Olivia scampered off the bed. Anne was waiting by the door before Olivia even had her arms through her robe. How Anne managed to move about both effortlessly and soundlessly, in boots no less, amazed Olivia.

They left Olivia’s rooms and were halfway down the hall when a panel within the walls opened, and Charlotte peeked her head out. “Looking for me?”

Olivia was more than familiar with traipsing through the servants’ halls, but the secret passageway Charlotte led them through was an entirely new experience and confirmed the earl and the countess were no ordinary members of the ton. When Charlotte released a latch hidden behind a candle holder, the entrance to a den appeared and none other than Lady Osbourne was seated at a table with her fingers drumming over the surface.

The matron waved them over to join her and said, “It’s never wise to keep an old woman waiting.”

Flanked by Charlotte and Anne, Olivia made her way to the table. “My apologies for my tardiness.” She pulled out the chair opposite Lady Osbourne and waited for her friends to be seated. “I’ve decided to become the next Lady Guernsey, but first I want to make sure Warren truly loves me and only me.”

“This sounds like a perfect scheme to be conducted tomorrow eve at the masquerade ball,” Lady Osbourne declared.

Olivia took in the eager gazes of the three women at the table, and she knew she would never be alone again.

Chapter Seventeen

Clink. Clink. “Welcome, my friends, to our twenty-eighth annual masquerade ball.” Lady Osbourne’s voice traveled through the hushed ballroom. For a matron who was responsible for twice as many matches amongst the unmarriageable than her years, she did not appear to be ready to retire from the challenge her patrons posed. “I trust you shall enjoy the evening’s entertainment. A reminder that all wagers placed must be fulfilled by the night's end.”

Warren’s gaze was locked on Lady Osbourne as she clapped her hands twice, followed by a regal wave to signal for the music to begin. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled that his own mama had thought to employ the matchmaking services of the den owner. Who knows what lady the matchmaker might have chosen for him? The ballroom was supposedly filled with ladies who were declared unmarriageable for some bizarre reason or other and gentlemen with questionable intent.

He searched the crowd once more for his mama and Anne, who had been uncharacteristically running behind in getting ready. Practically thrown out the door to leave on time, Warren entered the Velvet Hell, intending to be one of the first to ensure he didn’t miss Olivia’s arrival. However, the ballroom was overflowing with guests, and there was no sign of Lord Camden, or his meddling wife, or the lady he intended to propose to. Warren patted his coat pocket; the indentation of the diamond against his palm boosted his confidence that was waning by the minute.

An elbow hit him squarely in the back of his ribs, and he turned only to find himself face-to-face with a man who resembled Ian. Damnation, why had he returned?

The masked man greeted, “Lord Guernsey.”

Certain it was the footman, he returned the greeting, “Ian.”

“Have you seen Olivia?”

A tornado of emotions swirled about within at the softening of the man’s tone as he uttered his intended’s given name. Fists balled at his side, he answered, “No.”

“That’s probably best.” As if predicting Warren’s wish to plant his fist into Ian’s face, Ian took a step back and bent ever so slightly at the waist. “A good eve to you, my lord.”

Somewhat mollified at the sight of the footman being engulfed in a swarm of young ladies who were all eager to gain the favor of the man, probably all in an effort to win one of Lady Osbourne’s notoriously ridiculous wagers, Warren relaxed his hands and grasped them behind his back. Gaze averted, he weaved and dodged his way through the throng of ladies adorned in glittering masks and gowns, and men in black suits masked by a required domino.

Escaping the clutches of tenacious ladies became increasingly challenging as he continued his search for Olivia. He needed a vantage point to search the room effectively. His gaze rose to the mezzanine level where a quartet was fine-tuning their string instruments.

Warren made his way to the edge of the room and skirted the perimeter toward the staircase, but as he was about to mount the first step, he was halted by the image in the looking glass that hung on the wall to his left of a woman dressed in a dark blue gown and a white domino.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn about and hunt down the lady, but it couldn’t be Olivia, as Anne had informed him earlier that Olivia’s satin gown was an emerald green. He placed a hand over his heart that raced as if he’d run a mile. With one foot on the top stair raiser, he looked back over his shoulder.