Improper

by Darcy Burke

  At the top of the stairs, they arrived at a landing. Across from them was a closed door.

  Another voice, this one quite deep, prompted Fiona’s heart to pound. Thinking they should have left after encountering the housekeeper or that they should not have come at all, she darted to the right.

  In front of her was a door to the outside—presumably to a terrace since they were on the first floor. Before she could contemplate her next move, a door to her right opened and out stepped a gentleman.

  Not just any gentleman. Her guardian.

  Eyes wide, she stared at him, speechless.

  His eyes reflected her keen shock. “Ah, I have a task for you,” he said, grabbing her arm and steering her away from the door into a room that stretched along the back of the building.

  Fiona turned her head to determine what had become of Cassandra but didn’t see her. She did, however, observe a group of men—and a few women—departing the room Overton had just left.

  “Turn around,” he whispered with dark urgency. “And don’t look back. If anyone recognizes you—”

  She heard his teeth clack as he snapped his mouth closed. He dug his fingers into her arm, then dragged her out to the terrace and closed the door.

  Bright sunlight washed over them as she tried to wrench her arm away from him.

  “I’m not letting you go,” he growled. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” He paused long enough to rake his gaze over her. “Is that one of the maids’ costumes? How on earth did you get that?”

  “I—”

  “There’s no phoenix on your apron, so it’s not a costume, which means you are merely trying to look like a maid.”

  Fiona glanced down at her clothing and brushed her hand over the top of the apron. “There’s supposed to be a phoenix?”

  Overton dragged her across the terrace and pulled her down the stairs to the garden. As soon as they reached the bottom, he paused. He sent a guarded look toward the back of the building.

  Turning back to face her, he released her arm and instead took her hand. “Stay close to me and hurry. We have one chance to get you out of here.”

  There was no time for her to respond, even if she’d been able to think of a thing to say. She did as he said and hastened to keep up with him as he pulled her across the garden, veering away from the building, but not too far.

  Suddenly one of the doors opened. Glancing to her right, Fiona saw that it was the ballroom and there were people inside, unlike earlier when she and Cassandra had discovered it. Many people—at least a dozen. But surely no one would recognize her.

  “Overton?” a feminine voice asked from the open doorway.

  Fiona didn’t know the woman.

  “Is that—”

  “Just a maid!” Overton said with a laugh.

  “Whose hand you’re holding.” The woman squinted at them.

  “Er, yes.” He tugged Fiona toward the wall separating the two gardens, then cut to the left, practically running with her to the back corner. There, behind a rather tall shrubbery, he pushed open a door in the wall and pulled her through to the other side.

  Reaching past her, he closed the door. She felt cold wood against her back.

  “What in the devil are you doing here?” He clasped his forehead and stared down at her.

  She expected his eyes to be frigid, as they’d been before when he was annoyed. However, he was perhaps not quite annoyed but something else instead. His eyes were liquid silver, hot and wild as he pinned her to the door.

  “I’m—”

  “Don’t. It doesn’t matter why you’re here. You shouldn’t be.” His gaze dipped over her once more. “And you’re dressed like this. And your hair is coming loose.” He reached up and grasped a lock of her hair. “And they saw me with you.”

  “Did they recognize me?”

  “I hope not. Thank God you’re wearing this infernal costume.” He was still clasping her hair, and his gaze was still boring into hers as it had the other day. No, not like that. This was something more. This was that connection Cassandra had talked about.

  “I’m not at all sure how to get you out of here.” He glanced toward the house, letting her curl slip from his fingers. “Shit. They’re opening those ballroom doors too.”

  “I’ll find my way,” Fiona said, determined not to cause him any more trouble. “I’m so sorry. This was ill-advised.”

  His gaze met hers once more with the same fire and intensity of a moment ago. “You’re damned right it was. We’ll discuss it later. How the hell are you going to get home? You should wait for me, and I’ll take you.”

  “Should I just find a place to hide in the garden then?”

  He swore again, more violently than before. “Don’t get caught.”

  “I won’t.” She stood on her toes. “I really am sorry.” To punctuate her statement, she pressed her lips to his without thinking about the consequences of such an act.

  The moment their mouths met, he pulled back, surprise flashing across his features. It was a brief pause, for in the next instant, he curled his arm around her waist and tugged her to his chest as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  The sensation of his lips on hers was a wondrous delight. At first, the touch was fleeting, but then he cupped her face with his other hand. She felt as if she might melt against him.

  A low groan vibrated from his throat as he angled his head and brushed his mouth against hers. His lips parted, prompting her to do the same. She clutched at his arm and waist, desperate for more of…everything.

  “Well, this is most improper.”

  Chapter 11

  The woman’s voice pierced the enraptured haze surrounding Fiona as she stood in Overton’s embrace. Lifting his lips from hers in the most terrible interruption ever, Overton turned Fiona about so her back was to the woman who’d spoken.

  “Ah, Lady Hargrove,” he said a bit stiltedly. “I was just consoling this maid.”

  Despite the awfulness of the situation, Fiona nearly laughed. She quickly sobered, however, as she felt him stiffen behind her. His body was rock-hard with tension.

  Panic began to build inside Fiona. Was she ruined?

  “You sought to console her by kissing her?” Lady Hargrove demanded.

  Fiona wanted to correct the woman—it was she who’d kissed him. And why on earth had she done that? He would certainly send her back to Shropshire now.

  “She’s a maid here, Lord Overton,” Lady Hargrove said with considerable disdain. Though Fiona couldn’t see her, she imagined a middle-aged woman with an austere, judgmental expression.

  “Allow me,” another woman said, her voice less outraged than Lady Hargrove’s. Actually, she didn’t sound angry at all, only concerned. “I’ll just take her inside.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Renshaw. I’m sure she could do with some tea. Or something.” He guided Fiona toward a young woman, perhaps in her middle or late twenties, with glossy brown hair and a kind expression. There was an intangible grace about her, an air of confidence and capability that was instantly soothing.

  Fiona had the sense Mrs. Renshaw took care of things and people, but then she did oversee the ladies’ side of the club, so perhaps that was her nature. Careful to keep her head down, Fiona went eagerly to the woman’s care. Mrs. Renshaw guided her toward the house, keeping them away from the small group of people who’d gathered outside. Fiona could only see them from the corner of her eye. She didn’t dare turn her head.

  When they reached the door to the house—that led into the ivory and gold sitting room in the corner—Fiona gave in to temptation. She turned her head and spied Overton walking back toward the ballroom. His body was still rigid, his head high, and his features inscrutable.

  This was such a disaster.

  As Mrs. Renshaw ushered her into the sitting room, Fiona thought of Cassandra. Where was she? Hopefully, she was hidden.

  “I’m Mrs. Renshaw, and I oversee the Ladies’ Phoenix Club. We’ll take the backstairs up
to my office.”

  Fiona hesitated, wondering if she should tell her about Cassandra. But Mrs. Renshaw was already moving into the narrow servants’ cupboard that also contained the stairs down to the lower floor—the origination of this excursion that was not turning out to be the adventure Fiona had planned.

  However, it was, whether expected or not, an adventure.

  They went up instead of down, and Mrs. Renshaw led her into yet another gorgeously decorated room that was directly above the sitting room they’d just left. Bookshelves lined half of one wall, and tall windows looked out to the garden and Duke Street below. Between the two windows overlooking the garden stood a beautiful desk with turned legs and drawer pulls shaped like flowers. A small landscape painting that looked rather old hung above it. Fiona was drawn to the vivid greens and blues of the rolling countryside and cloud-free sky.

  “That’s a lovely painting,” she remarked, perhaps hoping to avoid whatever must come next but, of course, realizing she could not.

  “It was my mother’s,” Mrs. Renshaw said softly. She gestured to the gathering of furniture in the center of the room—a small settee and three chairs. “Would you care to sit? I would address you by name, but I don’t know it. You are not a maid here.” There was no hint of accusation, just a simple statement of fact.

  Even so, Fiona tried to copy Cassandra’s confidence from earlier. “Lord Lucien hired me recently?” Despite her attempt at assurance, the statement came out sounding more like a question.

  Mrs. Renshaw smiled but didn’t show her teeth. She was a very attractive woman. In addition to the comforting quality about her, there was a sophistication that made her seem older than she probably was. Fiona didn’t think she could ever attain such an attribute.

  “I would know if he had.” Mrs. Renshaw still didn’t seem even slightly bothered by what had happened or that Fiona was trying to lie. “You are not a maid here,” she repeated, “so who are you then?” She sat on the settee, her back straight, and fixed Fiona with an expectant stare.

  Fiona realized the time for prevarication had passed. She perched on the middle chair that was directly opposite Mrs. Renshaw. “I am Miss Fiona Wingate, ward to Lord Overton.”

  Mrs. Renshaw’s dark brows arched briefly before settling back into their gentle curves. “I see.” To her credit, she didn’t say a thing about them kissing.

  Oh God, they’d been kissing.

  “And why are you here dressed like a maid?” Mrs. Renshaw prompted.

  “I, ah, wanted to see the inside of the club. It was a terribly foolish endeavor. I’m rather new to town.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard you mentioned. You hail from Shropshire?”

  “A very small village there. I have no experience with…” Fiona looked about before continuing. “Any of this.”

  “So you thought dressing like a Phoenix Club maid and stealing inside to have a look around would somehow help with your experience?”

  “Er, I suppose.” Fiona again wondered about Cassandra. They’d clearly gone separate ways when they’d heard the voices on the men’s side. While Fiona had walked straight into her guardian, Cassandra had gone…where? “I wanted to see the inside of the club. It was a lark. And a foolish one at that. What is going to happen now?” Fiona plucked at the edge of her apron.

  “Now that I know who you are, I’ll make sure you’re delivered to Lord Overton’s house.”

  “Should I wait for him?” She didn’t really want to face him at the moment, but she would have to eventually. Unless he directed her return to Shropshire without even seeing or speaking to her. Fiona could imagine him doing that and indeed wondered if that’s what she deserved. After impersonating a maid and, even worse, kissing him.

  “No, you needn’t wait. I imagine you’ll discuss this…matter at home.” She exhaled, and her brow creased.

  “Am I ruined?” Fiona hated that she was so naïve about these things. The earl had talked about ruination, but what did that mean exactly?

  “I don’t think so. It doesn’t appear anyone got a good look at you or knows who you are, and your secret is completely safe with me. I would never want to contribute to another woman’s downfall.” She smiled kindly at Fiona. “The scandal of what happened in the garden will rest solely on Lord Overton.”

  Horror spread through Fiona. She clutched the arms of the chair in a knuckle-whitening grip. “It was a scandal?”

  “He was seen kissing a maid. Yes, that’s a scandal. My goodness, you are new to town, aren’t you? Gentlemen shouldn’t be kissing maids out in the open.” Her eyes narrowed. “They shouldn’t be kissing them at all, really, but that’s a topic for another day. Overton’s reputation will suffer for it, which is too bad since he’s been working so hard to repair it.”

  “What’s wrong with his reputation?”

  Mrs. Renshaw blinked. “Perhaps I should leave that between you.”

  Fiona sat forward in the chair, which meant she almost slid to the floor. She grasped the arms even more tightly. “He won’t tell me.” She wasn’t entirely certain of that, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. She did, however, need to know what the woman meant. “He’s an earl. What could be wrong with his reputation?”

  “Overton is a rake. Rather, was a rake. He’s been trying to rehabilitate himself, and he’d been doing so well.” She frowned briefly. “He gave up his mistress, and he’s spent several evenings at White’s in the company of Lucien’s brother.” Mrs. Renshaw squared her shoulders and gave her head a shake. “He’s been attempting to demonstrate his worthiness, that he’s left his roguish behavior in the past now that he’s the earl.”

  And she’d ruined it. Fiona pressed her hand to her mouth. She’d utterly devastated his hard work. A chill raced over her as she lowered her hand to her lap. “How will this affect him?”

  “I would say it would not since so few people witnessed what happened, however Lady Hargrove can’t resist a piece of gossip if she thinks it’s helpful to others. And in this case, she will undoubtedly think so because Overton is hunting for a wife. She’ll see it as her duty to ensure his prospective brides know that he is still carrying on with other women.”

  Fiona wanted to cup her face in her hands, but she made herself sit straight and still. “I feel terrible. What can I do?”

  “Nothing, nor would he want you to. If you were recognized, you would be ruined. And while the earl can survive this—socially—you would not. It would also reflect rather poorly on him since he is your guardian. Many would think he took advantage.” Mrs. Renshaw’s nostrils flared. “Did he?”

  “Not at all,” Fiona said quickly. “I kissed him.” Then he’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him back.

  “I see. Well, if there is something between you, I encourage you to determine what that is with the utmost haste.” Mrs. Renshaw scooted forward and reached across the space to graze her fingers against the back of Fiona’s hand. “Don’t fret. I can see you blame yourself for what happened, but Lord Overton is a grown man. While you did err in coming here, what happened was just an unfortunate turn of events.”

  Mrs. Renshaw stood. “Now, let’s get you home. I’ll hail a hack to deliver you.”

  Fiona couldn’t leave Cassandra behind. She tipped her head back and summoned the courage to speak. “I, ah, wasn’t alone.”

  Mrs. Renshaw’s jaw dipped in surprise. “Indeed? Who is this other person?”

  “My friend.” Fiona didn’t want to reveal her identity, but when they found her, there would be no helping it. She’d leave that for when she was found. If she was found. Perhaps Cassandra had been able to escape. Would Fiona have done that? No, she couldn’t have left her friend behind, just as she wouldn’t now. “We were separated over on the gentlemen’s side. On the first floor.”

  “I’ll take care of it. You relax here for now.” With a parting smile, she left, closing the door behind her.

  Fiona practically leapt from the chair to the window. The garden below was empty.
Where was Overton now? And what could he possibly be thinking of her behavior?

  Wringing her hands, she paced across the room and back again. Why had she kissed him? She’d never kissed anyone besides her mother. This was a wholly different kind of kiss, of course. It was the kind of kiss she’d seen depicted in a certain book hidden in the bottom corner of her father’s library. Before her cousin had taken it along with the rest of the books.

  Perhaps her lingering curiosity about the things she’d seen in that book had prompted her to kiss him. Or the fact that the magnetism Cassandra had talked about had swept through Fiona, driving her to the earl. He’d been angry, and she’d felt awful. So she’d apologized. Then she’d wanted to do something to make amends.

  Such as kiss him?

  Coming to a halt, Fiona squeezed her eyes closed and put her hand over them. She forced herself to breathe, to calm the racing of her pulse. Everything was going to be fine. The worst that could happen was that she’d end up right where she started in Bitterley.

  Her insides churned. That would be truly terrible. She didn’t want to go back. The only person she would have missed, Mrs. Tucket, was here with her. And here she had Prudence, Cassandra, Lady Pickering…and Lord Overton.

  Dropping her hand to her side, she went back to the window and looked down at the garden once more. More specifically, she focused on the back corner where the door was partially disguised by a vine. She felt the cool wood of the door on her back and the warmth of the earl pressed to her front. Heat spread through her as she recalled the way he’d clutched her waist and pulled her against him, the feel of his bare hand cupping her face, the brush of his lips against hers.

  The entire encounter had been over far too soon, and she’d no expectation it would happen again. Nor should it. He was her guardian. He was also, apparently, a rake who’d recently given up his mistress and was trying to improve his reputation.

  An overwhelming sense of frustration and failure washed over her. She hadn’t meant to cause him so much trouble. She hadn’t thought of him at all, and for that she was horribly sorry.