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.