“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.