“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.

A few minutes later, the door opened. Fiona turned from the window as Cassandra rushed inside. They met in the center of the room and hugged.

“I was so worried about what happened to you.” Cassandra gave her a fierce squeeze before they parted.

“As I was about you.” Fiona darted a glanced at Mrs. Renshaw, who stood near the open doorway. “Were you found?”

“Not until Mrs. Renshaw came.” She sent her a grateful smile. “I was huddled in the servants’ cupboard trying to decide what to do.”