Читать книгу: «The Princess and The Masked Man»

Chapter One

This was a crazy idea, Giselle thought as she surveyed the assembled guests from the swaying height of the sedan chair borne on the shoulders of four members of the Royal Protection Detail. She should never have let her equerry talk her into making her entrance this way.

Not that she had needed much persuading. The alternative, hobbling in leaning on a cane, hadn’t held much appeal.

Torn ligaments and a chipped bone had been the doctor’s verdict after a horse she’d been riding at an official function threw her heavily. After the plaster was removed, she’d been ordered to rest her foot for another month. Merrisand Castle, built on a hill, was too difficult for her to get around in that condition, so she had spent the time at her parents’ home in Taures city. She was thankful she had only needed a plaster cast for the first two weeks, or she would have been delivered to the ball in a wheelchair.

She didn’t know what was hardest to endure: the lack of mobility or being fussed over by her mother. Princess Marie meant well, Giselle knew, but as consort to the governor of Taures, and aunt to the country’s reigning monarch, she was far more earnest about her royal role than Giselle would ever be.

Marie had a never-ending list of rules for how a princess should behave. Falling off a horse was definitely not one of them. What was Giselle supposed to do, stick to riding sidesaddle? Probably, she thought gloomily.

It was bad enough being reminded constantly of archaic rules such as “a lady only ever has one leg.” This was usually said when Giselle was wearing jeans and seated with her legs comfortably apart instead of crossed in one neat line as her mother’s rule demanded. Was she also supposed to give up all the healthy activities she enjoyed in favor of more ladylike pursuits like needlework? Fat chance.

Now was not the time to worry about such things, she told herself, feeling her spirits lift. She was home again in her beloved Merrisand Castle in time to host her favorite charity ball of the year. If she had to make her entrance in a sedan chair, so be it. This was supposed to be a fantasy affair anyway.

She looked around. The women shimmered in their designer gowns, the men looking incredibly handsome in black tie. Everyone seemed more glamorous and mysterious behind their masks. She recognized a few people even with their masks, but many faces had her puzzled. Was that really her brother, Maxim, wearing a stylish black cape over his evening dress, his mask revealing only his mouth and strong jaw?

She suspected that he was frowning at her as usual. Probably disapproving of her unorthodox mode of transport. If she couldn’t draw all eyes with her dancing prowess, she had to settle for making an entrance. She caught a cheerful grin from the man beside him. Eduard de Marigny, the present marquis of Merrisand. Masked or not, she would know him anywhere. It was a pity he lived in Valmont Province when he wasn’t serving with the Carramer navy because he was one of Giselle’s staunchest supporters.

Beside him was his wife, Carissa. Giselle could see her cornflower eyes sparkling behind a tiny feathered mask. Carissa had met Eduard and love had blossomed between them after she mistakenly purchased one of the royal homes from a con man. Giselle was godmother to their adorable triplets, Jamet, Michelle and Henry, and counted Carissa as a dear friend. She exchanged smiles with the other woman.

Because this was a masked ball, there was no receiving line and Giselle was truly grateful. She had an excellent memory and could usually call to mind a few personal details about each of the guests as they were presented to her, but it was a tedious task. Much more challenging to try to guess who everyone was before the masks were due to come off at midnight.

After setting her down carefully at the head of the ballroom, the four members of the R.P.D. who had carried her stepped away from the chair and fanned out to keep an unobtrusive watch for the rest of the night. At her signal, trays of champagne and canapés were carried around, and the orchestra struck up the first dance of the evening. As she tapped her injured foot in instinctive response to the music, a twinge of pain reminded her that she wouldn’t be joining the other couples on the floor. She stilled her foot, feeling frustration settle over her like a cloud.

Her royal relatives were dancing or talking, and the other guests had left a deferential circle of space around her. She restrained the urge to tell them to come closer, she didn’t bite. Feeling isolated was a fact of royal life.

Normally she would have circulated among the crowd, putting others at ease until she felt that way herself. It was one of her mother’s rules that she actually found sensible. Limited by her injury, she could only look pleasant and hope someone would have the sense to approach her.

“Can I get you something, Your Highness?”

Expecting one of the servants, she looked up. And up, and up. Then felt her breath catch. The man beside her was a couple of inches over six feet tall, with a muscular build and long, athletic legs that looked as if they would eat up a dance floor. Like the other male guests, he wore evening dress and on him it looked dashingly individual.

And his eyes.

Behind his mask they were a clear, dark blue like the waters of a bottomless lake, and just as unfathomable. They met hers with a directness she seldom experienced other than from members of her family. He didn’t act like one of the castle staff, she thought, struggling to put a name to what she could see of his face. He must be a friend of Maxim or Eduard. No employee would meet her gaze so unflinchingly, as if daring her to accept him as anything other than an equal.

His hair was as black as midnight, the slightly untamed strands skimming the collar of his pristine dress shirt. The contrast was startling. Only an hour ago, she had joked with her lady-in-waiting about meeting her Prince Charming at the ball, never expecting it to be a possibility.

It wasn’t a possibility now, although it was difficult to remember, when her heart thudded against her chest and her breath felt strangled. He was only another guest, although he looked as if he had stepped straight out of her dreams.

“I don’t—that is, I’d better not in case I have to resort to pain medication during the evening.” She was furious with herself for stumbling over the words.

She imagined eyebrows as black as his hair winging upward beneath the mask. “Are you in pain now?”

His concerned tone provoked a frisson of response. “Nothing to worry about.” The faint twinge had been forgotten at her first sight of him.

He gestured at the sedan chair. “Unusual mode of transportation.”

She could have kissed him for offering the conversational lifeline, then almost sighed at the thought. Kissing him would be an extraordinary experience. One she wasn’t in the least likely to have. It didn’t stop her from imagining his generous mouth claiming hers, their breath mingling.

It had been a long time since she’d been kissed by anyone. Really kissed. There was Robert, of course. But he never made her feel this confused or needy. Maybe that’s why she felt driven to end the relationship. She wanted a man who made her feel more than he did.

The way she felt now.

She gathered her scattered wits. Although her medication had been tapered almost to nothing, it must be to blame for her confusion. How else to explain the fast hammering of her heart, and her sense that the ballroom was overheated suddenly?

She tried for a normal tone. “The sedan chair is a museum piece that belonged to my grandmother, Princess Antoinette. I had to choose between using the chair or a walking stick.”

“I saw the chair on display in the Tower Hall a couple of days ago and wondered how riding in it would feel,” he observed.

“Bumpy.” His voice reminded her of hot chocolate, smooth, rich, delicious.

She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head to clear it. It wasn’t done to seek introductions at a masked ball and take the mystery out of the occasion, but she found herself wanting to. She settled for saying, “We haven’t met before. Are you staying at the castle?”

He inclined his head. “For the moment.”

An answer that told her precisely nothing about him. “I would like some sparkling water,” she said, feeling her mouth dry.

She regretted the request when he turned away from her at once. Stay, she wanted to command, feeling a sense of desertion sweep over her. Then she retracted the thought, as watching him brought its own gratification.

He moved with a controlled strength that was like poetry, muscles fluid under the black suit. A man of action, she decided, one used to having his body obey him without thought. When he brought her glass of water, his fingers looked strong around the fragile flute. He gave it to her and a tingle traveled through her as his hand brushed hers.

Trying not to show how unnerved she was, she said, “Thank you.”

His dark gaze swept the crowd around them. “This can’t be much fun for you, Your Highness.”

Something in his gaze inspired her confidence. “It beats spending two months with my mother.”

A sparkle of understanding lit the blue depths. “Prince Maxim told me you were staying at Taures Palace. I gather it wasn’t a picnic.”

He must be one of her brother’s guests, she concluded. All the same she shouldn’t be discussing her family with someone she didn’t know, although she was tempted to do just that. “What’s the old saying? ‘You can’t go home again.”’

Did she imagine the sudden tightening around his mouth? All he said was, “Quite.” He shifted as if to move away.

“Stay and talk to me,” she said, shocking herself slightly. Feeling needy was one thing, but indulging it with a stranger was quite another. Her mother was bound to have a rule against such behavior.

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. “I don’t wish to monopolize your time. Protocol…”

“To blazes with protocol,” she said, then moderated her tone, “As you can see, there’s not much competition for my attention.”

He took a sip of champagne. “Perhaps they’re intimidated by you.”

“Because of the sedan chair?” It did look somewhat like a throne, she conceded.

“Sitting in that thing, you look terrifyingly regal.”

“You don’t seem intimidated.”

His deep blue eyes shone. “Fishing, Princess? All identities remain a mystery until midnight.”

“Wondering,” she compromised. “No law against that, is there?”

“Not unless your family chooses to make one.”

“You aren’t going to give me any clues, are you?” He had already given one when he’d mentioned Maxim so familiarly. “Are you a friend of Max’s?”

All he admitted was, “I know the prince.”

All the guests were connected by their association with the castle, either as members of the Merrisand Trust like her and Max, friends who supported the trust’s charitable work, or senior members of the royal household. “The same may be said of anyone here.”

“True enough.”

She found she liked the sensation of sparring with him. “You have me at an unfair advantage. You know who I am, but I don’t even know what to call you.”

He seemed to think for a moment. “You could try Clark.”

“Although it isn’t your real name.” She didn’t know how she knew, only that she did.

“My daughter put the idea in my head when I was getting ready this evening.”

A stab of disappointment lanced through her. So he was married with a child. She should have known. “You should be grateful she didn’t suggest something more bizarre.”

She saw the corners of his mouth lift. “Considering the alternatives the mask suggested to her, Clark was the mildest option.”

A flash of inspiration made her ask, “As in the superhero?”

He looked discomfited. “It was the association she made, however inaccurately.”

So he didn’t think of himself as a superhero. He certainly looked the part. It wasn’t hard to imagine him leaping tall buildings or rescuing maidens in distress. She really was getting fanciful tonight. He was married, remember? All the best ones were. He looked as averse to being at the ball as Giselle herself, probably because his wife wasn’t at his side. “I should circulate,” she said, aware of sounding reluctant.

He glanced at her bandaged foot peeping from beneath the pearl-studded hem of her ball gown. Velvet-covered dance slippers had been the best she could do to accommodate the bandage. “Unless you plan to tour the room from that chair, you might have some difficulty.” He crooked an arm. “I’m happy to offer my assistance.”

Provided she used a cane or other support for the time being, she could put weight on her injured foot now. And anything was better than being confined to this chair. Leaning on his strong arm was not her motivation for accepting, she assured herself. “It would be good to move around for a while, but I don’t want to impose,” she said.

“Not at all, Your Highness. As you can see, there’s hardly any competition for my attention.”

Hearing her own words turned back at her, she smiled. “I mustn’t take you away from your wife.”

What she could see of his face darkened fleetingly, then he returned her smile. “With respect, you’re fishing again. I can’t help you do your duty as our hostess unless you agree to preserve the mystery.”

Bryce had no idea what had made him approach the princess, or why he hadn’t come right out and admitted who he was. Some people might see the loss of Eden Valley as a comedown, but he regarded it as a liberation.

The next time he owned land, it would be in his own right, free of family interference. So, being an employee of the castle was a means to an end for him. But he found it hard to imagine the princess being so interested in him once she knew all about him. In spite of his vow to remain uninvolved, he was enjoying arousing her curiosity.

Arousing her might be even more of a challenge, not that he had any such intention. Although seeing her borne into the ball on the sedan chair carried by her protectors had certainly aroused him. Few women, even royalty, would have carried off such an entrance with her assurance.

During her stately progress into the ballroom, she had kept her back straight and her head high, exposing an expanse of swanlike neck. The full skirt of her strapless aquamarine gown had spilled over the runners of the chair, making it look as if she were floating on a cloud. He’d decided that he had to meet her.

She was right. He wasn’t intimidated by her position. Coming from a family with interests in two countries, he was used to dealing with officials at the highest levels. Beyond business, he didn’t usually seek them out, preferring the company of more everyday people like himself.

There was nothing everyday about Princess Giselle de Marigny.

For one thing her golden coloring set her apart. As fair as her brother was dark, she had eyes as bright as stars, of a jewel color he didn’t have a name for. Her hair was wound into a chignon dressed with a diamond tiara. It wasn’t a huge leap to imagine the strands tumbling around her shoulders in a riot of curls. Would they feel as silky as they looked, spilling through his fingers?

Her skin was like milk, shading to creamy pink under the rim of her jeweled mask, and she had the most tantalizing mouth. Soft, quick to smile. In a less public forum, he would have been sorely tempted to taste her. Maybe more than taste. Just as well he was constrained by the crowd.

When she took his hand and got carefully to her feet, she felt as light as his daughter, thistledown in a designer gown, a child masquerading as a princess. Except that there was nothing remotely childish in the smile she gave him as she curled her hand more securely around his arm. He felt his insides cramp in response.