The Princess and The Masked Man. Valerie Parv
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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