curled up at the head of the bed like a kitten. “You’ll be the best-looking man there, and the princess will be swept away.”
He slanted a look at the black mask lying between them. “I’m not sure how she’s supposed to tell.”
“Women know these things,” she said airily. “Don’t you think a masked ball is romantic?”
“Easy for you to say, chicken. You’re not the one who has to turn up looking like Zorro.”
“How about the Phantom of the Opera?”
“Or the Lone Ranger?”
“A superhero,” she countered.
With a sigh of resignation, he slipped the mask over his face and stood up to check the effect in the mirror. As a boy he had wondered how superheroes got away without being recognized. Now he was amazed at the difference the black mask made to his appearance. With only his eyes and mouth visible, he looked mysterious and totally unlike himself. Attending the princess’s ball was still an ordeal he could do without, but seeing himself in the mask made him feel marginally better about it.
The doorbell pealed. “That will be Mrs. Gray.” Their housekeeper, normally only there during the daytime, had agreed to sit with Amanda tonight.
The child bounced off the bed. “I’m old enough not to need a sitter, you know.”
He ruffled her hair. “Humor me. I need the reassurance.”
At his bedroom door, she turned back. “You look great, Dad. You’re going to knock Princess Giselle’s socks off.”
Amanda assumed he wanted to. He made a shooing gesture. “Go and let Mrs. Gray in so I can get this evening over with.”
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
