Chapter Two

…I almost touched him!

My Fair Prince was at the theater again tonight. (I have decided to name Luc as such after Sabine told me she has dubbed her beloved the Dark Prince.) I convinced Sabine to sneak into the audience with me. I stood so close to where my Fair Prince sat. But, alas, I lost my courage to reach out and touch the fabric of his doublet as I’d planned. I know one day I will touch him. And he will touch me.

And it will be beyond my wildest imaginings…

There she was again.

Luc caught another glimpse of the woman with the luscious dark locks. He was at the Comtesse de Grandville’s masque, immersed in the crowd that lined the perimeter of the grand salon—several rows deep. She was at the center of the room with the others who danced the allemande, moving in perfect unison to the violins and harpsichords.

He’d been bored. Frustrated. In his absence, he’d forgotten just how tedious most of his peers were. He’d never been as well liked or as well regarded as his brother Jules. The few men who’d recognized him tonight had already distanced themselves. Clearly, it wasn’t going to be easy to convince everyone that his lengthy, humbling exile and his service in the King’s navy had changed him.

For the better.

Had curbed his temperament.

The seething rage that had once pounded in his veins, always goading him to find a male counterpart to unleash it on, no longer plagued him.

He’d been debating over the last several minutes whether he should leave early from the masque and start afresh at the next social gathering.

That was until he saw the dark-haired beauty in the deep blue gown.

And her bedazzling smile.

Until he noticed the most adorable little dimple at the corner of her mouth that adorned that smile.

Dieu. A mere flash of her fine profile, demi-mask and all, and he was captivated by her. Who was she? Which aristocratic family did she belong to? If any.

Luc pressed forward through the throng, several strong perfumes assailing his nose along the way, until at last he reached the edge of the dance floor.

At last, an unhindered view.

Normally in social settings, he kept his back to the wall, a longtime habit that made him feel more relaxed, but he was drawn to the beauty with the dark blue demi-mask and white plumes. She placed her palm against her dance partner’s raised hand and turned in a circle in time with the music and dancers around her.

Besotting yet another male in the room.

Her mask unfortunately hid half her face, but not that captivating smile. It graced the sweetest mouth he’d ever seen. She had the most perfect lips. Just the right fullness to drive a man wild.

A man could spend hours in oral worship of that lush mouth.

Riveted, Luc watched each elegant turn and movement she made. With his thoughts so disordered by Isabelle, he knew full well that it was her coloring that had initially drawn his gaze to her. Particularly her dark hair and the fineness of her features. Though there were others with dark hair in the room, this woman resembled just what he’d imagined Isabelle to look like. He couldn’t help but notice her mouthwatering curves accentuated so delectably by her gown. And the top curves of those gorgeous breasts presently visible above her décolletage. She was flushed from the dance, her skin a pretty pink. Looking so silky soft.

His blood warmed. There was something about seeing a woman flush with pleasure that undid him.

Every time.

He fucked hard. Loved to make a woman come hard. He sought out women who matched his intensity in the boudoir. The rush it gave him to rock a woman’s body with powerful orgasms was the sweetest, headiest aphrodisiac. He left them sated, languid, their skin flushed pink from the pleasure he took from their bodies. And the pleasure he gave in return.

Merde. Luc could feel his cock hardening by the moment. Easy, now…

The last thing he needed was a stiff prick. He wasn’t here to bed anyone. He was on a mission—to begin reclaiming his place in society. And find a bride. Yet, as she danced past again, her beautiful dark cascading curls flouncing over her shoulders with the movement of her body, Luc’s urge to ingratiate himself with the pompous asses in the room completely dissolved.

She was by far the most interesting person here. And he was going to learn exactly who she was.

His mysterious beauty circled her partner once more.

Then caught his gaze.

Abruptly, she stopped, surprising him. Her raised hand, pressed against her partner’s palm, dropped slightly, and he could have sworn that her eyes widened within her mask. Yet she composed herself quickly, brightening her smile for her dance partner, and continued on with the allemande.

What the hell was that about? Did she know him?

He was now more intrigued than ever.

A hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. He snapped his head around and managed to quash the urge to knock the hand away in the nick of time—a purely visceral impulse to being touched, especially anywhere near his back.

Especially by a man.

Christ. It was Marc, and he was sporting his usual genial grin from behind the gray mask he wore. “How goes it, my friend?”

Marc’s hand on his shoulder was a heavy, uncomfortable weight. And despite the layers of clothing Luc had on, it was singeing his skin. That familiar, unwanted anger began bubbling in his blood. Luc turned his body to face the only male friend he had in the room, a purposeful move that caused Marc’s hand to slide away naturally.

The relief was instant, rushing through Luc, washing away the tension in his muscles, the anger receding the moment the touch was gone.

Marc seemed oblivious to just how far Luc had come. In the past, Luc wouldn’t have bothered to master the fury. It would have suffocated him until he’d intentionally provoked a duel or some sort of physical altercation with the man responsible for the unwanted touch.

“I’ve not exactly received a warm welcome,” Luc responded, returning his gaze to the dance floor, scanning for the beauty in blue now suddenly missing. She was a finer way to occupy his thoughts. The dance had ended, and a new one had begun. “In fact, I may develop a chill from the icy reception I received from some,” he added.

Marc chuckled. “Be patient, Luc. It will take some time.”

“I know.”

He spotted her just then. On the other side of the dance floor, a number of men surrounded her, engrossed in her every word. Clearly, they were as captivated as he was.

“Who is that woman over there?” he asked, jerking his chin in her direction. “The one with the dark hair, blue gown, and white plumes on her mask?”

Marc stepped up to the edge of the dance floor and scanned the crowd. “Ah, yes. I see her.” He paused for a moment, his lips pursed slightly as he studied the woman. Then his smile returned. Actually, it was a great big grin. “I believe that is none other than Juliette Carre.”

“The courtesan you spoke of?”

“The very one. And it seems she’s caught your eye—even when you claimed you wouldn’t be interested. I told you she would appeal to you.”

He couldn’t deny that. Thus far, she appealed to him very much.

“I’m going to talk to her.”

Marc chuckled. “You’ll have to first get through her crowd of admirers. Vannod is there, practically panting for her. Everyone knows he wants her.”

Vannod and the others didn’t concern him in the least. He was intent on learning everything there was to know about Juliette Carre. From her.

And why on earth she’d reacted to him so oddly.

*****

“Please excuse me, gentlemen.” Isabelle smiled. With a curtsy to the four men before her, she turned and made her way through the crowd. Her mind reeled over the man she’d spotted during the allemande.

It can’t be… Can it? It isn’t… Luc?

Nicole would know for certain who the man with the dark blond hair and the black-and-silver mask was. He was tall. Muscled. And he’d sent her insides into a frenzy with one look.

So similar to the physical reactions she’d had years ago when she’d first set eyes on the fairer Moutier brother.

It took several long agonizing minutes of being jostled about in the crush before Isabelle spotted her friend engaged in conversation with a tall silver-haired gentleman in a black mask.

“My apologies for the intrusion…” she said the moment she reached Nicole, hating to interrupt a conversation her friend was clearly enjoying, judging by her genuine laughter at the man’s whispered remarks. She had Nicole’s attention immediately. Isabelle kept her smile bright as a sad realization occurred to her: while Nicole’s smiles were almost always real, Isabelle’s were almost always not. But then again, she was Juliette. And Juliette was nothing more than an essential charade.

There wasn’t anything authentic about her.

Isabelle’s genuine smiles were only for Gabriel and Nicole and one rather overlarge dog named Montague.

“Might I have a brief moment of your time…in private?”

“Of course, darling,” Nicole said. There was a flash of concern in Nicole’s eyes before she schooled her features with practiced skill. Excusing herself from the company of the disappointed gentleman beside her, Nicole looped her arm with Isabelle’s, then together they made their way to a quieter corner in the room.

“What is the matter?” she asked sotto voce the moment they stopped.

“Do you see the tall gentleman across the room?” She described his clothing and mask with enough detail to aid Nicole in spotting him in the mass.

“Oh yes, I see him.”

“I believe that is Luc de Moutier,” she whispered in Nicole’s ear.

Could he have returned from the West Indies or wherever he’d been all this time?

Nicole shook her head. “Impossible, darling. He’s taller and his shoulders are far broader than the Luc de Moutier I remember. And his hair looks darker too.”

It was true. He did seem taller, his body more powerful. And the hair coloring wasn’t quite right from her vantage point. But no one had seen Luc de Moutier in years. Especially her. He might not be quite the same as the seventeen-year-old boy she’d last seen eleven years ago at the theater and had so adored.

Her insides were in chaos. Her emotions were awhirl.

What if it was him? Could he help reunite her with Sabine?

“Besides,” Nicole added, “if Luc de Moutier were ever to return to Paris, there would be quite a stir. That isn’t the sort of news one would miss. If he was at the masque tonight, I’d have learned of it.”

That was an inarguable fact.

Everyone confided in Nicole de Grammont. She’d be among the first to learn of his attendance at the masque. If the elusive Luc de Moutier were truly here, someone would have certainly recognized him standing in the crowd—regardless of the demi-mask. The gossipmongers in the room would have spread the news of his presence as fast as fire.

Instantly, she quashed the disappointment that threatened to crush her and placed thoughts of her sister back in that place in her heart in which she kept her sealed.

“He does keep looking at you,” Nicole said of the gentleman in question, giving him a friendly nod. “And he is quite handsome. It wouldn’t be too difficult for a woman to enjoy his attention—fully.”

She knew exactly what Nicole meant by fully—in every carnal way. Sex was merely an unavoidable part of the role Juliette played. Something she did because she had to. Yet, at the moment, as she took in the sculpted aristo, she didn’t feel the normal aversion to Nicole’s remark.

Nicole gave her a smile. “If you prefer this man to Vannod, make the duc wait. It won’t harm Vannod to learn more patience. It’ll spike his interest and determination further. Men always want what other men have.”

The gorgeous male across the salon captured Isabelle’s gaze once more. He stared back at her openly. Then a slow, wickedly sensuous smile formed on his lips. Her stomach fluttered, taking her by surprise—again. This was the first man, aside from Luc, who’d inspired any sort of real interest. Or physical reaction.

She was definitely drawn to him.

And for the first time since racing out of the burning servants’ quarters at Luc’s father’s château years ago with Gabriel in her arms—a mere infant at the time—followed by empty years in a sham of a marriage, she actually felt a flicker of desire low in her belly.

It was startling.

It felt good.

And it had everything to do with the attractive man across the room who’d reminded her of a time when life was so very different. When she was so very different.

When her future wasn’t so fractured.

Nicole was right. Vannod could wait. She enjoyed dancing. And she was intent on joining in the next dance—especially as she noted that her enigmatic lord had just stepped onto the dance floor. His focus on her and that sensuous smile hadn’t wavered for an instant. She glanced about, confirming his interest was truly directed at her.

And it was, unquestionably.

Her curiosity was piqued. Her heartbeat was quick with excitement she hadn’t felt for too many years to mention.

She was going to learn more about this tall, alluring aristo.

From him.