Chapter 1
Brina Feld should have known a lady wasn’t safe from rakes, rogues, and scoundrels at a masked ball in Paris. It was a scoundrel who currently had her in his sights as she raced down one of the dimly lit corridors in the chateau with hopes of getting away from him.
A proper gentleman never forgot who he was, no matter if his face was hidden. Even in Paris. Which only confirmed that the one chasing her was no gentleman at all, and she should have never agreed to attend this grand masquerade.
Intent on finding a hiding place until it was time to meet her aunt, Brina started searching for a room. From somewhere behind her, she heard the drunken man call out to her once more, his wine-soaked voice echoing against the marble walls.
Fearful of being cornered again by him, she quickly opened the first door she came to and slammed herself inside. Feeling beneath the knob, she found the key andengaged the lock. Smugly, she turned toward the opulent room, only to stop cold.
There in the center of the classical French sitting room with its bee and acorn motifs embroidered on the draperies and cushions, a man sat in a throne-like chair in front of the fireplace. He seemed to be as startled as she. Neither of them spoke. He was clothed in a white shirt and black trousers. No coat, waistcoat, or even shoes were in sight.
With an uptick in her already racing heart, she glanced about. It appeared that aside from the exquisite figures in the sweeping murals on the walls, they were alone. Concern jolted through her. Had she escaped one menace only to find another?
But concern turned to surprise when he snapped in perfect English, “Don’t just stand there, come untie me.”
Untie him?
Brina peered more intently. Even though he was sitting, she could tell he was tall and wide through the chest and shoulders, yet his waist gave no hint of overindulgent suppers. Unlike some of the flamboyantly painted masks she’d seen throughout the evening, he wore a simple black satin cover over his eyes and bridge of his nose. More importantly, he really was tied to the chair. His wrists were secured to the arms of the chair with a long scarf.
Although she was somewhat unnerved by the power she sensed within him, she took a tentative step toward him.
“My heavens, you’re bound. Why?”
“This isn’t the time for questions,” he stated, his commanding voice clipped as his hands turned into white-knuckled fists. “Hurry.”
He struggled and strained against what held him, like a panther pulling against bindings.
In the glow of lamp and firelight she saw his muscles bulge against the fine linen of his shirt. Her heart beat a little faster. Her trepidation waned as curiosity grew.
She had always been far too enquiring and told repeatedly when younger that curiosity was not an admirable trait in a lady. Usually, she could tamp that down, but she’d never seen a man in such a state.
“Are you a thief and wanting to get away?” she asked, ignoring his command.
“A thief?” He sounded more than a little outraged and stomped his feet in frustration.
“There’s the matter of your hands being bound, and you are wearing a mask.”
“You’re wearing one too,” he answered tightly. “Everyone at the party has one.”
Her fingers came to the silken demi mask her aunt had given her. That was true. The only reason she’d agreed to wear the outrageously bright pink gown and come to the masquerade ball was because identities were hidden. Which was why she wouldn’t ask his name and certainly didn’t want him to know hers.
“True, but not everyone is trussed up like a goose bound for the Christmas dinner table.” She then considered him for a moment. “If you are not a thief or common footpad, then certainly someone caught you trying to do something you shouldn’t have been doing and now has gone for the magistrate.”
He glared at her. “I assure you I am no thief or criminal of any kind. Now come untie me. I don’t have time for this,” he said, urgency lacing every word.
Of course, the sensible thing for her to do was leave the room. She was clever enough to know it would stir an unrecoverable scandal if she were caught with a half-dressed man, even in forward-thinking Paris. But then,from behind her, the doorknob and key beneath it rattled, jarring her.
Tension coiled tightly inside her. The oaf was still looking for her.
She glanced about and saw no other escape. Clearly, fleeing back to a man who was accosting her wasn’t an option. Instead, she moved closer to the stranger, deciding she was better off with this man who easily commanded a room, even tied up, than the brandy-faced scoundrel on the other side of the door.
Moments later she heard him softly call her name again, farther down the corridor and away from the door. Satisfied that threat was behind her, she stepped around a settee and noticed a black coat, red waistcoat, and white neckcloth strewn across the floor. There they were!
Her gaze swept to the man’s face. His wide inflexible mouth was set in a grimace. There was a hardness to his jawline and chin. Even with the mask, she could see his eyes were a dark, deep shade of blue. Thick hair, almost as black and shiny as his disguise, fell across his forehead, down past his ears, and brushed the back of his neck.
She was unbelievably aware of him, how strongly masculine he looked and attractive he was. If one were inclined to fall for the massively arrogant type who could probably make a lady blush to the highest degree. Which, of course, she wasn’t.
Though she had to admit this man stood out and piqued her interest with his unusual situation.
