Page 16 of On His Bride's Terms

She took in her surroundings, forcing her mind away from thinking ofhim. The masked ball was taking place in a centuries-old palazzo, right on the Grand Canal. Candles and soft lighting turned everything golden. The costumes people wore were as elaborate as the palazzo, with its wall murals, frescoed ceilings and Murano glass chandeliers. Some men were in simple classic tuxedoes and some in capes and silk shirts, like heroes from a romantic historical novel, all wearing masks.

The women’s dresses ranged from modern evening gowns to costumes that would have made Marie Antoinette look shy and retiring, complete with wigs and stunning decorative masks with feathers and jewels.

Soft music came from a masked string quartet.

There wasn’t a jarring note of modernity anywhere. Faye could easily imagine that she’d been transported back in time by a couple of hundred years.

She rolled her eyes at herself, glad of the scarlet lace mask that covered half her face. It matched her dress, and the lace choker around her throat. Her hair was piled high into a chignon—she’d aimed for artfully rough and messy, because she’d had to do it herself. The dress was strapless. Lace over silk. The bodice was fitted over her chest and to her waist and then fell in voluminous folds to the floor. It wasn’t as eye-catching as some of the costumes, but she didn’t mind that. She’d never particularly liked to draw attention.

But you like the attention Primo gives you.

Faye’s insides clenched. Perhaps she’d been too hasty, insisting on coming to Venice. Because right now she could be consummating her marriage, and not feeling this awful sense of regret and hollowness spreading throughout her—

‘Waiting for someone?’

Faye’s racing mind stopped dead. The little hairs rose up all over her exposed skin.His voice. No. It couldn’t be. Was she so desperate that she was imagining him?

The back of her neck tingled. She turned around and came face to chest with a tall, broad man dressed all in black, with a cape tied at his throat and thrown carelessly over one shoulder. She looked up. His face was half covered with a hawk-like mask, revealing a firm jaw and that mouth. That mouth she could probably pick out of a line-up even though they’d only kissed once.

For an incredible moment Faye could almost imagine that a couple of hundred yearshadmelted away and they’d slipped back in time. He looked like a buccaneer. A marauding pirate. She felt breathless. Her heart was pounding. Her insides were melting, turning hot and languorous.

Somehow she managed to say, ‘No, I’m not waiting for anyone.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Shame. You look a little lonely.’

Faye felt her faculties return and lied through her teeth. ‘Not lonely at all.’

‘A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be here alone.’

Faye almost rolled her eyes. ‘Have you said that to many women this evening?’

He shook his head. ‘No, just you. But perhaps I have it wrong, maybe you’re avoiding someone.’

Faye smiled sweetly. ‘Wrong on both counts. I’m here for work, actually, at the invitation of a kind client.’

‘Who has left you here alone? Very remiss of her.’

‘Him, actually.’

His eyes flashed behind his mask. The black made them look very blue, and his skin look even darker. ‘This...client... Was he trying to foster a more personal relationship?’

‘That’s really none of your business.’

‘Isn’t it?’ was the swift response.

After all, even though they hadn’t acknowledged each other’s identity, thiswasher husband. For the first time Faye felt a thrill go through her at the thought that this washer man. And he had come all the way here for her. And he might be jealous.

Or maybe he hadn’t and wasn’t. She felt exposed...a far too common sensation around this man...

‘Tell me,’ she asked, ‘are you here for business too?’

He shook his head. ‘Would you believe that up until this morning I had no plans to come here. I can’t explain it, but I felt a calling...maybe it was because I saw you in a dream and I wanted to see if you could be real.’

Faye hated how those words affected her. Because he’d said them blithely, with no care, and because it highlighted the part of her that reacted to words like that. Wanting the sentiment to be real.

‘I am real, and I’m pretty certain I didn’t appear in your dreams.’

He looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

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