Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt. Pippa Roscoe

felt known by him, even if she did not know him. She began to count down the steps to the end of the dance, recognising the cadence and swell of the music as her pulse beat within her chest in time with the waltz, in time with him.

      She didn’t know what to expect when the dance came to an end. Would he finally speak? Would he look at her, or would he disappear as easily as he had swept her towards the dance floor? She both longed for and resisted the end to this moment and as he brought their steps to a close, bowed, deep and low, her curtsey only half what it should be, because she had yet to be able to take her gaze from finally seeing who this stranger was.

      Only when their eyes met, a sob escaped her mouth as she caught the devastating brown orbs, dark against the pure white of the mask, and she was filled with a fury and anger that stole her breath. She actually felt the single lost heartbeat caused by the jolt of recognition.

      Theo Tersi.

      Theo had feared that he might not recognise her here amongst the disguises and outrageous costumes of such rich company. He had lost Sebastian to his own personal pursuits some half an hour before, and had been beginning to lose patience. It had to be tonight. It had to be now. Everything in him had been building to this moment for years. He would not let this chance pass.

      In truth, it was his body that had recognised her first. The way his pulse unaccountably hitched in his chest, the way awareness had pulled from him an almost electric current that snapped and hissed across his skin. And when he finally did see her, clinging to the edges of the ballroom, he knew that he shouldn’t have doubted himself. Even had he not gone to sleep each night for ten years with her face the last thing he saw, the lies and abused promises on her lips the last thing he heard, he would have known her in the dark surrounded by a thousand people. Because she shone like a beacon of pure golden light and he bitterly noted that it had nothing to do with her costume. She had looked like the stepdaughter in the Mother Holle story told to him by his mother in childhood—the one who passed beneath a waterfall of gold. Yet he knew better. She was the other sister—the one who should have been covered in tar.

      He hadn’t intended to lead her into the waltz, but the moment the idea struck, it wouldn’t loosen its grip on his mind. He knew that she wouldn’t recognise him, certainly not if he kept his head turned away from her. She probably hadn’t given him a second thought since setting him up to take the fall for her pranks. Or maybe she had, laughing to herself long and hard at how she’d manipulated him, how she’d got him to do her bidding.

      Holding her and not looking at her had been a sweet torture. He’d wanted to bare his gaze to her, bore into her the feelings of anger, pain and betrayal… But when he had finally met her eyes, holding them captive with his own, he’d nearly cursed. Because it was he who consumed every emotion that flickered and sparked in her sapphire-blue eyes.

      After all these years he’d thought himself immune to her. He’d thought the consequences of her actions would have made him impenetrable to the insatiable desire for her…but the way her body had melted into his, the flickering of her pulse beneath his hand, mocked him as his body had claimed her in the most primal of ways. Because no matter what had passed between them, his body still wanted her, still craved her touch.

      Until the jolt of recognition from Sofia that he felt against his skin, the irrefutable horror that filled her gaze.

      Now she knew him.

      He was about to open his mouth, when her sudden, shocking departure slammed it shut. She had picked up her skirts and was racing away from the ballroom floor, disappearing into the crowd of people. But she would not get away that easily. He saw her at the wide French doors, open to the beckoning darkness of the gardens, and a smile curved the edges of his lips.

      Theo Tersi drew out his mobile phone, and as he followed her out into the night he fired off a text to the man he had waiting on standby. If she failed to offer him the apology he so very much deserved, Sofia de Loria would regret the day she had ever thought to play him.

      Plunged into the darkness of the Parisian night, he stalked amongst the manicured gardens, expecting to have to hunt much more than he did, and nearly crashed into her.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ Sofia demanded, apparently satisfied that there were no longer people to overhear them as her raised voice was carried away on the night air. Her outrage struck him low in the chest.

      ‘Why? Not used to discovering an ill-bred bastard amongst your high-society companions?’

      ‘What?’ He noticed her brow pucker in momentary confusion. ‘That has nothing to do with anything.’

      ‘No? I’d have thought your security teams would have vetted every single person here, check their DNA for their blue-blood credentials.’

      ‘Don’t be such a snob.’

      Now he was outraged. ‘How dare you accuse me of being a snob?’

      ‘Just because it’s reverse snobbery, it doesn’t make it any less prejudicial.’

      ‘You’re speaking nonsense.’

      ‘Because I disagree with you? You never did—’

      ‘Don’t. Do not talk to me of what I did or did not do in the past,’ he spat as he lifted his mask away from his face and cast it aside onto the thick emerald grass of the gardens.

      He watched her almost physically bite her tongue and he used the moment to take her in. The Sofia he knew had been breathtaking, but Sofia de Loria the Princess was obscenely beautiful. Her cheeks had lost some of the softness, striking cheekbones sculpting her face to perfection. The thick plaits of golden hair wrapped around her head glowed silver in the starlight of the night sky. A high brow made even more superior with the arch of a perfect, rich, honeyed eyebrow peeking out from the top of the mask, brilliant golden furls glinting in the moonlight.

      And, as always, crystal-blue eyes crackled and sparked as she tried to repress the anger she clearly felt. An anger he matched, if not exceeded. Oh, he’d had his share of beautiful women in the last two years, once he’d given himself permission to relish and enjoy the success that all his hard work had reaped. Once he’d lifted his self-imposed embargo on sensual pursuits. But no matter how many times he’d cursed her to hell and back, he’d never been able to deny Sofia’s beauty.

      But even in that he knew he lied to himself. It wasn’t just a simple fact of her beauty. It was as if a chemical reaction had ignited within him, fizzing in his veins, urging him to reach out and touch her. Draw her to him and seek her mouth, her kiss…to feed the burning arousal he had really only ever felt with this woman. He wanted her, needed her, with every ounce of his being. But he fought it. He would not give in to the temptation she unconsciously offered.

      Sofia felt her chest heave against the confines of the tight corset as her body struggled for an outlet for the anger and pure shock at Theo’s appearance. Masked, he was impressive. Unmasked he was undeniable. Age had only honed what were already incredible features. Even in his youth he had stood heads above even the older students, and now she had to crane her neck to look up at his scowling gaze, his deep brown irises swirling like the richest espresso. His clenched jaw was dusted with a fine dark stubble as if, even in that, Theo rejected the same propriety that saw every other man there either clean-shaven or fully bearded. His straight nose created a sense of balance between the downward slashes of his cheekbones, and the night cast his proud jaw in deep shadows.

      In obvious frustration he ran his hand through his thick hair and on any other man the result would have looked chaotic, but on Theo? It just made Sofia want to reach out and do the same. He was magnificent and for a second she imagined that she could reach for him, that she could draw him to her.