It wasn’t hard to spot the man Poppy was looking for in the crowd. Not only did he stand head and shoulders above most of the other guests at this masked ball, he carried himself with the authority and innate privilege that came with being more than a mere mortal. A king. King Caius Mansur de Roche, to be specific.
Even with the black mask that covered half his face he was recognisable. The high forehead. Dark slashing browns. Thick dark hair, just this side of messy. Strong jaw covered with short dark beard. The formidable physique more suited to an athlete than a pampered member of the royal elite.
As crown prince, Caius had blazed a trail through the world’s most glittering hot spots and had never been without a beautiful woman on his arm. They’d rarely lasted longer than one or two public outings though. He was known to be an inveterate playboy and finding him here in the thick of this glittering exclusive masked ball only confirmed what Poppy already knew. He was in no real hurry to settle down – because he didn’t have to, like her, even if her country was strategically attractive.
She frowned under her own mask now. She’d come here to see him up close. To try and get the measure of the man who she’d spoken to on the phone only a few days ago to discuss the suitability of a marriage match. After overhearing his unflattering opinion of her. Staid. Boring. Ridiculous name.
She hated to admit it but part of her coming here had to do with her piqued feminine pride that he thought her so inconsequential. It had stung somewhere very vulnerable. Thanks to her new stylist, she could now come to a party like this in Paris and not feel like a wallflower.
But, she was in disguise because she wanted the luxury of observing King Caius in his natural environment to see just how debauched he really was.
So, she’d coloured her distinctive auburn hair with a wash – out colour of dark brown and was wearing dark contact lenses to hide her green eyes. Not that Caius would even have recognised her anyway. Not his type. She didn’t like to admit it but maybe a part of her was still afraid of rejection even if he saw the new, improved version of herself.
Caius, was, after all, one of the most photographed and coveted bacelors on the planet. Aside from being a king, and somehow in spite of his relentless socialising, he was also a renowned financier. Respected the world over for his acumen. He’d built up a fortune to rival he one he’d inherited on his coronation day.
But there was something about his insanely good looks that had caught at Poppy whenever she’d looked him up online, even as his social whirl made her wonder what on earth he was chasing.
He was so masculine, in a way that no royal playboy should be. And, even though he was always smiling and charming and undeniably sexy, she’d sensed that there was something more underneath the devil – may – care surface. Something a bit…bleak that she recognised. To think for a second that they might be kindred spirits? Deluded.
She snorted a little to herself from her vantage point at the side of the ballroom. She knew what was underneath the charm. A deep and toxic seam of cynicism. And arrogance.
For a second she was almost tempted to turn tail and go back to Valdere, but then she thought of the effort she’d put in to come here, and of convincing Stephen that she really didn’t even need her security to shadow her at the party because she’d be in disguise…and before she could change her mind, she helped herself to a glass of champagne, took a breath and dove into the crowd and made her way to where the man was holding court in the centre of the room, surrounded by adoring acolytes.
