The velvet mask hid half her face, the rich material a stark contrast to the pounding pulse at her throat. Duchess Vivienne de Valois leaned against the cool stone of the balcony, the sounds of the masquerade ball a muted hum behind her. The air was crisp, carrying the distant scent of jasmine from the palace gardens, and she clutched the delicate fan in her gloved hand, her knuckles white. He would be here. He had to be.

A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness at the edge of the balcony. Tall, broad-shouldered, and cloaked in black, he moved with an almost predatory grace. His mask was simpler than hers, a plain black half-mask that concealed his eyes, but the strong line of his jaw and the firm set of his lips were enough to send a shiver through her. He was the stranger from her dreams, the one who had plagued her thoughts since their first, accidental meeting months ago. The one who had ignited a dangerous, thrilling desire she hadn't known she possessed.