Page 4 of The Duke's Virgin

Frowning, I riffled through my mental files. I’d met far too many people at Oxford. “I think…wait a second. Isn’t he a member of one of the royal families over there?”

“One and the same. Were you friends?”

“Not so much. He wasn’t in any of my classes, but we might have seen each other in passing a few times. That’s it. He wasn’t opposed to parties, and you know me.”

“You were opposed to anything resembling fun,” he teased with a light laugh.

“Fuck you,” I said with little heat. I had no problem withfun, but the wild parties of college life had always left me unsettled, and since I was several years younger than my classmates, it made things that much more awkward. Aeric was well aware of this too. Because he knew, because he didn’t judge me about any of this, I didn’t resent his teasing. “So, Geraint is getting married. Who is his fiancée?”

“The Princess of Liechtenstein,” he replied in a deadpan voice.

“Wow.” Having a cousin with a royal title—and knowing he’d one day be the reigning monarch—had given me a much more down-to-earth viewpoint of royals. But the casual way he’d just dropped the news of what would probably be one oftheroyal wedding events had my eyes going wide. “That will be quite an event.”

“Yes…and I need a companion for the engagement party. Will you come? Then there’s a Formula One racing event I thought we could attend while you’re here.” Voice cajoling now, he added, “You’d have a week away from your mother’s meddling, at least. What do you say?”

He hadn’t even had to add the last part, really.

“Okay. I’m in. I’ll look at flights once I’m off the phone.”

“Brilliant…and no need. I’ve already got my people taking care of it.” His satisfaction was unmistakable.

“That sure of me, huh?”

“Well.” Humor laced his words. “I do know my cousin.”

Two

Luka

Life would bea lot easier if I could move through it wearing a mask.

It was a crazy idea and would never come to pass, but I decided it was acceptable to indulge in the fantasy as I moved through halls discreetly lit, while doorways to the areas closed off were manned by black-garbed security staff wearing simple black domino masks that did little to hide their features.

I recognized each of them, and they, in turn, recognized me, dipping their heads in polite recognition while their gazes remained ever watchful, wire-thin communication devices running from ear to jaw so they could conduct their routine perimeter checks.

Near the end of the hall just before the grand staircase, I paused and checked the decorative mirror on the far left wall. My face was half-hidden by a mask, from mid-cheek upward. People who knew me well would recognize me, but of everyone attending the ball, I could only think of a handful who might fit that description, and most were family. My parents, my brother. Maybe a friend or two.

The one clear indicator that would have given me away was clothing and the unique accoutrements that went with formal garb worn by royalty at such an event.

But the plain black velvet coat displayed none of those, not the order nor the badge. I felt lighter for it and decided it was a welcome change. It likely wasn’t one I’d enjoy again either.

The masquerade ball taking place in the palace’s grand ballroom was the only reason it was happening now, and I had a feeling Geraint was behind the suggestion that we forgo tradition for the night.

Our mother had resisted, but the Grand Duke, our father, had laughed at Geraint’s suggestion and waved a hand. “Why not? Enjoy it for the night.”

I’d have to thank them both, I decided, appreciating the relative anonymity more than I’d expected as I walked down the hall through the ever-thickening crowds.

There were no lulls in conversation as I approached, and crowds didn’t part like the Red Sea.

Save for the staff who took care to pay me little interest, it seemed nobody really noticed me.

It was fucking fantastic, a freedom I’d never known before, not growing up as the heir to the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. Even traveling throughout Europe, I couldn’t go too often without being recognized. It wasn’t as incessant for me as it was for the British royal family—there were entire web pages devoted to tracking them as they traveled and vacationed, tips to watch for them when they tried to quietly leave home. All in all, that would have been enough to drive me mad, so I should appreciate my somewhat lesser notoriety.

Royal-spotting had become a modern-day hobby, though.

A trip to Paris could become a pain in the ass when I wanted to simply go about my business, and some tour group leader spotted me and pointed me out, making me the focus of a pack of Instagram-snapping tourists, all of them staring at me as if my trousers were around my ankles.

Tension crept through me as I pushed through the crowd near the grand arched doorways leading to the ballroom. Taking a deep breath, I slowly let the air escape. I had no idea that much frustration had been building inside me.

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