Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(120)

Damien came to her, strong fingers unhooking her corset cover, stays, and underskirt. “Everything off. I want you bare for me.”

Damien unlaced the chemise and let it fall, then drew Penelope against him. The cloth of his Imperial Prince’s uniform was warm against her naked skin, his sash of office a cool slash.

“Mine,” Damien said, his eyes full of triumph. “Beautiful, and mine.”

His kiss was more like an assault, mouth opening hers, his civilized behavior completely gone. Prince Charming had vanished, the real Damien taking his place. Penelope warmed with excitement—she loved the real Damien best.

He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, half laying, half tossing her to the middle of it. Penelope sank into the soft featherbed then raised herself on her elbows to watch Damien quickly strip off his clothes, leaving them scattered on the floor. “Petri will scold,” she told him.

Damien growled. No—it was more the snarl of some ancient beast. Unclothed now, Damien climbed onto the bed, moving with feral grace.

“I want you, my Penelope.” Damien said as he knelt next to her, the words harsh and quick. “I want you hard and fast, and I don’t think I can be gentle about it.”

Penelope’s blood heated, a shiver trailing down her spine. She touched his cheek. “Do your worst, Prince of Nvengaria.”

A mistake. Damien’s eyes grew dark with a kind of delirium, desire overtaking his senses.

He flipped her over onto her belly, pulled her hips back with strong hands, and entered her swiftly.

Penelope cried out. She thought she’d experienced so much with him, but this went beyond anything that came before. His powerful thrusts went deep, awoke feelings she’d never known existed. She shouted and cried out as he rocked into her with strength, his body warm and hard against hers. Damien went on until he let loose his own release, then he rolled her over, pinned her hands above her head, and entered her again.

Damien took her three times before he finally collapsed beside her. Exhausted, Penelope turned to him and kissed him, her body limp. She had the feeling that Damien could have gone on a few more times—he was simply being kind and letting her rest.

They wound down, the room quiet, candles flickering softly. Penelope drew her hand along Damien’s side, his skin warm and smooth over honed muscle.

“Damien,” she murmured as he touched her hair and kissed her brow.

“Yes, love?” His voice, like hers, was broken.

“When we were snowed in up in the mountains, the prophecy ended.”

Damien smoothed back her hair. In the shadows of the canopy, his eyes were dark, almost black. “I know.”

“But I still loved you. I felt the magic leave me, but I still loved you more than my own life.”

Damien drew a strand of her hair between his fingers, concentrating on it as though it were all important. “And now?”

Penelope nodded, her heart full. “Yes. I still do. I love you so very much.”

Damien kissed the lock, released it, and then met her gaze, his eyes dark blue and beautiful. “I felt the prophecy die myself. But I knew—I’ve always known—that it made no difference.” He touched her lips with the gentlest of kisses. “I love you madly, Princess Penelope.”

Penelope let herself float on warmth, but she was curious about something. “When we arrived in Nvengaria, three days late, when it was all for nothing, the Nvengarians still wanted you. We didn’t fulfill the prophecy in time—we failed—and they still wanted you.”

Damien grinned, his charm and arrogant assurance returning. “That is what Alexander did not understand. Some things are more powerful than prophecy, or magic.”

“Love,” Penelope said, feeling herself smile.

“The most powerful thing of all.” Damien shook his head, losing his imperial look and becoming the man who’d survived so much. “Listen to me go on. I ought to write a ballad.”

Penelope cupped his cheek and snuggled down against him. “Tell me another Nvengarian fairy tale instead.”

Damien laughed softly. Penelope burrowed her face into the curve of his shoulder, liking the warm vibration of his laughter against her.

“Once upon a time,” Damien said, drifting his hand down her body, “there lived an incredibly beautiful princess. One day, a very handsome, very charming prince came along and carried her off to his kingdom, which was far, far away.”

“Mmm, I like that.” Penelope traced the ridges of muscle on his chest. “Did they live happily ever after?”

Damien leaned to kiss her lips, his voice softening. “They will, Penelope. They will. This I swear to you with all my heart.”





Epilogue





His Imperial Highness, Prince Damien Augustus Frederic Michel of Nvengaria, and her Imperial Highness, the Princess Penelope, announce the birth of a prince on the Fifteenth Day of February, the year of our lord Eighteen Hundred and Twenty. The child shall be christened his most royal Prince Damien Sasha Petri Egan Augustus on the Twentieth Day of February, Eighteen Hundred and Twenty, in the Royal Chapel at the castle of the Imperial Princes in Narato.

The invitations were written in gold ink on gilt-edged parchment and delivered throughout every country on the Continent and to Britain. One special announcement went to the London house of Mr. and Mrs. Michael Tavistock, number 32, Portman Square.