Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(16)

“You know all about princes of Nvengaria then?” Amusement touched his voice.

“Well … not much. But Mr. Tavistock is right. You could be a charlatan. Most likely, you are. Nvengaria is a great long way away from England, near Transylvania and Moldova, and the lands of the Austrian and Ottoman empires.”

Damien looked impressed. “You are well informed. Most of your people have no knowledge of my country at all.”

“I know of it because I study fairy tales. I translate them and collect them into little books.”

Penelope flushed as she confessed her hobby, but Damien looked interested. “You know Nvengarian fairy tales?”

“Only one. I found it in French. It was about a fountain and a coin, an old woman and a goose. I did not much understand it.”

Damien gave her a grave nod. “I have heard that one. I do not understand it either.”

“I never found one about an eight-hundred-year-old ring and an English girl who should marry a prince,” Penelope said swiftly.

“That is because it is still being written.”

Damien’s voice was low and rumbling, like thunder in the distance. Penelope swallowed a lump in her throat. “I wish you would not look at me like that.”

His brows rose. “Like what, Penelope?”

“As though you wish to kiss me again,” she said.

“Would that be a bad thing?” he asked.

Yes. Penelope’s thoughts were a confused jumble, and another dark kiss would confuse her even more. “It would be very, very bad.”

Damien touched her hair. “I do not think so.”

Penelope drew a sharp breath but she didn’t pull away. “Definitely, very bad.”

Damien moved closer to her, the heat of his body wrapping her in comfort. “No, Penelope. With you it will always be good.” He leaned down and brushed her mouth with his.

Fire began in Penelope’s heart, flames spreading rapidly to fill the empty spaces inside her. Damien’s lips were strong, smooth, his open eyes dark, flecks of black in the blue.

Penelope pulled away, but she could not make herself move far. “Stop,” she whispered.

“Why?” Damien touched her lower lip with his bare finger. “You will marry me. We may kiss as much as we please.”

Penelope shook her head. “I have not said I would marry you.”

“You will.”

A spark of irritation stirred through her haze. “You are arrogant.”

“It is not arrogance.” Damien lowered his hand to his knee. “I know it will happen.”

When he spoke like that, Penelope was ready to believe with him. She must have run mad sometime today, and was not truly sitting here in the folly with a handsome prince who wanted to take her to his kingdom. “What did Michael say to you?”

Damien frowned. “Michael?”

“Mr. Tavistock. He sent Meagan and me out of the room so he could speak to you. It seems to have been a brief conversation.”

Damien leaned to kiss the side of Penelope’s mouth. Penelope’s body flushed with heat, and she almost forgot what she’d asked.

“Mr. Tavistock and Sasha are having a merry argument,” Damien said. “They will be finished by the time we return.”

Puzzlement worked its way around the fires inside her. “Should you not have stayed and finished the argument yourself?”

“I have already told Sasha what to prepare—the papers and things that prove I am who I say I am. I was not fool enough to think your family would believe who I was when I sprang myself upon you. I have made many plans.”

Penelope blinked. “Do you always do exactly what you want?”

“No.” Damien quietly brushed back the hair at her forehead. “I do what is best. Not necessarily what I want.”

Penelope wondered what on earth he meant by that, but when he touched her, it was difficult to think. She should be severe, questioning him, but her questions came out shakily. “And you believe it best that I marry you?”

Damien’s fingers moved to her throat, his touch like a warm breath. “The moment I realized you were the one I was to marry, I rejoiced. Not because I did not think your mother worthy, but because I knew in my heart it was right.” He cupped her cheek and looked straight into her eyes. “Rejoice with me, Penelope.”

Penelope swallowed. His broad hand caressed her cheek, the silver ring cool, his eyes holding both promise and hope.

Unable to stop herself, Penelope leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his mouth. Damien made a quiet noise in his throat, his fingers tightening on her cheek, but he didn’t pull her to him, didn’t rush her.

Penelope never thought she’d want to kiss a man again. Not after Magnus. But this was Damien, and definitely not Magnus.

His lips were smooth, welcoming. Penelope tentatively dipped her tongue between them, a strange sensation. Damien stilled, then he kissed her back, his tongue sweeping into her mouth in sudden, sharp spice.

Penelope jumped slightly, then yielded to the sensation, tasting him in return. She had no idea what she was doing, but she had the sudden urge to savor him.

They played there, lips and tongues tangling, exploring. Penelope balled her hands in her lap, and Damien did not move his fingers from her cheek. Only their mouths met, seeking and enjoying.