Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(19)
Penelope had lovely eyes, deep green, flecked with gold. Her eyes went with her golden hair, like sunshine captured.
One of the rituals for Nvengarian betrothals involved the bride and her intended groom immersing themselves in a deep bath. Damien could already feel Penelope’s slick body under his hands as he washed her, purifying her for their first coupling. He’d slide fingers over her curves, finding the secret recesses of her.
That was one ritual Sasha was not going to supervise.
Damien lowered his head, wanting to kiss her lips again, despite Meagan’s interested gaze. Penelope tasted like a warm spring breeze, and he needed to taste that again. And again.
Stay with me, love.
Penelope broke from him in a swirl of skirts. She looked helplessly at Meagan and Damien then she turned and ran from the folly. The wind lifted her gown, revealing a pair of plump calves and pretty ankles before the cloth swirled down again. Penelope’s hips swayed as she ran, the wind molding her skirts to her body.
Damien did not race after her, letting her go for now. She was too flustered, too confused by the suddenness of it all. He would give her a chance to cool down, to regain her senses, then he’d try again.
A part of him was glad she resisted. This woman would not meekly go where she was told. Damien liked a challenge, and he needed a woman who was up to it. There would be so many challenges for them both.
He needed a woman who would put her hands on her hips and face down Grand Duke Alexander alongside him. His heart beat faster. What a princess this lady would make!
Meagan was gazing at Damien in sympathy. “I said too much, didn’t I?”
“I am afraid we both did.”
Meagan shook her head. “Penelope was hurt by gentlemen before. Deeply. She is afraid to trust again.”
Something savage stirred inside Damien. Nvengarians were prone to violence, especially when defending the women in their lives. “Who would hurt her?” he asked, his voice deceptively quiet.
Meagan’s eyes reflected his anger. “Horrible gentlemen with no sense of honor. Rueben White was the worst. He made Penelope believe he truly loved her, when of course he did not. Magnus Grady was just nasty. I was that vexed at him.” Meagan touched Damien’s forearm to emphasize her point, and her fingers dug a little through his coat. “I vow, Prince Damien, you are quite muscular. Does your prophecy say you can marry the soon-to-be stepsister of the bride if she refuses?”
Damien looked into Meagan’s impudent face, read the cheekiness there. He liked this young woman who was at once innocent and wise, and very loyal to her friend. He needed people like Meagan as well. She would protect Penelope like a dragon. “Alas, no,” Damien said.
“Well, that’s all right.” Meagan released his arm and patted it. “I see the way you look at her. You are far gone on her, are you not? I am pleased. Penelope needs someone who will fall head over heels in love with her.”
Damien had fallen head over heels in love with her, as the Council of Mages and their bloody prophecy had said he would.
He’d always considered the Council of Mages a pack of charlatans who tailored their predictions and prophesying to whatever the Imperial Prince or Grand Duke Alexander wanted them to say. They’d spun the rigmarole of Damien seeking out the lost heir of Prince Augustus and uniting the line by marriage, thus saving Nvengaria for all eternity, while Alexander looked on, grimly satisfied. Damien would know his bride, the mages claimed, not only from the ring of Augustus but because he would fall instantly in love with her.
A complete fiction, Damien had thought. He hadn’t believed a word of it. The prophecy was a trick to send Damien out of the country so that Alexander and his Council of Dukes could take over.
But Sasha believed it wholeheartedly, and Damien knew that most Nvengarians believed it as well. It was an old story, the prophecy of the two rings. Only now Damien had been forced to live it.
He could not refuse the quest, both Alexander and the Council of Mages knew, or he’d risk losing the support of the people. Once that happened, Damien might as well fall on his sword and have done.
But perhaps, just perhaps, the Council of Mages had been right …
Damien needed Penelope—for many more reasons than a man usually needed a woman. He wondered if that needing would, in the end, outweigh the love.
Damien’s gaze went to the trees beneath which Penelope had disappeared. She was gone, but her presence lingered. If he’d met her a year ago, Damien might have sought a dalliance, had Petri find them someplace private and guarded so he could make sweet love to her.
Then again, probably not. Damien knew the difference between an untouched miss and the married women who pursued him. Damien would have looked at Penelope, had a cock-throbbing fantasy about her, and left her alone.
Now Damien could have her, no impediments. He’d find a way to change her no to a yes, and then they’d be betrothed. Then, according to Nvengarian custom, they’d become lovers.
A betrothal was as legally binding in Nvengaria as a marriage was in Britain. Nvengarians did not consider a child conceived or born before the wedding to be illegitimate, as long as the couple was legally betrothed beforehand. Damien had never given much thought to that custom before, but it pleased him now.
Penelope would say yes, and then Damien would spend the rest of his time in bed with her, while Sasha carried on with the betrothal festivities.