Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(34)

Damien hadn’t believed the prophecy any more than Alexander had, Alexander knew, but Damien understood the power of his people. If Damien had refused to go on this unlikely quest, they’d have rioted. Nvengarians were not calm, rational people; they loved emotion and buried themselves in it. Both Damien and Alexander knew that Damien had no choice but to go.

The prophecy said that Damien would return the princess by Midsummer’s Day or die in the attempt. The Nvengarians liked that. Succeed or die. It touched their romantic souls.

Alexander did not trust Nedrak’s magic spells designed to force Damien to break the prophecy and thus sacrifice himself, but Alexander trusted his handpicked assassins.

Damien might succeed, but it was far more likely he’d die in the attempt.

Alexander smiled.

Nedrak nervously wet his lips. “What is it, Your Grace?”

“Nothing.” Alexander rose, firelight catching in the blood-red jewel on his finger. “You may go if you like. I am finished here.” He drew a breath, preparing himself for what would come next.

“Truly?” Nedrak looked surprised. Alexander usually continued working until the small hours of the morning.

Alexander gave him a cool nod. “For now. I told my wife I would visit her tonight.”

“Ah.” Nedrak caught Alexander’s icy stare and erased his sympathetic expression. “Please give Her Grace my very best wishes for her health.”

“It will do no good. She is dying.” Alexander pulled a watch from his pocket, checked it, then tucked it away as he walked to the door. “But I will tell her.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Nedrak said, and then, thank all the gods, closed his mouth and said nothing more.

Alexander gave Nedrak another nod, hiding the ache in his heart, and quietly departed the room.

Nedrak waited until Alexander’s footfalls had faded in the distance. Then he sank into his chair, fanning his lined face in relief.

“I admire that man,” Nedrak confided to his scrying crystal. “A clever, capable gentleman is the Grand Duke.” He blew out his breath. “But he scares the hell out of me.”



* * *



“The Prince Regent, here!” Lady Trask gasped for the hundredth time.

As preparations for the festivities Damien and Sasha planned commenced, Penelope’s mother took every opportunity to throw her hands in the air and cry that the Regent would never find her home acceptable, they’d never be ready in time, and other imaginary disasters.

Penelope calmed Lady Trask and helped Mathers and the rest of the staff ready the house, her movements wooden, her mind in a daze. She did not see much of Damien during this time, and he took care not to be alone with her.

At first, Penelope thought him wise, because she’d nearly flung off her nightrail and begged him to lie with her on the floor of her chamber. But as the days passed, she began craving him with mindless intensity.

Penelope’s thoughts often moved to the sensation of his hands on her breasts, his fingers warm, his mouth strong and coaxing. She relived the moments alone with him over and over in her dreams as well as her waking hours.

An incredible man had touched her and called her beautiful.

One kiss could not hurt, Penelope thought. Or one clasp of Damien’s hand. Even a moment snatched alone with him so their gazes might meet and they could speak would help ease her longing.

But Damien wrapped himself in the arrangements for the coming ceremonies and spent all his time locked with Sasha or his valet, Petri. Damien travelled to the village often, taking one or more of his huge footmen with him. The footmen returned home singing, Damien quiet and watchful.

Even Michael had begun to believe Damien’s story, though he was still wary. Penelope knew he meant to leave as soon as she either became officially engaged to Damien or managed to turn him away. She hoped during that time to change Michael’s mind about going at all.

“Damien is a personable fellow,” Michael said to Penelope one day as workmen clattered through the house around them. “And if the Prince of Wales vouches for him, I shall concede. But your mother grows too excited and is apt to trust too quickly.”

“Please understand,” Penelope appealed to him. “She adored being a baronet’s wife and going to all the best balls and parties in London. She felt it keenly when all the income went to my cousin, and we could no longer live in Town.”

“Penelope.” Michael put his hand on her shoulder, his kind eyes still. “I know this. But perhaps your mother cannot forgive me not giving her what her husband did.”

Penelope shook her head. “You are wrong. She loves you very much. Please give her a chance.”

Michael gazed pensively at her for a time, then said, resigned, “Very well.” his tone evasive.

Penelope worried—amid her worries of everything else. Her mother did sometimes treat Michael poorly, it was true, but if he left her, it would break Simone’s heart. Penelope could hardly run off with Damien and leave her mother alone if that happened.

Then Damien would ride away, searching for another princess.

The thought of Damien taking another woman’s hand and looking into her eyes, explaining that the prophecy made him fall in love with her drove Penelope a little bit mad. She was selfish enough, she admitted, that she did not like that possibility.