Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(6)

Penelope’s knees went weak. This man knew how to smile. He did not merely lift his lips—he put every ounce of sincerity into it. He could make a woman on the receiving end of that smile happy she’d climbed out of bed in the morning. A young lady would get up extra early if she thought she’d have a chance of seeing him smile at her like that.

Even better if he did it from the pillow next to her.

Again, Penelope jerked her thoughts from such disquieting things, but visions abruptly flooded her mind. His large hands in her hair, his eyes warm as he leaned over her in the dark, his kisses on her flesh as he whispered her name.

Penelope shivered and the images dissolved, but threads lingered, leaving her body tight.

Meagan crept forward to peer over Penelope’s shoulder. “Good heavens. Who is he?”

Penelope had no idea. She’d spent three seasons in London and had never seen anyone like this gentleman. She’d have remembered him.

And yet, she suddenly had the strangest feeling she did know him very well indeed. Some thought deep inside Penelope’s mind clicked, as though it were, well, satisfied.

The man bowed in the saddle, making the movement seem effortless. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

His voice was low and rich, his English correct but accented enough to send another a shiver down Penelope’s spine.

“Oh,” Meagan breathed. “He’s foreign.”

“Meagan, do not be impolite,” Penelope said as she watched amusement fill the man’s eyes.

“’Tisn’t impolite,” Meagan declared. “’Tis a fact.”

“She is correct, I am afraid,” the man said. “I am looking for a house called Ashborn Manor. Do you know it?”

“Of course we know it,” Meagan said before Penelope could speak. “We’ve just come from there.” She pointed. “It’s that way.”

“Excellent.” He looked pleased, as though Meagan’s answer had been highly important. “Will one of you ladies guide me?”

Panic worked its way into Penelope’s throat. She said, “We do not know you, sir,” at the same time Meagan said, “Of course.”

The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “I wish to reach the house before my entourage finds me. Will you ride with me?”

He looked straight at Penelope. Or perhaps not, Penelope thought hastily. Meagan was standing nearly on top of her.

“That is you, my friend,” Meagan said in some delight. “I am afraid of horses.”

Meagan stepped away, leaving Penelope alone before the large horse and the man’s devastating gaze.

He held out his hand. “Please. I would be most grateful.”

He bent from the saddle, stretching his hand to her. Ride away with me, his eyes said. For a little while.

Visions slammed into Penelope’s head again. She saw herself on the horse with him, his strong arms around her, keeping her safe. They would canter off to lands unknown, where he’d feed her strawberries in a cushion-strewn boudoir, following the berries with kisses as gentle as snowflakes.

The images shifted to Penelope lying in a meadow, grass tickling her while he loosened her bodice. His hands pushed aside clothing as he leaned to kiss her bared breasts.

Penelope dragged in a breath in more shock. The visions receded, but the man’s eyes danced as though he knew exactly what thoughts she had in her head. Ridiculous, of course. How could he?

Meagan was saying, “I vow, I do not know how you can refuse when he puts it so kindly.”

“Because we do not know him,” Penelope said desperately. “He could be anyone.”

“Oh, Pen, where is the harm?”

Penelope drew in another breath. “I still do not think—”

Meagan grabbed Penelope’s sleeve and dragged her a few steps away. “If you do not wish to make his acquaintance, you are plain mad,” she said in a fierce whisper. “He is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life, and he’s obviously wealthy and well born. Who else would ride a horse like that and have clothes so obviously made for him? He is a stranger here—we should show him that English people are hospitable, should we not?”

“Yes, but—”

Meagan’s fingers pinched down. “Think upon this, Pen. He’s bent upon visiting the house. On the moment. What do you think is happening there? At this moment.”

They shared a look.

“Very well,” Penelope said briskly, turning back to the gentleman. “I will ride with you.”

“Excellent,” he said in his warm voice. He liked the word, as though it conveyed all he needed it to.

Penelope handed Meagan her basket, closed her fingers around the man’s outstretched hand, and lifted her foot to rest on his boot. He pulled her upward, his strength taking her breath away. He settled Penelope sideways in front of him in the saddle, and as in her fantasy, closed his arms around her.

“We shall see you there,” the man called to Meagan.

Meagan settled Penelope’s basket on her arm and waved good-bye as Penelope’s gentleman turned the horse and started up the road for Ashborn Manor.

Meagan looked positively triumphant. Treacherous girl.





Chapter 4





“How far away is the house?” the gentleman asked, his breath warm in Penelope’s ear.