Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(77)
His audience exploded into laughter again, gentlemen and ladies alike. “You are very naughty, Prince Damien,” Lady Trask said, eyes shining. Even Michael smiled, appeased by Damien’s capitulation to the wedding ceremony.
Yes, all were happy with Prince Damien this night. And yet, the person he most wanted to look upon him with gladness sat quietly at his side, smiling a little, but saying nothing. He sensed sparks kindling behind Penelope’s eyes, and not sparks of love. She wanted to argue about something.
But Penelope knew how to behave in front of a crowd. She rose with Damien and accompanied him in a circuit around the room, saying her good-byes to those who had traveled to see her. The Regent gallantly kissed her hand.
It was a long time before Damien could extract himself and Penelope from the room, but at last he led her to the door, followed by more applause. Behind them, Sasha swept among the guests, Rufus, Miles, and Titus following with heaping baskets of gifts—the gifts would be bestowed on each guest with a little speech. That should keep everyone occupied for a while.
At the foot of the stairs, Damien gathered Penelope to him and kissed her, not giving her time to begin whatever argument brewed in her head.
Her yellow silk gown was warm under his hands—her bridal gown, in which she’d married him. He wanted to tear it from her body in long, leisurely rips, watching the pieces become a yellow puddle on the floor. He wanted to be inside her, buried deep, wanted it with mindless intensity. My lady, my princess, my wife.
Rituals first. He broke the kiss. “Ready yourself,” Damien said to her in a low voice. “I will come to you.”
Penelope looked up at him, startled. She swallowed, then nodded and turned abruptly away, apparently forgetting what she wanted to argue about. She would remember later, Damien was certain.
As she turned to stride away from him, Damien gave her a little push on her backside. That earned him a glare, but he saw the sparkle building in her eyes. This ritual would be sweet.
* * *
The silver pitcher slipped in Meagan’s hand and a cascade of hot water hit the floor, splashing all over Penelope, Meagan, and Penelope’s mother. Penelope expected Simone to shriek about her ruined dress, but she’d had plenty of champagne, and like Meagan, she dissolved into happy laughter.
All very well for the pair of them, Penelope thought. They were not standing stark naked in the middle of an antechamber on a piece of oilcloth, shivering while soap suds and sloshes of water dripped from her body. The large wooden bathtub that Sasha had commanded to be built steamed gently nearby. Not long from now, Damien would join her, and the ritual would commence.
“Do hurry,” Penelope said.
“Penny, dear, this is no time for maidenly vapors,” Simone said. “You have already been in his bed—why are you suddenly shy?”
“It is different, somehow.” Penelope groped for words. “It is more …”
“Official?” Meagan suggested. “Whereas a few days ago, you were only being naughty.”
Penelope’s face heated. “Everyone knows what we will do—I feel them waiting out there. The other day it was private, between Damien and me. Now, I am on display.”
“At least Damien did away with having a crowd watch you bathe each other,” Meagan pointed out. “Good heavens, Sasha wanted to invite twenty people and seemed most puzzled when Damien objected.”
“Sasha is a strange man,” Lady Trask agreed. She squished a sponge against Penelope’s shoulder. “He does love his rituals.”
“He’s harmless,” Meagan said, her voice softening. “Damien says he went a bit insane being in a dungeon so long. Imprisoned only for telling Damien’s papa that Damien was not trying to take over the country. Poor man.” She looked suddenly mournful. “After tomorrow, I’ll never see you again, Penny.”
“Do not say that,” Penelope said, her heart sinking. “You will come to Nvengaria and I will visit England. I’ve said so.”
“But it is such a long way away,” Lady Trask said sadly.
“Mama, you are getting water all over your frock,” Penelope said, trying to sound firm. “Now do not start crying, because if you do, I will too, and we do not have time. Sasha said Damien would enter at ten o’clock precisely.”
Penelope did not want to be standing upright, nude and wet, when Damien walked through the doors. She wanted to be in the bath, seated, the water up to her neck. She felt somehow that she could face him like that, not exposed, shivering, and vulnerable.
Lady Trask nodded, though tears continued to wet her face. “You are my daughter, Penelope. Of course I must grieve that you are leaving me behind, even though I am so happy you have made such a match.” She threw her arms around Penelope, soap and water and all. “Oh, my darling, I do love you so.”
“So do I,” Meagan said. She flung her arms around Penelope from the other side, letting her tears come.
They cried and hugged each other until all three ended up soaked.
Out in the hall, the tall case clock struck ten, echoing and sonorous. The three ladies broke apart, panic taking over.
“Wait, you’re still soapy,” Meagan cried, throwing water from a pitcher over Penelope.
The water arced through the air, half of it splashing Penelope, the other half soaking the blue silk wall covering. Meagan stared in dismay, but Lady Trask burst into laughter.