Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(8)

“Let me have one more page of the fairy tale, Penelope. Before I must close the book.”

Penelope had no idea what he meant. She did know, however, that if the gossipy ladies of the village spied her back here all alone with a handsome stranger, she’d be ruined.

A very naughty part of her, which rarely spoke, whispered, Then why not enjoy it?

He must have cast a spell on her. Penelope thought of the villagers dancing in a line down the high street. He no doubt had been responsible for that as well.

“What did you do to them?” she asked.

Damien frowned. “Do to whom?”

“The men of the village.”

“Ah.” His amusement returned. “I bought them ale. I made many friends.”

Now Penelope wanted to laugh. “You must have.” She looked at him in exasperation. “Really, who are you?”

“Just Damien. For now.”

“Who will you be later?”

“I do not know.” Damien looked off into the distance. “I do not know, Penelope. Someone you will not like perhaps.”

Penelope gave a weak laugh. “I have known you ten minutes and already you are the most baffling man of my acquaintance.”

His gaze returned to her, his focus sharp, like a wolf’s on a rabbit. “And you are the most beautiful woman of mine.”

Penelope so longed for the words to be true. Everything within her wanted to be beautiful for this man—plain Penelope, with wheat-colored hair and green eyes and a figure not willowy enough for London standards. She was certain this gentleman could have the pick of beauties wherever he went. He had to be giving her false coin.

“I cannot possibly be,” she said, trying not to sound wistful.

“I am afraid you are. And I believe I have fallen in love with you.”

Penelope widened her eyes. “In ten minutes? Now I know you are flummoxing me.”

“I think it would make no difference were it ten minutes, ten hours, or ten years.” Damien’s look was almost angry. “Which makes what I must do even more difficult.”

“I think that you are completely mad.”

“And I agree with you.”

Damien gently untied the ribbons of her small bonnet and pushed it from her head. She, the ninny, sat there and let him.

He brushed his gloved fingers over her hair. “It is like gold in the sunlight.” His touch started a shaking deep within her. “I have read stories,” Damien said, “in which a magician makes time stand still.”

Penelope had read them as well. She’d transcribed such stories in her books of folktales.

“Have you ever wished you could do so?” Damien asked.

Penelope nodded. “Oh, yes.”

Damien looked surprised that she agreed. “I wish I could stop time now. I would stay here in this place forever, in the moment I fell in love with you.”

“Too much sun,” she murmured.

Damien leaned to her. “What do you say?”

“Too much sun. It is a warm day. Your brains are addled.”

Damien stared at her a moment, then he burst out laughing, a fine sound. The horse, startled by the noise, danced sideways.

Damien calmed it with a touch. He swung down from the saddle then lifted Penelope to the ground with him.

She grabbed her bonnet and jammed it back on her head but Damien removed it again and tucked it into a bag strapped to the saddle. Penelope stared at him. “Now my brains will be addled,” she said.

Damien’s hands went to her waist. He stood over her, tall and strong, his hands warm through her cotton frock. “Penelope, will you kiss me?”

This could not be real. She must have landed in the pages of one of her own fairy tales. That was the only explanation for this situation. Or she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming.

But no, fairy tales did not come true in prosaic Little Marching. Damien would kiss her, and Penelope would be labeled as fast, and that would be the end of her. Poor, foolish Penelope, they’d say. She let flattery go to her head. You see, my dears, why you should never trust a gentleman?

Damien’s gaze flicked to her lips, black lashes sweeping down. “I beg you.”

Penelope put her hands on his arms. She meant to push him away, but she could only rest her fingers on his sleeves, feeling his strength beneath them. “I do not believe—”

Damien leaned to her, touching his forehead to hers. “Please,” he whispered. “Please kiss me, Penelope.”

Without waiting for her answer, he brushed his lips to the side of her mouth, just barely, then withdrew.

Heat shot to the base of Penelope’s spine. She closed her hands over his arms, holding the steel hardness of them.

Damien leaned to her again and dropped a kiss to her cheek, his lips smooth and warm, then moved to the curve of her neck. Penelope let her head go back as Damien gently licked then kissed the hollow of her throat.

Penelope closed her eyes, suppressing a faint moan. The join of her thighs felt hot and strange.

“I would like to see you bare.” Damien slid his hands from her waist to cup just under her breasts. “I would like to see you in the sunshine, with your hair down, and your gown open.”

Exactly as in her vision. Fire raced through Penelope’s every nerve. She was mad, she must be. But for this moment, she did not care.