Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(94)

Penelope listened to all this, sympathy and understanding in her eyes. “Lady Anastasia does care for you, very much. I can see it.”

“She is grateful to me,” Damien corrected her. He pressed a kiss to Penelope’s hair, diamonds scraping his lips. “Anastasia would have gone mad if I hadn’t recruited her, and she knows it.”

“It was kind of you.”

“Partly kind. Partly ruthless, because I saw what a good tool she could be.”

Penelope turned her head and kissed the line of his jaw. “You are not a monster, Damien, no matter how much you try to persuade me so.”

Damien closed his other arm around her and gathered her close, basking in her scent and softness.

“Now that I have told you the story,” he murmured, “do you still want me to show you what Nvengarian ladies enjoy in bed?”

Penelope looked up at him. “I do.”

Damien’s entire body went tight. “I am pleased you say that.”

“I do want to know.” Penelope lifted her chin, though her eyes were wary. “I hardly want you to run off to another Nvengarian woman because you believe me too hesitant.”

Damien traced her cheek. “Ah, Penelope, what I have to teach you will take many, many years to learn. I am patient enough to spend every day teaching you, if need be.”

Penelope’s flush deepened. “Where I come from, a man does not ask his wife for carnal things; he slakes his desires on a mistress.”

Damien felt a sting of disgust for English husbands. “But not, it pleases me to say, where I come from.”

He touched his mouth to Penelope’s upper lip. She hungrily leaned into the kiss, but he pulled away, and she sent him a look of frustration. Damien’s body warmed.

“We’ll do this slowly,” he said. “But do not worry. I will teach you everything.”

“Including …” Penelope broke off and gave him a timid look. “Bed toys?”

Damien stared at her, something hot exploding through his body. “Bed … toys? What the devil are you talking about?”

Penelope’s face was crimson. “She said … I heard that you liked …” She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I am willing to try.”

“Bloody hell.” Damien drew a long breath, trying to still the visions her words tumbled through his head—Penelope stretched out face-down on the bed, Damien lying beside her, a piece of leather in his hand … His muscles went rigid, sweat beading on his brow. “Is that what you want? I do not have such things with me, but I suppose I can arrange …”

“I do not know what I want,” Penelope said rapidly. She touched the hollow of his throat, bared by his open shirt. “I want you.”

“Penelope, my love, you play with fire.” Damien could hardly form the words.

The look Penelope slanted him told him she did not care.

“Hell.” Damien took her hands, grip tight, though he tried to soften it. “Make certain, love. I do not want to frighten you.”

Penelope gazed up at him, resolute. “I am certain.”

Damien released her hands to cup her face, pressing a kiss to her parted lips. “Stay there.”

He released her and strode swiftly across the room. In the outer chamber Petri busied himself with the task of unpinning each of the medals attached to Damien’s coat. Damien hadn’t earned all of them. Ten he’d inherited at his father’s death, and six had been bestowed on him for the simple act of returning to Nvengaria to become Imperial Prince. Once he brought Penelope home, his coat would sport so many medals he wouldn’t be able to wear it.

He said in Nvengarian, “No one is to come in, Petri. No one. Do you understand?”

Petri’s eyes twinkled. “Perfectly, sir. What if the house is burning down?”

“Only if these chambers are in any danger,” Damien said firmly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good night, Petri.”

“Night, sir.” Petri grinned and returned to his task, taking a moment to turn the key in the lock of the outer door.

Damien retreated into the bedchamber. Penelope stood where he’d left her, her expression both excited and worried.

Damien moved to her and gently turned her to face away from him. “I will play lady’s maid and undress you.”

“Hilliard will be furious,” Penelope pointed out, her voice shaking.

“I will make it up to her.” Damien carefully untied the dark rust-colored silk ribbon around Penelope’s waist, then unhooked the tiny clasps down the back of the bodice. Penelope’s sleeves, mere wisps of silk, loosened and dropped.

Damien took a moment to trace the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was hot, rising in gooseflesh where he touched her.

I do not deserve her, Damien thought, as he pressed light kisses where he’d touched. But dear Lord, how I want her.

Damien unfastened the hooks until the entire gown loosened and skimmed down her legs.

Penelope made a futile grab at the fabric as it landed in a ruddy pool at her feet. “I should not let it lie crumpled on the floor. It was so costly.”

“You are Princess of Nvengaria,” Damien said, wanting to laugh. “You may have a dozen such dresses.”

“I will not win the love of your people if I am frivolous about my gowns.” Penelope looked up at him, concern in her eyes.