Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(95)

Damien bowed to her wisdom. “You may have a point, my dear. I will take care of things. Step out.”

Penelope moved her silk-clad feet outside the circle of warm cloth. Damien lifted the dress with reverence and laid it carefully over a sofa on the other side of the room. He turned back to her. “Better?”

Penelope faced him in stockings, slippers, chemise and stays. Except for the diamonds in her hair, she looked less like a regal princess and more like a dairy maid. A beautiful, spirited dairy maid who had just married him.

Damien gazed at her in hunger. He could rush at her and take her now, but how much better to savor, to enjoy. After tonight, he might not have time to be with her again, not like this, in relative privacy and safety.

Penelope waited, clearly wondering what he was thinking. “Do you not wish to be lady’s maid any longer?” she asked.

Damien put his fingers to his lips as though pondering the matter. “I have a better idea. Undress for me, Penelope. Let me watch you.”

He drew forward a gaudy, straight-backed chair with a leopard-print cushion and positioned it about five feet from her. Damien sat down, stretching out his legs and crossing his booted feet, and waved his hand. “Proceed.”

Instead of obeying, Penelope grinned. “You look like a sheik, waiting for his harem ladies to dance for him.”

Damien contrived a stern expression. “There is a bit of Turk in the Nvengarians as well as Magyar, so I suppose it is natural.” He gestured again. “Undress, my harem lady.”

Penelope began to frantically tug at the knot that closed her stays. Damien held up his hand. “Slowly. Make me anticipate.”

She stared a moment, as though wondering why he would want that, then she turned her back and carefully untied the ribbon. She paused, fingers hovering, before she spread the stays, loosening the laces. Damien watched, body tight, as the ribbon came out of the holes.

Penelope turned back to him as she drew the stays from her body. She studied them for a moment, then walked to the sofa and laid them reverently next to the dress.

Damien stifled his laughter as Penelope moved back to the precise point on the carpet where she’d stood before and untied the tapes in the front of her chemise. The short-sleeved garment bared her plump elbows and clung to her breasts, the chemise modest at the same time it revealed.

Penelope pulled each ribbon slowly out of its knot, dangling the tie as long as she could before moving to the next one. Damien forced himself to keep still, not letting his smile crease his lips. Penelope had no idea how to move like a courtesan, but her attempts were far more enticing than those of any skilled lady.

She ran out of ribbons to untie, and looked shyly at Damien. Then, very slowly, she dropped the chemise from her shoulders and let it slither to her feet.

Damien’s heartbeat sped until his body pounded. She was stunning. He curled his fists in his lap, wanting both to bear her to the ground and to sit still so he could simply look at her.

Her breasts were firm, tips dusky and rising with her breath. Her slender waist tapered to sweet hips, her thighs probably more plump than she liked them, but to Damien she was beautiful.

Lace garters tied just above Penelope’s knees, and white silk stockings smoothed her lower legs to her silk slippers. Penelope’s fingers curled at her sides, pulling his gaze to the twist of golden hair between her thighs that he’d kissed and loved.

Penelope reached down for the garter binding her right leg.

“No,” Damien said quickly, and she looked up, wondering. “Leave the garters and stockings. And your slippers.”

Penelope raised her brows in question, but she straightened up, obeying.

Damien drew in a breath. “In the cupboard, on the bottom shelf, is a glass bottle. Bring it to me.”

Penelope’s lips parted, as though she was about to protest at him ordering her about, then she seemed to decide it was part of the game. She glided to the cupboard, Damien admiring her elegant backside all the way, and pulled open the door.

The huge gilded mirror that stood next to the wardrobe let Damien watch both rear and front of his wife as Penelope leaned down and extracted the bottle of scented oil he’d purchased in a rather exotic shop in the Strand.

She held it out in her hands. “This one?”

“Yes.” Damien rose and set a narrow table next to his chair. “Bring it,” he said, sitting down again. “Be careful.”

Damien did not think the oil could possibly mar the room’s loud red and gold carpet if it spilled, but he didn’t want to waste it. He’d bought the oil after much consideration, carefully inhaling each sample the proprietor brought out to him. He’d decided on one that put him in mind of Penelope—a delicate sandalwood with the barest hint of roses.

He’d paid an exorbitant price for it, the proprietor cannily gauging that Damien could afford it. Simply watching Penelope carry the bottle to him in both hands made the purchase worth it.

“Set it down,” Damien said, patting the table.

Penelope placed the bottle carefully where he indicated, her breasts curving forward.

“Now,” he said, unable to keep the hunger from his voice. “Come here.”

She moved in front of the chair. Damien touched his palm to her belly, stroking while he breathed her scent.

“What do you wish me to do?” Penelope asked.

“Come to me, love.” Damien slid his hands to her hips and tugged her forward, nudging his knees between hers. He lifted her then, and pulled her down to straddle him.