Read Online Penelope & Prince Charming by Jennifer Ashley - Free Book Online Page A

suddenly cocked her head and put her hands on her hips. “My father is right about one thing. How do we know you are a real prince?”
    Damien looked into surprisingly shrewd eyes in her pointed face. “I thought you were on my side.”
    “I am. But Penelope is my best friend. And soon to be stepsister. I want her to marry a prince, not a hoaxer.”
    “I quite understand.” He descended the steps of the folly and politely held out his hand to help Meagan down. “But I will prove it.”
    “How?”
    He gestured expansively. “I will hold a festival, in a week’s time, for your family and friends. For your entire village. Sasha has already begun the arrangements. I invited many acquaintances from London, including a man whom you will believe when he tells you I am Prince Damien of Nvengaria.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, yes? And who is this man?”
    “The Prince Regent.”
    “Oh.” She looked thoughtful, then took Damien’s arm as they began walking slowly back to the house. “That will work, I suppose. Providing, of course, that we believe he’s really the Prince Regent.”
    Near midnight, Michael Tavistock entered Lady Trask’s bedchamber and closed the door.
    Lady Trask heard him, but she did not look ’round from brushing her hair. Her maid had undressed her, helped her into a dressing gown, then discreetly left the room.
    Any minute now, Michael would cross to her, put his hands on her shoulders, tilt her head back and kiss her. Lady Trask waited in excited anticipation. Michael could kiss like fire.
    He did no such thing. He remained by the door, his arms folded, watching her in the mirror.
    Disappointment darted through her. The afternoon had been exhausting. Penelope had been most trying, completely ignoring Lady Trask’s attempts to point out that she’d never get a better offer than from a prince, and what was the matter with her?
    Michael, the exasperating man, took Penelope’s side. He could not possibly know what it was like to have a daughter who’d jilted two perfectly good London gentlemen with money and connections. Granted, neither Mr. White nor that somewhat awful Magnus Grady had been as handsome and charming as Prince Damien, but really. To refuse a prince, it was too much.
    Lady Trask had told her so. Michael had watched in silence.
    Meagan, at least, had some sense. If Penelope was not careful, Meagan would snatch Damien out from under her friend’s nose, never mind this prophecy business.
    Prince Damien had not said much the rest of the afternoon and during dinner, but he’d watched Penelope. He was determined; that was a point. He’d not be put off by maidenly resistance.
    Sasha had kept up a running commentary all afternoon and evening on the history of Nvengaria and the glory of Prince Damien until she’d wanted to scream. Michael’s silence had unnerved her, as had the look in his dark eyes.
    It unnerved her now.
    She at last laid down her brush and gazed at him in the mirror. He remained rigidly on the other side of the room.
    “Well, it has been an eventful day, has it not?” she began brightly.
    “Simone,” Michael said in a warning tone. “Don’t.”
    His voice could always make her shiver.
    “Don’t what?” She rose from the dressing table and turned to him.
    As usual, she was struck with how desperately she loved him. He was so handsome. So tall and strong and virile. And he didn’t mind that she was fifty and past her first looks. Lady Trask slathered her face in buttermilk and lemon every night, and declared her skin as fresh as her daughter’s. Michael seemed to like her skin. Liked touching it all over. Often with his tongue.
    No man had ever excited her like he did.
    And he was all hers. He was not poor, he could have his pick of any chit in London with skinny arms and a lisp, but he’d chosen her.
    She crossed to him, put her hands on his shoulders. “Darling.”
    He did not move. His muscles were hard and still beneath her touch.
    She grew worried.