Page 6 of His Perfect Princess

I tightened my grip on his forearm and tried to calm my body’s confused responses. He was the Crown Prince of Faencairn, after all. Whatever he was planning, I would agree to.

I’d be honored to do whatever he asked of me.

He pushed open the door to what appeared to be a private chamber. This sitting room was decorated in decadent shades of blue and gold, and the sofas looked comfortable enough to sleep on. Through one of the open doors I could see a bed large enough for four with a counterpane decorated in dark blue and swirls of gold, and through another I could see a bathing chamber gleaming in gold and marble. There was a huge picture window opposite the main door which offered gorgeous views of the distant mountains.

This place was stunning.

And luckily, under the picture window was a small table, set for two. I couldn’t see any food served, but it was still before noon.

He’d invited me to his personal chambers to dine?

That’s when I heard the lock click closed behind me.

Chapter 3

Clarissa

I whirled around to see the prince standing there with his hand still on the door latch, and when he caught me staring, a slow smile tugged at his lips. I immediately dropped my gaze to his throat.

Oh Heavens, he had the most beautiful throat. Tanned, with just a hint of stubble below his chin. Not to mention that blue stare of his. It was so intense, I had trouble matching it. If I did, I found myself getting all sorts of warm inside. My core was already aching enough to make me want to shift around in my heels in the hopes my thighs might rub together and give me some of the feelings I was craving.

Which, of course, was ridiculous. I might be a virgin, but I was well-read. Theology, Literature, and—most importantly—the delicious sort of romance novels which had been passed around at school behind our teachers’ backs.

While none of them were particularly explicit, I’d read enough to know what I was craving was a man’s touch. Not just any man. This man, who had just locked me in his private suite, and was currently stalking leisurely towards me.

I caught my breath and dropped my gaze to his immaculately tailored waistcoat. The blue wool of his jacket hugged his chest, and as he walked, he unbuttoned the top button so it hung open and I could see more of the crisp white shirt under it.

He stopped in front of a shelf of books and casually untied his necktie. The collar of his shirt gaped open as he tossed the strip of silk atop the shelf, which should have made him look rumbled. Papa always looked like a lumpy butcher without his tie, but Prince Rickard looked…

Perfect.

Humming slightly, he pulled a small tome from the shelf, placed it under his arm, and turned back to me. He gave me a long look up and down, as if judging me.

It should have been humiliating, but instead it made me breathless.

It made me want to be as perfect as I could. Anything to please him.

He stepped toward me, but at the last moment, veered to one side.

I realized I was holding my breath as he paced around me. I had to resist the urge to turn, and kept my hands locked firmly in front of me, my eyes on the door across the way. My heart was beating double-time; why had he invited me here, if not to each lunch?

“Clarissa…”

When he said my name behind me, I swear little shivers of anticipation went up and down my spine. He seemed to be waiting on an answer.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness?”

“Ye may call me Rickard. Or milord. Or ‘my prince’.” His voice lowered. “Or ‘sir’.”

Sir?

He was right behind me, I could feel him. His breath was tickling my ear, and I had the strangest urge to lean back against him, to feel the whole hot, hard length of him against me.

I swallowed. “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

“Good lass. Ye can take direction.” He was moving again, coming to stand in front of me. “Ye’re probably very confused right now, are ye no’, Clarissa?”

“Yes, sir.” I whispered again, staring at the spot where his skin peeked out of his shirt collar.

---