Imogen stepped back for another perspective of the painting, then turned to Cededa. High color washed her cheekbones. Innocent she was but far from immune to the frescoes’ effects.

“What is he doing to her?”

He did smile then. “Have you ever pleasured yourself, Imogen?”

She didn’t shrink away from the question or avoid his gaze. “Yes,” she said simply.

Cededa silently applauded Niamh for not teaching her daughter shame of her own body. Imogen answered him with no more chagrin than if he asked her if she wanted a drink of water.

He closed the distance between them and studied the painting with her. “He is using his tongue in the same way you use your fingers.”

Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, and she tilted her head as if considering a greater question. “And this is pleasurable for her?”

He gestured at the fresco. “Look at her face. What do you think?”

She bent for a closer look, then turned to gaze at him over her shoulder. “Have you done this?”

This girl didn’t possess a speck of coyness. He found it refreshing. “I have.”

“Did you enjoy it as well?”

“Very much so.”

This was likely the strangest, most fascinating discussion he’d ever had with a woman, or any person for that matter. Imogen delighted him, enchanted him and if he dwelt on it too long, terrified him. Part of him wished he’d met her before his world crumbled around him. The greater part was thankful he hadn’t.

She straightened and moved past him, her eyes traveling over the remaining frescoes. All depicted scenes progressively more lurid than the ones before it. “Why did you have these painted in your chambers?”

Cededa had no intention of detailing the debauched atmosphere of his court during his long reign. “They seemed appropriate at the time.”

She didn’t press him for more but moved on to another question that made him grin. “Have you tried all of these?”

“I have. Several times.”

She looked away from him then. Her arms crossed protectively in front of her, and she stood silent for a few moments, pondering, before meeting his eyes. The blush had faded, and her gaze was both resolute and steady. “Once you rid me of this curse, I want to try all of these as well, and I want you to teach me.”

She wouldn’t have caught him any more off guard than if she’d suddenly stripped naked and ran around the room in circles. No fear, no maidenly embarrassment, only an honest desire to experience the pleasures of the flesh denied to her. Cededa wanted to reply, but she’d knocked the breath out of his lungs, not to mention strengthened the erection that already made his trews uncomfortable.

“What?” she asked when he continued to stare at her in silence. “Do you think it wrong to desire such things?”

The words hung in his throat for a moment, bitter and sharp. “I think you will one day make a fortunate man very happy, Imogen.” A brief, agonized jealousy spiked him in the chest, along with the urge to break the lucky bastard in half. He ruthlessly crushed the emotion and tried not to dwell too long on the idea of Imogen as the woman in one of the paintings and himself between her pale thighs. He’d lose the ability to think at all if he did and act on instinct.