Page 65 of The Taste of Light
"Oh, it was nothing." Cheeks glowing red, she bit her bottom lip.
"It was much more than nothing." He dropped his arm, the page forgotten. "Why won't you accept my praise?"
She pulled away from the cage of his arms. "Pride is one of the deadly sins. I—"
Pedro scoffed. "Just because an old priest deemed it a dangerous emotion?" If Anne wasn't proud of her accomplishment, he was enough for both of them. "Religion is fickle about what is supposed to be a sin. The Greeks were right to call pride a virtue."
The warmth of her skin seeped into his shirt. He wanted more.
"But... isn't it unbecoming for a young lady to display something other than humility?"
He would like her to display much more than humility. "The opposite of pride is not humility, but shame. Pride has its virtues. It is deserved. It is decadent. It is your due. Don't shy from it. I forbid you to feel ought but prideful."
"Why, if you have the power to dictate one's feelings…" She curtsied and then dazzled him with a smile full of dimples and white teeth. "It was pretty marvelous, wasn't it?"
Pedro thought so, too, more than he cared to admit. "That it was, Ana. That it was."
They found Cris lounging at the parlor, a Figaro magazine forgotten on his knees.
"Anne solved the code."
"Really?" Cris’s glance shifted from him to Anne, his voice slurring. "And what does it say?"
Pedro narrowed his eyes at his brother. Cris usually held his liquor. But he read Anne's flourishing calligraphy for all to hear. "All my findings are close to my hero's grave. Third pew." He lowered the paper. "Fernando must be speaking of Dom Pedro's tomb. Both the King and Inês were buried in Alcobaça. The monastery is only a few miles from Lisbon."
Cris flung the magazine. It landed on the coffee table, upsetting a half-empty bottle of brandy. "Another stupid clue? We are chasing our tails."
A wave jostled the boat, and Anne stumbled. Pedro steadied her with an arm around her shoulders and escorted her to the divan opposite his brother. When he sat beside her, she searched his eyes, her face pale.
Pedro pressed her hand in reassurance. "Just a rough sea."
Cris stared at their joined hands. "Since you are in such a great mood, why don't you go to your godfather? Ask for his help?"
Pedro crossed his arms. "What if Fontes is involved?"
Cris scoffed. "You cannot be serious."
"Everyone is capable of evil, given the right incentive."
"But your godfather?" Cris raised his palms. "When will you put Mozambique behind us? It hazes your judgment."
Pedro gritted his teeth, his gaze straying to see Anne's reaction to Cris's careless words. "Careful, brother. You are allowing the brandy to speak for you."
"Mozambique?" Anne placed a hand on his shoulder, and the touch burned him to the bone.
Pedro glared at his brother. "Cris will return to his cabin."
Cris rose unsteadily. "I won't be shut up this time. Fontes wasn't responsible. Why not ask for his assistance?"
Since when had asking for help served him? After Mozambique, at the most excruciating time of his life, Fontes had shut the door in Pedro's face.
"Anne, you are so high in his regard. Try to sweeten him. Our Pedro here must be made to understand. But don't raise your hopes. The position as Pedro's advisor is short-lived." Shoulders hunched, Cris retrieved his brandy tumbler.
Anne stood, raising her hands placatingly. "Cris, please, I don't wish to intrude."
Why had Anne become the target of Cris’s barbs? His derision clearly made her uncomfortable. And drunk, he might blurt out things better left buried in the past. "He doesn't mean it. Right, Cristiano?"
The parlor shook as the yacht lurched. The hatch swung inward, and a gush of wind swept inside. Anne gasped, and Pedro brought her close to his side. With a clash, the bottle fell, spilling alcohol over the table and dripping onto the polished floor.
