Page 15 of The Truth About Myths
Isabel clutched her parasol as a fuzzy feeling invaded her stomach.
The coupé vehicle came to a screeching halt, blocking the exit.
Dolly gaped at the man, her fair cheeks turning crimson. “Oh, my. I think this is my cue to swoon...”
Sophie's eyes rounded, and a little sigh escaped her mouth. “If all aristos arebeau gosselike this, the Republican cause is hopeless.Totalement désespérée.”
The stranger approached their small group. His dinner jacket and wine-colored silk vest were mussed. No doubt the same clothes he had worn the night before.
He took off his glasses and hat. Isabel blinked several times.
It was the garden rake!
Her back went straight as a rod, and Isabel gasped. "What is he doing here?"
Diomedes laughed. "And this, my lovely Isabel, is your stuffy old escort."
Chapter 5
Twenty minutes before…
"The natural desire of good men is knowledge." Leonardo da Vinci
HenriquedrovethroughAjuda'scrowded streets, pitying the poor sods who climbed out of their warm beds to glimpse a woman just because she carried a crown on her head and blue blood inside her veins.
Henrique felt his grip tightening on the wooden wheel and forced his muscles to relax. Princess or not, she was a woman like all others. How hard would it be to woo her a little? After living cloistered her whole life, she must be starved for male attention. Charm and finesse could go a long way to convince her to curtail this blasted trip.
Soon, he would be back in Portugal and his plans. With this gratifying thought, he halted outside the palace's gates, honking to alert the guard of his presence.
The crowd opened, revealing a courtyard filled with nickering horses, traveling coaches, and humbled servants. His heart picked up speed, anticipating seeing fiery Joan, but he squelched the perspective. When he asked Dio if the ladies-in-waiting would accompany them to Spain, his friend told him the princess had dismissed them so they could return to their country abodes for summer. Some people had all the luck.
Henrique parked the car, blocking the aligned coaches. A trio gathered in front of the royal carriage. Dio waved at him, his expression relieved. A plump blond girl tumbled out of the coach, her eyes openly admiring him. If this were the princess, Henrique would accomplish his goal with minimal effort.
She curtsied, bending her torso until the ostrich feathers on her bonnet licked the ground.
Sparks flashed behind her.
Frowning, Henrique vaulted from the driver's seat, riveted by the Tyndal effect—the scattering of light by tiny particles suspended in the air. He searched for the cause, usually diamonds, and found a tiara. He lingered over the colors, half mesmerized by the precious stones, half afraid of what he would find if he acknowledged the owner.
Dio cleared his throat.
Henrique's gaze crashed from the crown to a pair of flashing green eyes. His heart ricocheted against his ribs, and he stepped back. His mind took longer to process what his body already understood. The princess was his midnight Joan of Arc.
Her eyes locked into him, more striking than he remembered, broad daylight emphasizing their liquidness. The absence of a rusty breastplate revealed a slender torso. She looked every part a perfect princess. Fashionable, hair done the right way, skin flawless. Hers was the beauty women marveled at, poets fawned over, but hot-blooded men should be leery of. Despite the necessity of being leery of her, a lightness buoyed his chest, and his mouth turned dry. If he didn't know himself, he might believe he was excited about spending weeks in her presence.
Dio flashed a wicked grin.
Henrique glowered. A dried-up maid with long teeth? He hoped his friend had enjoyed the joke. During the first stop, Henrique would douse his friend's hair with phosphorus and set it on fire.
Ignoring Dio for the moment, Henrique turned to his charge. A ruby-colored blush and a murderous grip on her parasol were the only telltale signs little Joan had recognized him. Had their garden tête-à-tête ruffled her feathers the wrong way?
That wouldn't work now, would it? Time to woo her properly.
Henrique bowed and flashed a grin. "Princess Isabel, daylight pales compared to your beauty."
She tilted her head, impervious to the innuendo about their midnight encounter. "Thank you. We are extremely late, so—"
"The trip will be awfully long, I'm afraid. I hope you brought some reading material. Greek poetry is perfect for passing the time." He winked.
