Page 16 of The Truth About Myths
"I've packed the complete history of Spain. Three volumes, two thousand pages," she said, her expression turning glacial.
"How… entertaining." Henrique narrowed his eyes. Well, the teasing had no effect. Perhaps some bribery. "It's such a lovely day. Your brother advised me how much you love horses. Do you wish to ride? I've selected one of Pedro Daun's prized Lusitanos for your pleasure."
She let out a little gasp, and then her gaze escaped to the horses. Henrique pressed his lips not to smile. She was mellowing already. Who wouldn't want to ride on such a fine day?
"Oh, Your Excellency. I get terribly sick inside the coach. A tragedy, really. I’ll accompany you." Lady Dolores pawed his jacket.
He had been so engrossed by Isabel he forgot the girl.
"My pleasure," Henrique said and turned to Isabel. "Your Highness?" Henrique kept eye contact, glad he didn't choke on the formality of the address.
"It looks like rain. I'll travel inside. Thank you for the kind offer."
So, that's how she wanted to play... Henrique nodded, making sure his expression was as blank as hers. "We’ve dallied enough here. We better depart."
When they finally approached the hotel, Henrique couldn’t recall a single idea, original thought, or coherent opinion passing through Lady Dolores' mouth. His ears had absorbed so much inane chatter they had become numb. The only thing he could fathom from her chitchat was her boredom. Princess Isabel kept her ladies from mixed company unless she had vetted the guests first. They couldn’t stroll unescorted and had a strict diet and exercise routine.
He glanced at the royal coach. Could the princess believe in such rules? Why would a woman with her wit keep herself so restrained? Henrique shook his head and dismounted. After enduring thirty miles of dusty roads and Lady Dolores’ frivolous conversation, Henrique arrived at this conclusion—he didn’t understand Princess Isabel de Orleans. No matter. The princess was a puzzle he had no intention of solving. He decided upon a course of action. If the princess could act the Antarctic glacier, so could he. He would be perfectly civil. Warring didn’t go well with summer.
The Copa Hotel, a pleasant neoclassical building in Beira's central square, opened its doors to receive them.
The princess alighted from the coach and sped to them, sniffing over Lady Dolores like a lioness with her cubs. What did she think he would do with the girl? Debauch her in plain sight of three carriages while being assaulted by her chatter?
Henrique rolled his eyes. "Are you done?"
She bestowed upon him a gelid smile.
He preferred her disheveled and wearing a breastplate. Even armored, she had been more approachable. In full princess regalia, she was too perfect, and her perfection rubbed his skin like pollen, making it itchy. He'd bet it had the effect of turning the male public into contrite schoolboys. A glimpse of Isabel's perfection worked as a schoolmaster's ruler, compelling them to keep their eyes to themselves and their hands above the table.
But not him.
Growing up, he'd been immune to correction, and in fact, his rebellion grew exponentially with the threat. Right now, his fingers tingled to muss her hair and steal her tiara just to hear a perfect gasp. His devious mind conjured all sorts of pranks, including attaching it to a peacock or hiding it inside his mattress so she—the image of Isabel wearing nothing but the crown assaulted him, and desire pulsed through his veins. He mentally bashed his palm. She was his friend's sister, for Christ's sake. Better keep the schoolmaster's ruler close by.
She linked her arm through Dolly and deigned to look at him. "Since you've stopped at this inn and not the hotel I had chosen, I must assume you've informed the establishment of our arrival?" she said in cool, cultured tones.
"They are expecting Viscount Penafiel and Baroness da Beija."
She frowned. "Why use my lesser title?"
Any of the twelve would’ve done. "Do you mean to cause a stir every time we stop?"
She lifted a dainty shoulder. "The country should be able to see their princess, don't you think?"
Is Portugal obliged to endure her, too? "I'm sure most are not ready for such honor and would expire in ecstasy. Shall we?" There, he had acted civil enough. He offered his arm and escorted them to the reception area.
Though it was not the Hermitage Hotel, the rosewood furniture andtoile du jouytapestry gave it a charming hunting lodge atmosphere. Not even a princess could find fault with it.
Piano music floated from the restaurant, and the scent of roasted pig flavored the air. His stomach rumbled. A hearty meal and some rest would restore his temper, and acting cool with Isabel in the morning wouldn't be as straining as carrying a boulder uphill.
At the reception, Lady Dolly toyed with a silver candle holder, attracted to the shiny object. The princess tapped her impatient feet on the parquet. The hotel clerk gave them the room keys and beamed, offering a place in the restaurant.
Henrique nodded. "I'll escort the ladies to the table. Theiraçordadish is famous in the region."
Dolly licked her lips, her gloved hand extending to Henrique's arm. "How delicious. Thank you."
"The common room isn't appropriate for unmarried ladies." Isabel turned her nose up as if scenting an offensive smell.
Henrique counted to ten and forced a diplomatic smile. "There are families inside, surely—"
