Page 36 of The Truth About Myths
Isabel crossed her arms in front of her middle. He would no doubt prefer Rafaela's daring bathing suit. "Always so charming. The dark flannel might be unflattering, but at least it keeps a lady's modesty."
"Of course, better to suffocate than show a little skin. The water is divine."
Indeed, it was so transparent she could make out the sandy bottom. But the calmness deceived. The sea merely slumbered, waves swelling and ebbing, the breaths of a mystical being.
"I'm perfectly fine where I am, thank you." Isabel touched it tentatively, sighing at the delicious coolness.
"If it is modesty you fear, no one will see. The beach is empty. Rafaela's guests are still on the yacht, and the duke's subjects stay inside the palace."
"You never give up, do you?"
He smiled sardonically. "I've heard Princess Alexandra of Denmark is a proficient swimmer. Once, she even attempted to cross the English Channel."
Her lips twitched at his feeble attempt to engage her pride. "Perhaps she just needed space from the Prince of Wales." Ignoring his bafflement, she closed her eyes and leaned back on her elbows, pretending she was enjoying the sun's rays and not cooking inside the black flannel.
A hand circled her wrist and tugged. She lost her balance and gasped. Henrique kept pulling until she verged on falling over.
"Stop! I can't swim." The words burst from her throat, and Isabel cringed at the shameful confession.
He released her.
She shuffled back to safety, hugging her knees.
He glared at her, his hands on his lean hips. "You can speak five languages, play two instruments, and discourse about literature, science, and philosophy like a scholar, but if your boat capsizes, you'll drown?"
If he put it that way… "Three."
"What?"
"I play three instruments."
"Come here. I will teach you how to swim."
She eyed the water wistfully. What would it be like to move inside it? "I'm not interested."
"You are an intelligent woman. This is a matter of safety. What if you had to save another? A child?"
"I don't think I can do it." By Athena, was that her voice? It sounded taut and thin and... weak. She gazed away from him.
Her admission drained his anger, and he smiled, treading the water until he was level with the bathing machine porch. "Nonsense. As an Orleans, you have French blood, have you not?" He caught her wrist and traced his fingertips over the blue veins.
His tanned hand against the whiteness of her skin blurred her recollection of the family tree. "I do? Yes… Yes. Of course, I do."
"Then, you are a descendant of Melusine, the mermaid who gave birth to French royalty. Therefore, you must be a natural swimmer." He released her wrist.
Isabel laughed nervously. "What kind of scientist spouts hereditary ties from a myth?"
"The very best. A natural philosopher embraces theories, no matter how outlandish. I must formulate a hypothesis, then devise methods to prove it."
"And how, pray tell, will you accomplish that?"
"By trial and error, of course." He splayed his hands atop the porch, wetting the wooden platform, and hoisted himself to her side. Grinning, he lifted her to his lap, one hand below her knees, the other holding her shoulders. Moisture from his shirt seeped into her bathing suit. Like a hulking stray dog, he shook his head, spraying her face.
Gasping, Isabel pummeled his chest. "I command you to release me."
"To hear is to obey." He lifted her high and let go.
Screaming, she plummeted with an undignified splash. The ocean swallowed her whole. She lifted her head, sputtering. "You… You madman! I'll drown."
