Page 39 of The Truth About Myths
Isabel clutched her hideous skirt, her chin trembling. "I see only one animal here."
Chapter 13
"Youth is wasted on the young."Bernard Shaw
Henriquepacedthebeach,fists on his hips, waiting for the princess. Isabel climbed out of the bathing machine. With her color high, the princess-turned-virago tossed her wet hair, lashing it against his chest, and spun past him in the palace's direction. The maid emerged from the striped canvas tent, gave him a startled, disapproving look, and sped after her mistress.
Henrique followed. What had he done? Luis should call him out. Henrique would not hesitate to pummel any bloke who dared the same with his sister. All was fair in the quest for pleasure. But crossing the line with a maiden? But all the chemical reactions he knew couldn't match the explosion of Isabel's kiss, an Amazon princess who knew what she wanted. He avoided self-deceit, and he would not start fooling himself now. The jolt coursing through him when their lips met had produced more electricity than a voltaic battery. A battery? Who was he fooling? Isabel hid enough passion beneath her flannels to light up an entire village.
And his lame attempt to justify himself? Flung it right back at his face. Still, should he be less than honest? All he offered was attraction, desire. Hot lovemaking and pleasant friendship when this journey ended. He rubbed his chest and exhaled. He couldn't trust himself around her anymore. The plan to escape Comillas took on a new urgency. His ill-begotten function as an escort needed to end before he did something both would regret.
Isabel hastened her steps along the graveled path leading to the palace door. He could tell she didn't lace the stiff corset, no doubt wanting to leave his presence with all haste. Her long strides emphasized her lean curves, a fresh reminder of treasures he couldn't explore.
A cold bath and a bottle of port would be in order. He would have dinner in his own room. He needed space. By the look of her, she would thank him for the courtesy.
Canastra sauntered out of the palace, interrupting her race toward safety. "There you are, Your Highness. I have someone to introduce to you."
A man of no more than twenty-five years old strode outside. With flaxen hair combed back severely and an unadorned black suit, the stranger stood in sharp relief against the duke's gaudy uniform.
Canastra beamed, eyes glittering like a besotted maiden, his chest gleaming with medals like a fanatic. "I have the honor of introducing His Highness, Don Alfonso, Prince of Asturias. The rightful king of Spain."
Henrique halted. So this was the prince Dio gushed about. He had the square Bourbon chin and the straight Bourbon nose. His mouth was an uncompromising slit topped by a waxed mustache. Dark eyes finished what was, he had to admit, a strong face. What lay underneath, though, he could not tell and had not the slightest inclination to discover.
Alfonso took hold of Isabel's hand and bowed at the waist. "I've been denied my home for long years, and when I return, it is to find the beauty of my Spain obfuscated by a Portuguese princess."
He spoke with the right amount of eloquence and surprise, as if he had just come up with that fanciful speech. He stared at Isabel with ill-concealed hunger. Henrique didn't like it and fisted his hands at his sides. Sure, the prince was handsome, in a predictable, staid way, but Isabel would not fall for his Romeo act.
Isabel curtsied gracefully. "I must discount your words as undeserved compliments, Your Highness. Your Spain's beauty gains on me by leagues."
She was wrong. With her flashing green eyes, alabaster skin, and regal posture, she put Spain's hills and golden beaches to shame.
Tilting her head, she wiped off all traces of the vengeful mermaid from her expression. "But I thank you for your kindness. It is a joy to find a gentleman with courtesy these days."
She didn't even deign to look at Henrique, but the barb hit home. He certainly deserved it. He took a step forward and cleared his throat.
The duke waved in his direction. "And this is the Viscount of Penafiel. A scientist," Canastra drawled.
Henrique ignored the petty slight to his profession, grabbed the prince's hand, and squeezed. Alfonso's grip wasn't the wishy-washy one he expected, but a firm handshake, returning the pressure Henrique gave.
Henrique sustained the other man's gaze until the prince's eye sought Isabel again.
"My sisters said wonderful things about you." Alfonso offered his arm, and Isabel placed her hand above his elbow.
Those fingers had just curled over Henrique's chest.
His gut tightened, and he started after the royal couple.
The duke grabbed Henrique's elbow. "Why the long face? Let's leave the young people to know themselves better."
Henrique gritted his teeth. "Dom Luis sent me here to protect his sister—"
"I can vouch for Dom Alfonso. He is a perfect gentleman. Isabel is more than safe with him as an escort."
The house party guests had abolished the siesta en masse to stroll around the garden. No one in their right mind would want to walk in the mid-afternoon sun under the Spanish heat. Still, the Bourbon prince had taken Isabel for a turn, and voilá, here Henrique was—following the royal couple, dragging an uncooperative Rafaela by the arm. The Spaniards watched Alfonso and Henrique's princess with barely concealed glee. Crap, she wasn't his anything. He shouldn't care if the prince drooled all over her. She could defend herself.
While Isabel sauntered on the arm of the Bourbon prince, Dolly chatted with Charles, their profiles partially hidden by a trellis. The rake's besotted looks would send any chaperone running for smelling salts, but not Isabel. How quickly she forgot her charge.
Without so much as a 'by your leave', Alfonso steered Isabel out of the garden path and into Canastra's maze. What a sleazy bastard. Taking a maid into the tall hedges, concealed from view, was the oldest trick in the rake's book.
