Page 49 of The Truth About Myths
Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her, and her breasts strained her corset. No matter what, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected her. Had he not said their attraction was nothing more than animal instincts? Stoically, Isabel smoothed her skirts. "Really, Henrique, you should improve your… your technique. I find it to be lacking."
He eyed her suspiciously. No doubt bemused why she was still standing on her own two feet, not leaning over his manly torso and running her hands over his close-cropped hair.
Well, Mr. Henrique's pride, take that for a change.
She brushed past him, rubbing against his chest a shoulder colder than a January evening. Few things could give her more satisfaction than the way his glistening lips fell open.
"Perhaps I should try it again. Practice makes it perfect."
Plucking her wrist, he pulled her against him, circling her waist and bending her torso backward until her heels no longer touched the carpet. Her breath caught, and her pulse beat in places it had no business reaching. Henrique's grin flashed at her, his eyes sparkling. Her center of gravity tilted, making her stomach flutter. She stared into eyes the blue of mythical places and instead of negotiating an armistice, she wondered what she had to do to lure his mouth closer.
The door opened with a startled swoosh.
They were caught. Gasping, she placed both palms on his chest and shoved. His hold on her gave away. She toppled to the floor, her bustle taking the brunt of the impact, and bit the inside of her cheek to muffle a cry.
"Can I help you?"
Isabel vaulted to her feet and stared at the duke's majordomo, mortification boiling her face and the tip of her ears.
Henrique stepped forward, covering her. "We are handling ourselves fine, thank you very much."
"Your Excellency, I must warn you this room is not open to guests."
She was about to acknowledge thefaux pasand leave when Henrique laughed. "Closed, you say? Do you know who you are talking to? This is the princess. Nothing is ever closed to her."
The butler's eyes rounded, and he stepped back.
"What are you doing?" she mouthed furiously.
"Just play along," he whispered.
The butler lifted his white-gloved palms. "Oh, I didn't recognize Her Highness. Still, I must insist."
"What is your name, kind sir?"
“Pizarron de Moncayo-Tully.”
Henrique opened the door. "Let me tell you something, Pizarron. This woman expects everything she wants to be delivered to her on a silver platter. Don't you, my dear?"
She didn't! "Do I? Yes, indeed I do," Isabel mumbled.
"And if lives have to adapt to her wildest desires, then be glad you could serve. But don't raise your hopes too high because soon she will move on, and you will be powerless to prevent her."
"What?" The butler looked extremely uncomfortable.
"I'm sure she’ll let the interruption pass this time, but next, I'll advise you to be more diligent unless you wish to lose your head or even more important parts." He jerked his head toward the door, a clear signal for the butler to leave.
The poor servant gasped and whirled in fear or outrage, she could not tell in the dim light. Henrique closed the door.
Grinning like a pirate, Henrique raised his brows. "What do you think of my performance? Could Alfonso topple that with hispundonor?"
Isabel's face burned with shame. "You are a rogue and a blackguard—a sinvergüenza." One with shameless lips. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes from his shameless lips. "And I... I loath your hide."
Laughing, he sniffed her neck. "I'll take a princess’ loathing any day. Smells much better than royal indifference."
Chapter 15
"You don’t reason with intellectuals. You shoot them.” Napoleon Bonaparte
