Page 11 of The Truth About Myths
"Leave Julia out of it."
Henrique grinned. "When will you forget it? It was a good-natured flirtation, nothing more."
The Englishman glared at Henrique. "I know your problem—Don Juan's fever. You have a pathological need to search for the ideal woman, chiefly among other men's wives. Like Don Juan, as soon as you attempt one, you flash your unrepentant smile, say, 'Sorry, my mistake', and move on. Acting like this in Spain, Don Juan tried one thousand and three."
Henrique laughed, lifting his palms. His conquests weren't so numerous. "What can I say? As a scientist, I must apply a method of trial and error. One day, the system will prove effective, and I will find my better half."
Not that he was in a hurry. Of all types of love, men and women could only share one. Eros, alias lust. But lust, like any combustible, flared brightly and died quickly. In Aristotle's own words, the only lasting relationship was friendship. Friendship only existed between equals, something women and men were not.
Pedro Daun rolled the dice between his fingers. "Chasing your fated mate is pointless. When the timing is right, she will come to you. You are here at Chiado, and she may be in Ceylon. While you are the country's most celebrated scientist, she could be an exotic dancer. Like two armies charging a mountain pass, you are both irrevocably, irresistibly, marching one for the other."
Henrique gaped at Pedro. When had the cynic Count of Almoster developed such eloquence?
Maxwell grimaced. "Bank the stars in your eyes, will you? You are thinking about my sister, for Christ's sake."
Charles shot to his feet. "That's it! I won't let the prudish princess keep me from my dove. Goodbye."
Charles had been so quiet, Henrique forgot his presence. Charles Whitaker strode to the exit, his steps sure and his posture erect. Who would have thought he could walk in a straight line?
"What bit his ass?"
"I don't know who that was," Pedro said.
Maxwell frowned, staring at the door. "Charles is being most peculiar since the king's musicale. His father is worried. Asked me to look after him."
Dio rose and adjusted his coat. "I'll go with him. If his dove needs saving, who knows? She might have a friend or two in the same predicament."
Henrique watched both men leave and lifted his palms. "Listen, gentlemen. The fairer sex did not affect my immigration. Director of Oxford's Life Sciences studies? How could I refuse?"
A commotion was heard outside their private room. The waiter opened the door and admitted Dom Luis, who strode to their table, bulky frame clad in civilian clothes. So he was not king tonight, but Dr. Tavares. He used the alias to take a breather from Court life.
Griffin made his excuses and rose. Pedro did the same and pulled the king to a corner. After some whispered words, he also left. Married sheep they were, no doubt their ladies awaited outside with their leashes.
Dom Luis enthroned himself in the armchair. He tugged his neckcloth and reached for the card deck. Henrique stifled a groan. If they started playing whist, Luis would get carried away, and Henrique would have better luck extracting a signature from the king of spades.
He took the estate deed from his briefcase and passed it to the king. "We should sign this before the brandy blurs the paper's lines."
The king ignored the documents, a flush rising on his fair skin. "No risk of that happening."
Why the reticence? The signature was a mere formality. A relic from the feudal system.
The king shuffled, gaze fixed on the cards. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"As the king or as Dr. Tavares?"
"As a friend."
"I'm listening."
The king exhaled through his mouth. "I need you to accompany my sister to Spain."
Henrique laughed. "Is this my surprise? Are there dancers hidden somewhere?"
"I'm not jesting."
"You cannot be serious. My ship sails next week."
"Postpone the trip."
