12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"For the valiant, the world is as their own estate."Miguel de Cervantes, Don QuixoteThe day dawned blue and hot. Isabel tossed away the bed coverings and went to the window, pulling her nightdress from her perspiring skin. Strange dreams had bothered her all night. They all involved tasting sugar, and Henrique’s lips. She shouldn’t preoccupy herself with the libertine. A genuine threat lurked. Alfonso de Bourbon would arrive today. His presence could undermine the Duke of Aosta’s hold over the Spanish throne.

Isabel flung the glass panels wide and supported her elbows on the windowsill, welcoming the sea breeze. The green lawn gave way to the beach, which, in turn, faded under the pressure of the Atlantic. A boat, its sails high and proud, braved the surf.

Shadows passed beneath the rippling water. What hidden threats lurked inside the blue depths? Seen from the safety of her bedchamber, the ocean breathed, a living creature waiting to swallow a person whole. Why hadn’t she learned to swim when she was a girl? At least it would have made her less fanciful. With a sigh, she shut the window.

Isabel stretched her arms and donned her robe. She needed to understand Canastra’s intentions. Another day hearing the duke’s guests’ heated discussions... Better prepare her ears. It took a while for her to realize their raised voices and angry gesturing were not fighting but normal conversations.

Portugal and Spain shared a peninsula, and many in Europe couldn’t understand why Portugal clung to its independence. The fact was that Portuguese and Spanish were as different as the Flamenco from the Fado. While Spain’s cultural dance expressed emotion through passionate movements, the latter contained music with glorious feelings but little action.

She could ask for Dolly’s help to uncover information. Since she loved to chat, Dolly could befriend other ladies, and they would open up to her. Isabel strode to the sitting room she shared with Lady Dolores.

A sliver of light peeked from the other bedroom. Was she still abed?

Isabel opened the door. "Dolly?"

The wind fluttered the gauzy curtains. Isabel pulled the sides of her robe close and padded inside. The room was empty.

Clothes lined the back of chairs, and stockings littered the Persian rug. A red garter decorated the recamier. She must warn the girl to get rid of such gaudy unmentionables.

Dolly’s writing box lay open atop the escritoire. A letter had been left in the drying sand. Who could Dolly be writing to? Her father, the Duke of Chagas? Isabel doubted it. Prying was wrong, but what if it belonged to that rake, Charles Whitaker?

Gaze rushing to the door and back, Isabel swept the sand away. The revealed words were not to Charles… but to Lady Anne. Why would she write to Isabel’s most trusted confidante?

Isabel blinked, trying to make sense of the childlike handwriting. Dolly started by flattering Rafaela, gushing about the Duchess’ sophistication, fashionable gowns, and delightful disposition. The sweetness burned Isabel’s throat. Then came line after line of complaints about… about… Isabel. The travel and the days spent here in Comillas. How Isabel had made her suffer through bland tea parties and dinners with old, grumpy people.

Those were important meetings. Luis had entrusted her with understanding the mood of the Spanish aristocracy. How could Dolly ignore the need to sacrifice frivolous pastimes for the greater good?

They had an entire load of merriment in Lisbon, didn’t they? Could Henrique’s words be true? Did her ladies prefer the convent to her household?

The unwelcome thought washed down on her, and she gasped, dropping on the chair and lowering the letter. Hugging herself, she closed her eyes. Joyful sounds pressed against her ears. Everyone laughed—the gulls, the children, the servants, even the sea.

The door swung inwards. Isabel’s eyelids shot open. Henrique barged inside the bedchamber, bringing in the ocean’s scent. He flung his hand at his windswept hair and scowled at her.

Isabel stood still, her heart picking up speed. "I’m not receiving visits today."

"Have none of your tutors instructed you on common courtesy? Do you take pride in dismissing invitations?"

Her chin weighed a ton, but she lifted it anyway, cloaking herself with all the composure a princess could muster while dressed in a robe and fighting back tears. "My education should not concern you. The only thing I plan on dismissing is you. Please leave."

Frowning, he paused and gave her a bewildered look as if only then noticing her dishabille.

For once, Isabel had made him speechless. She lifted a brow. "Well?"

He shook his head and averted his eyes. Was there a blush on his cheeks? "I came to… You didn’t show up at the pier today. Some worried you were unwell."

"As you can see, I’m in excellent health."

"Are you, though? All the guests embarked on the yacht this morning. When Dolly boarded alone..."

Everyone except her? And no one thought to invite her. Of course, who would want a bore like her to ruin their fun? Mortification sank into her chest, robbing her of air. "How convenient. I hope they enjoy themselves then." For the first time since he had invaded her privacy, she felt naked in his presence. Isabel tightened the knot of her robe, her fingers clumsy.

Henrique advanced in her direction, examining her with his head cocked to the side. Isabel fought the urge to turn from the sarcasm he would no doubt inflict and stiffened her spine. Let him mock her. She wouldn’t cower before him.

He came closer still and cupped her face. His palm rasped her skin, surprisingly warm. His nearness ignited the invisible tendrils, but today they were different. Not only did they make her immobile, but they singed her. When she lifted her eyes to his, Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. His mask of cheerfulness had slipped to show the man beneath, and it disarmed her. He brushed his thumb over the corner of her lip, and tingles caused a riot in her chest. Isabel inhaled to speak, to say he shouldn’t touch her thus, but her mouth wouldn’t obey.

"I thought Rafaela had invited you."

So they were on a first-name basis already? Isabel jerked away from him, and her hands clenched, crunching Dolly’s letter.

He perked up at the sound. "What do you have there?"

"Nothing." Under no circumstances could he see the cursed letter.

"Isa, Isa… What secrets do you hide?" His husky voice made the hairs on her arms stand on end.

"You have overstayed your welcome."

"But why? I’m getting comfortable." His lips tugged up, and he prowled closer. "I would rule out a love note. Is it perchance a political conspiracy?"

"Don’t be ridiculous." She backed away from his advances until she stumbled on the escritoire.

A second sheet dropped from the tabletop and landed on the carpet between them. Why had she not checked for more correspondence? Isabel dove for the paper. The infuriating man launched himself forward. She expected him to go straight for the damning letter, but he tackled her. Panting, she tried to free herself, but he tightened his grip. After catching the paper with his left hand, he extended his arm above her reach.

In her struggle, the robe had gaped open. He stared at her decolletage, blatant appreciation heating his gaze. Cheeks flaming, Isabel shook herself from his hold and refastened the sash.

While he read the letter, Isabel contracted her shoulders, trying to disappear from his sight before he made sense of Dolly’s handwriting. What kind of disparaging comments and complaints the girl had written this time?

"Attending the races, swimming with my new bathing gown, riding a bicycle. What is this? A to-do list?" He studied her with narrowed eyes.

Isabel grabbed it from his hand and breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed the lack of a signature. "Er… Why, I made this list to plan my day here in Comillas, but as you said, Dolly and Rafaela left on the yacht, and I am all alone."

"Are you sure you wrote this?"

"Can’t you recognize my handwriting?" Fluttering her eyelids, she sustained his probing gaze.

He lifted his brows and circled her slowly. "I think the author has a shorter vocabulary."

"You are absolutely mistaken, sir."

He paused too close and leaned forward to speak in her ear. "Prove it."

"You want me to write a few words for you?" Isabel shivered and rubbed her arms, her voice coming out too breathless for her own taste. "So you can compare our handwriting? Even you must admit it is extreme—"

"No need. A child could copy such…" He scrunched his face, pointing his chin to the letter. "Markings. Today is your lucky day." He made a flourish with his right hand and bowed. "I’m ready to squire my Dom Quixote to all her earthly desires."

Isabel gasped. "I’m in no need of a Sancho Panza."

He chuckled. "Not Sancho. I’ll be your handsome and more experienced knight."

She scoffed. "You, a knight? More likely a knave—"

He shushed her with a finger on her lips. With a firm leash on herself, she restrained the urge to bite him. She glowered at him instead.

"Before you deny me, I have a revealing story for you. Once upon a time, a proud princess lived in a castle. She was indeed charming, and her patriotism inspired the masses…" He placed his hand above his heart, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

She feigned interest in her nails. "Your point is?"

"The princess professed to the winds her court delighted all, but when one of her ladies decided to live in a convent…"

She glared at his smiling eyes. "Lead the way, Sancho."

The Turkish silk kept the sunlight from entering the bathing machine. Still, it did nothing to avoid the heat. What an awful contraption. Whoever invented these cottages on wheels just so women could bathe in the sea must be a sadist. Isabel wrung her hands while Sophie unbuttoned her morning dress. Would she go ahead with this? Swim with Henrique in the ocean? Her heart had yet to settle into its normal rhythm, stuck in an allegro ever since she accompanied him to the beach. Curse Dolly for being so sloppy with her things. Curse Henrique for riling her up. Above all, curse her pride. When she was twelve, her head tutor had waited an entire afternoon in her mother’s dispatch room to warn the queen of Isabel’s excessive pride, calling it hubris. Granted, her mother had laughed, telling him Portugal could use more pride in its princesses. But Isabel had countless opportunities to reform, hadn’t she? But no, instead of giving in to Henrique, she chose to drown.

Sophie cleared her throat, presenting the shapeless trousers of her bathing suit. Isabel eyed the black garment with distaste but helped her maid settle the dress and adjust the belt over her waist. This entire business of sea bathing struck her as incongruous and unnecessary. Dressing in the middle of the beach while Henrique waited outside, only a canvas sheet separating them? To make matters worse, the bathing machine stood suspended on railings, waiting to be lowered into the ocean, like a sacrifice to Poseidon. All to enjoy the dubious pleasure of splashing around in salt water.

Hung over the opposite wall, Rafaela’s bathing suit flashed at her like the costume of an odalisque. The outrageous sleeveless garment had short trousers!

Sophie followed the direction of her gaze. "It is all the rage in Paris."

"Et tu, Sophie? I thought Republicans shunned such earthly pleasures." She hoped Rafaela would get sunburnt and have wrinkles before her time.

"Republicans are not Puritans, I assure you. We enjoy earthly pleasures very much. Indeed, we would love it if they were not only for the aristos... The duchess’s bathing machine is très chic. The ones used by the common folk are hay carts. They smell of seaweed and body odor."

Isabel laughed. "That sounds preposterous."

"Indeed, it is. Oh, dear. There are no towels here. I will retrieve them from the palace." She turned to leave but halted. "Will you be all right, Citizen Isabel?"

Isabel nodded once, twice. It was at the tip of her tongue to ask Sophie to stay, but she shut her mouth. "Yes... Yes, absolutely."

How hard could it be? Isabel would enjoy the water for a minute or two and then return, a small price to keep her pride intact and avoid Henrique’s gloating for the rest of their stay. Many women didn’t know how to swim and bathed regularly in the ocean. She eyed the ropes pending from pegs on the machine’s wall. That’s what they were for, were they not? When the lady couldn’t swim, they tied her to those strings and dropped her... like an anchor. Isabel shuddered and looked away.

"When you are ready, just wave the flag. The dipper will lower the bathing machine. Citizen Henrique awaits outside."

"Thank you, Sophie."

The maid opened the canvas and left.

Chafing against the heavy flannel of the bathing costume, Isabel fanned herself. Was this supposed to be fun? Why did it feel like she awaited to enter a circus but was clueless about her performance? Wave the flag, indeed. They could wait there all day.

A loud clatter and a series of clicks came from outside. The bathing machine shuddered, rattling the Venetian mirror. Rafaela’s indecent bathing suit quivered and jerked, the starlet of a bawdy show. The wheels groaned, and the whole wooden house shook. Clasping her hand over her mouth, Isabel opened the curtain.

They tumbled down the beach, the ocean looming closer and closer.

Her stomach dropped, and she held the hat peg for support.

With a last groan, the contraption stopped. The waves seemed louder. Isabel took a deep breath, but the stuffy air brought no relief.

"Are you sulking in there?" Henrique’s voice boomed outside.

"I don’t sulk."

"Why are you still inside? Oh, I know, you missed the heralds announcing your entrance."

A loud, blaring sound came from outside. Isabel realized he mimicked the sound of horns.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I announce Princess Isabel."

The man was impossible! And he made keeping her pique an impossibility. Against her will, laughter bubbled out of her chest. Isabel tiptoed to the canvas door and pulled the drapery. A gush of breeze greeted her. The ocean spread an inch below the bathing machine’s front porch, submerging the steps she had used to climb inside. She lowered herself to a seated position, bending her knees to avoid wetting her toes.

Henrique moved his arms underwater, his hair slick, his shirt soaked, and then he inspected her, his eyes sparkling more than the sea. "By God, what a hideous garment."

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."

"We are in the shallow," Henrique drawled.

Isabel anchored her feet on the sandy bottom and forced her eyes open. Her cheeks burned with her dramatic outburst. Cool water penetrated the heavy folds of her clothing. She took tentative breaths and relaxed. Confident in her safety, she moved her arms, enjoying the water’s caress, and wiggled her toes in the sand.

Henrique dove and emerged near her. "Before we begin your lesson, I must warn you. Whatever you do, do not lower your head and put your feet up."

"Why would I attempt something so outlandish?"

He flashed a wicked grin, exposing white teeth. "Trust me, just don’t."

Isabel rolled her eyes. "Fine. Now what?"

"We are governed by survival instincts. You will start listening to yours."

"That may be the truth for animals. I am ruled by my conscience."

He lifted his brows, patronizing her. As if he alone kept all of humanity’s secrets. "Are you so in control then?"

She didn’t care one whiff about the challenge in his tone. "Always."

"Then prove it. Control your body into swimming."

She glared at him and lifted her leg. "See, no fins."

He laughed, raising his palms in self-defense. "I’ll demonstrate."

He opened his shirt and flung the dripping garment atop the porch. Isabel blinked, riveted by the expanse of bronzed skin and taut muscles. So this was a male chest. Had the temperature increased several degrees? Men swam bare-chested all the time, and she wore the most modest gown possible, but still… The moment felt too intimate. How could it not? The same water lapping her torso caressed his male nipples. Gasping, Isabel tore her gaze from his salacious body to his unrepentant grin. He winked and plunged headfirst. With fluid movements, he lifted his head above the surface, kicking his legs and pulling with his arms in perfect cadence, as if he alone listened to the ocean’s music.

He flashed her a conceited smile. "Come here."

Isabel’s heart drummed inside her chest. She remembered to put one foot in front of the other until she arrived before him. He lifted her, one hand under her knees, the other below her mid-back.

"Calm down. This is part of the lesson."

She curbed the instinct to plant her feet back on the sandy bottom.

"See how the water buoys you? It’s natural."

Isabel relaxed her neck and shoulders and closed her eyes. The water magically lifted her. Still, she could feel his palms burning her skin. When she opened her eyelids, his gaze was fixed on her mouth. Isabel licked her lips, her pulse accelerating.

He released her and cleared his throat. "See how easy it is? Now it is your turn. Go."

"Can’t you be more specific? Was this how your tutors taught you to swim?"

"My father used to take us to the river Tua in the summer, my sister and me. His teaching method consisted of dunking us first and then shouting to keep our heads up. Later, we would fish until the shadows of the Princess Tower were a mile long, and Mother shooed us back into the house." The memory softened his features.

His father spent time with him? "He seems wonderful."

"You would’ve liked the stoic old gentleman. He most surely would’ve liked you. A more patriotic subject this country never saw." His voice turned gruff.

Isabel had the impulse to massage the pleats on his forehead. "Does he live in Braganza still?"

"He passed away long ago."

"I’m sorry."

Their gazes locked. Emotions swirled beneath his surface. Should she ask what happened? When they seemed to haunt him so? Did she want to know?

He broke eye contact, his customary smile back in place. "We are here to swim, no? You are lucky because swimming is one of the many things I excel at. I’ve swum the Hellespont, the Seine, the Thames, the English Channel."

She lifted her brows. "I don’t think your conceit will teach me."

He laughed. "You will push with your legs and paddle with your feet."

Determinedly, she gazed at the water. Everything she had attempted, she had succeeded. The ocean would be no different. Isabel mimicked his instructions and relinquished the safety of the bottom. The sea buoyed her.

"There you go. Now work those arms and legs!" he shouted.

She gritted her teeth at his military tone but sprang into motion, whipping her limbs. Up. Down. Up. Down. Her muscles protested the sudden sprint, and every time she lifted her head to breathe, the water tried to find its way into her tiring lungs.

"Come on. You can do better."

Isabel redoubled her efforts, battling the water with all her might. She gained traction and speed, her movements more coordinated. That would show him!

"Enough there. You can stop now." His voice came from far behind her.

But she was making progress. Ignoring his command, she trudged on. A wave hit her in the chest, lifting her high. Hazily, she fought the surf, but it crashed down on her, a waterfall of foam. She tried to kick the bottom, her lungs burning for air, but the wave twisted her, pulling her down.

Something gripped the loose folds of her gown, dragging her up, blessedly up, until she broke the surface, gasping for air. Henrique stared at her. Through her watery vision, the white of his eyes gleamed against his tanned skin.

"What were you thinking? Why didn’t you stop when I asked you to?" he yelled, hauling her to the shallow.

"What? I didn’t… The wave pulled me down."

He halted and whirled her to face him, clasping her shoulders. "This was a lousy idea if ever you had one."

She dared a step closer, inhaling the salty, sunny scent of his skin. "You, sir… are a terrible teacher."

He raked his fingers through her hair, forcing her face up. The heat of his stare sizzled her. "You, Princess, are no mermaid."

The sun cooked her back and the top of her head. His nearness dissolved her will. Those invisible bonds shimmered into life, drawing her near. Light-headed, she clung to him, waiting, wishing, craving, her fingers digging into the sinewy strength of his arms. A compelling force took control of her. The lack of air, the water—later, she could blame them. Now she only wanted.

"This is wrong. Tell me this is wrong, siren princess." His voice lowered to a husky whisper, his breath tickling her eyelashes.

Was it? He was too close. She couldn’t think, much less form words.

"Wrong—right." Isabel went on her tiptoes, her hands clutching his shoulders.

Waves sluiced around them, bonding them.

He brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. "You madden me."

"I…"

He kissed her eyelid, her temple, the hollow of her cheek, and then her chin. His mouth was half open, painting her skin in salty water. Her heartbeats matched his too-slow explorations, pounding in her neck. When Henrique arrived on her lips, she was breathless, seeking his attention.

He stopped.

She inhaled to protest.

A rough exhale, a groan, and he meshed their lips, invading her mouth with his tongue. He tasted like the sea, forbidden and hypnotic. How could she have lived this far without knowing this flavor? He loosened his hold on her face and circled her spine, bringing her chest into contact with his. The heat of his skin seeped into the flannel of her dress, pouring into her nerve endings until her legs turned liquid.

Too soon, he pulled away from her, holding her at arm’s length. Water dripped from his eyelashes, and she followed the tiny drops until they pooled near the corner of his lip.

He leaned forward until his forehead rested on hers. "I’ve told you we are ruled by animal instincts."

Isabel broke his hold and stepped back. The muscles of his neck and shoulders rivaled a marble statue for stiffness. He ran a hand through his face, his jaw locked. As an expert in expressions, she read the frustration in the tightness around his mouth and there, by the corner of his eyes, regret.

The mist clouding her thoughts dissipated. What she felt for this brute of a man didn’t spring from her gut, as he implied.

Isabel clutched her hideous skirt, her chin trembling. "I see only one animal here."