21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

"To me there has never been a higher source of earthly honor or distinction than that connected with advances in science."- Isaac NewtonHenrique stared for the seventh time at the microscope. The bacteria colony had died again. Cursing, he rubbed his temples. How could he concentrate on typhus when his skull had been drained of brain tissue and replaced by an unresponsive slug? Henrique pushed away from the table with an oath. ’Thank you for the lesson,’ Isabel had said prettily, perfectly polite. As if he had taught her a new tennis technique or a hairstyle. As if she had not milked his finger with her pleasure and made his cock painfully hard.

And then, after sprinting back to her room, she didn’t appear for dinner. Henrique should find her. Teach her all sorts of pleasure. Let’s see if she could stay detached then.

What the hell was he thinking? Pedro Daun would arrive tonight, expecting a slumbering Canastra so he could break into his chamber. He had no time to fantasize over Isabel’s orgasms.

But he was her escort, damn it. What if she fell ill? Without giving himself a minute more to ponder the ridiculous excuse, he grabbed his coat and hat and sped to the door. When he placed his hand on the knob, a decisive knock came from the outside.

Dio. Had he come to fret about their night raid? Pedro Daun didn’t become the most powerful man in the kingdom by blundering his missions. Henrique flung the door open.

He was greeted by a vision in white, crowned by diamonds. Isabel gasped and stepped back.

Henrique flashed an epic smile. "Couldn’t stay away?"

"Don’t flatter yourself. Come, Sophie." She jutted her chin to the French maid and strode inside his room.

So she brought a chaperone? "Coward."

"If you behave mulishly, I can return later."

Henrique affected a perfect bow. "I’m always willing to assist royalty."

"Liar," she said saucily, her gaze straying to his lips.

"If you came for another lesson, prepare to shock poor Sophie."

Isabel blushed. Nothing more than a response from her sympathetic nervous system caused by an emotional trigger, dilating the blood vessels in the skin. Yet, in her, it was art that set his heart into a frenzy. He must be falling ill.

"Diomedes sent me. Our resident playwright. He said you needed to take my measure. He was cryptic, so I hoped you could explain it better."

Henrique shook his head. Of course, the harness. At least Dio had not ruined the surprise. Henrique wanted Isabel to fly, but she would balk if she realized his plans before the performance. He only needed her waist, but after spanning it once, he knew it to be Pi times ten inches. Last night he had tried squaring the circumference but failed. Her shape was unique. But he could not say as much to her now, could he? Not with a chaperone eying him as if he was Zeus bent on ravishing her precious charge.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped the hat and the coat atop the couch and pointed to his working table.

Isabel followed. The maid ambled toward the window, giving them some privacy.

Like an obedient seamstress, Henrique stretched his measuring tape and came to her. He sucked in a breath, hoping he could store her fragrance inside, knowing it was just distilled alcohol, ambergris, and jasmine, but wanting it as if it was ambrosia. Pulse speeding, he circled the leather ribbon around her waist. When his hands met near her navel, he stopped. The twenty-five inches were there for all to see, but he refused to acknowledge the number. Henrique could only focus on the green of her eyes, challenging and pleading.

She licked her lips. "Is that all?"

He moved away from her, ostensibly to write her measurements.

She strolled to his desk and flipped through his notebook. What was she hoping to find? He crammed every inch of his pages with miscellaneous drawings and looking-glass jottings. Scribbled together were math calculations, sketches of birds, flying machines, theater props, water eddies, blood valves, microscopic organisms, siphons, plant stems, sawed-apart skulls…

Before he could stop her, she pressed her eyes to his microscope. He held still as she peeped at his life work as one visits the exhibits of a menagerie. He was used to it by now. The exclamations of admiration followed by a quick change of subject. Most people would pay to avoid going into the minutiae of his science.

"What is this?"

"You just saw a colony of typhus bacteria. For the past six months, I’ve been trying to identify an agent to kill it. As you can see from the plaques you inspected, the typhus thrives."

"Bacteria? Are you a disciple of Pasteur?” she asked casually, as if commenting on the weather, and placed her eye back on the lenses.

Frowning, Henrique took a step closer. "I trained under him in Paris. Won’t you drill me on why I chose such a non-aristocratic pursuit? After all, science is neither wearing the military uniform nor the political toga."

She lifted her face and met his gaze. "I’m certain your work as a scientist is more rewarding than any contribution made by politicians or soldiers."

Henrique rubbed his chest, not sure what to make of her praise. Part of him wanted to shout with glee. The other had learned to search for hidden meanings. People usually recognized his work when they wished for something in return. "You’d be surprised. But not every place treats its natural philosophers as poorly as Portugal. In England, a scientist receives incentives, public acknowledgments—"

"Shouldn’t the work and the benefit to others be enough reward?"

Henrique grunted. He wouldn’t explain to Joan of Arc about a scientist’s necessities.

She didn’t seem to want to hear his justifications anyway and went to his second microscope. "When Pasteur published his manifesto on hygiene, most surgeons in Lisbon burned the papers. I helped Sister Agnes convince the midwives to wash their hands before birth, and the mortality rates were reduced by thirty percent. It struck me as common sense practice then, but looking at your bacteria… Is it true then? Is there a world of small beings we are completely ignorant of?" Her eyes flashed with interest.

Pulse speeding, Henrique took her hand.

She startled.

"Let me show you."

She hesitated for a second and then nodded.

He removed her lace glove, revealing bitten nails and white skin. He turned her palm up and placed it under the microscope, adjusting it to the highest possible resolution.

"It’s amazing."

"The answer to our health is not on humors or bleeding, but here. In this microscopic world. If we conquer this world, like we conquered the way to the Indies or the colonies, we could reduce mortality rates during operations, avoid disease contagion, prolong life expectancy rates."

"The future," she said under her breath.

Henrique nodded. "The future."

Their gazes met and locked. She understood. Not the glazed eyes of desire or boredom, but… she understood. Of course, she understood. She was the most brilliant person he knew. He’d believed men and women were two parallel lines, never crossing in ways beyond the physical. And yet, here she was. Good God, he’d been an ass. Standing here, gazing at him expectantly, was his equal in intellect and wit and passion and everything.

He wanted to kiss her, to place her atop his shoulder and run away with her, to spread her on a table and devour her, to brush his head on hers and absorb all her ideas. He settled for removing her hand from under the microscope’s lenses and pulling it close to his mouth. With deliberate intention, he kissed her palm.

"You have a beautiful mind, Isabel."

"Mind? I thought I was an animal like everybody else."

Dio was right. He resembled Hercules when handling subtlety, clubbing his own foot first and asking questions later. Zeus himself should smite his arse for spouting such nonsense.

"I said that, didn’t I?" He lowered his chin to his chest and lifted his eyes to her. "I wonder how you still put up with me."

Sophie ambled closer, her gaze shifting nervously between them. "Your Highness, you promised Lord Diomedes you would rehearse your part today."

"Of course." Isabel stirred, breaking eye contact, and whirled to leave.

He was mentally cursing himself blue enough to make a fisherwoman proud when she paused, her shoulder touching his.

"I put up with you because you are a gifted teacher."