44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

“Until you spread your wings, you’ll have no idea how far you can fly.” Napoleon BonaparteSix months later…

The last rays of the sun touched the university tower as the bell tolled at the end of the sixth class. Through her bedchamber window, Isabel watched students flocking about the square, their black mantles flowing behind them like raven wings. With a sigh, she closed the shutter. Henrique would return home, and she had made no progress. On Tuesdays, he had fewer classes and never stayed at the laboratory later than six in the afternoon. The scent of spring clung to the city’s ocean breeze, and soon, they would move to England for the season. Not that they were not proud of Henrique’s position here. Coimbra was every bit as prestigious as Oxford. The oldest school in Europe, founded by her ancestor, King Diniz, in the thirtieth century. But Henrique was eager to expose the results of his research in Britain, and she would love to meet her royal cousins and show off her scientist husband.

"Come, Sophie, let’s get this done."

The maid eyed the new garment with distaste and shook it from the box. The dressmaker’s craftmanship was superb, Isabel had to admit. Form-fitting, the tailored jacket was made of striped tweed lined with black silk. The problem was the cycling skirt. If she could call it that.

"Are you sure you wish to wear it, Your Highness?"

"Sophie, when I was a princess, you balked at calling me Your Highness... But now that I’m no longer one, you decide to use the honorific." As a blessing to the marriage, her brother had granted them the title of Duke and Duchess of Braganza. At first, she feared she had robbed Fernando’s legacy. But Henrique believed her late brother would be happy if his lineage were kept alive. Even Pedro Daun, who had been Fernando’s closest friend, had written to her saying that after the courage she showed in Spain, he could not think of a better bearer of Fernando’s name.

The maid huffed. "Your Highness will always be a royal princess to me. But a trouser?"

Isabel sighed. "Ladies want to try the bicycles, but long skirts make it unsafe. Many had accidents when their hems caught in the chain."

Sophie seemed resigned as she helped Isabel fasten the new garment over her waist. "I never knew Your Highness to be interested in bikes."

Isabel watched her reflection in the mirror. The bloomers, as the English called it, had no excess cloth, making her feel naked.

"I’m not. But I have the means to keep a landau, a vis-à-vis, coachmen, and four carriage horses waiting for my pleasure. What about the thousands of women who don’t have the same privilege? The bicycle provides them with a respectable form of transportation." It gave women freedom. And free women were happy women.

The door swung inwards, and Henrique strolled inside her dressing room.

Her heart sped, and she grinned. "Don’t you ever knock?"

"It would be contra-productive, now, would it not?"

"Why is that?"

"If my goal is to glimpse you in dishabille, knocking would ruin the surprise factor."

Sophie blushed furiously and, muttering in French, hurried out of the room.

"What are you wearing?"

"These are bicycle bloomers. Do you approve?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

He took his hat off and flung it. It sailed and landed perfectly on the peg. He removed his gloves and great coat and moved slowly towards her. A frisson started in her belly at his nonchalant approach.

"Like all libertines, I am extremely conservative. Are you ready to start a scandal? I can see the headlines. Duchess of Braganza is seen flaunting her derrière in Coimbra’s main street."

"It’s for a worthy cause." She swatted his arm and watched her reflection, twisting this way and that.

Was it really so scandalous?

He placed his brawny arms around her and kissed her neck. Their eyes met in the mirror.

Playfulness gone, he became serious. "Your effort is commendable. I’m sure when you wear these"—he placed both hands over her hips—"they will become fashionable."

After their marriage, she had regained her popularity and even increased it. "Thank you."

"I’m not finished." He bit her earlobe. "I love a juicy scandal. If you wish to make a Godiva-like tour around the palace, I will be in the front row as you cycle buck naked. But I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

How did he do it? Make her love him even more? Her heart was about to burst with love already, yet he surprised her at every turn. Be it by making her laugh when she felt gloomy or supporting her when she didn’t know she needed support.

"I love you."

He grinned. "Does that mean you will bicycle in the nude? For my eyes only?"

"Not a chance," she said against his lips and brought him in for an open-mouthed kiss.

He circled his arms around her and cupped her derrière. The absence of petticoats and crinoline made contact much more satisfying. The new clothing certainly had its merits. Isabel moaned as his hardness connected with her core and ground against him, letting her body speak its needs.

He removed the breeches, and soon they were both naked and straining against each other. He threw her playfully on the bed. With a dramatic sigh, he jumped by her side, shaking the mattress and scattering the pillows.

"Come, wife, let’s see how you ride. You will need to awe the ladies into adopting the bicycles. Or at least not to fall flat on your arse."

Isabel bit his chest.

"What?" He caressed her curves, tugging her atop him until she straddled him. "I’m terribly fond of your royal rump."

She lowered herself to his hardness. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she splayed her hands over his chest, relishing his rippling muscles.

He lengthened inside her, and her mouth opened as languid pleasure sluiced inside her. She nibbled his bottom lip. He groaned, and his hands traveled from the indenture of her waist to her hips. He caressed her derrière with a light touch, sending tingles dancing down her spine, and then he touched where their bodies were joined.

Holding her hips, he pressed her down, forward, and backward. Her mouth opened in a wordless O, and he traced her lips, his touch like a drop of water in the desert. She closed her lips and sucked his fingertip.

He lifted his hips. "Move, Isabel, take all your pleasure. I’m yours."

Isabel did.

Slowly at first, getting used to him. His broad chest and taut abdomen were too close for her to resist, and she leaned over him, caressing his nipples. She closed her eyes as the heat of him pulsed inside her. She could lose herself with him, drop her mask, and be Isabel. Her hands grabbed her own breasts. They were swollen and heavy, and she delighted in his heated looks. But it was not enough. She increased the tempo, grinding against him. Perspiration covered her brow, and she whimpered in frustration.

He touched her mound and spread her outer lips atop his hardness. She watched him, mesmerized by the place where their bodies joined.

"This is—it feels as if I’m conquering the world."

Henrique grinned, the rakish smile she loved. “I like it, too. I lay back and enjoy my bounty.”

“Yes, my reposing rake.”

Henrique frowned, grabbing her waist, and pressing down. "Reposing? Rampant is more likely. Perhaps it’s time we changed our epithets… I don’t think Prudish Princess will do, not for a lusty wench like yourself. What do you feel about Hungry Heroine?

Isabel laughed. "Comes to mind a paunchy Athena."

"I have the perfect one." He flipped her and came on top. "Love of my life."

When she started to tremble, he increased the tempo of his thrusts. His body loomed above her, and she embraced him, marveling at his strength. Only her hands felt like her own, exploring the ridges and sinews of his spine. He kissed her, a warm, open-mouthed kiss that murmured tenderness into her throat. He drove inside her, one, two times, and she burst, pleasure consuming her. The bonds that connected them turned strong and stronger still. Then he shouted his love so loud the Olympian Gods must have heard him.