“It is not at all how you make it sound, Mademoiselle, as I have repeatedly told her. I resent the insults to my honor.”
“What is it that I think? You appear to fancy yourself the expert.” She began to pace the room before turning abruptly on him, like a bull about to charge. “Why does this service interest you, your highness? You require that I should provide it, but you do not think I am entitled to the reason.”
Damnation she was ill-tempered. How could someone with the voice of an angel have such a contemptible disposition?
Alejandro felt his indignation rising. He was groveling before an opera singer and she had the gall to treat him like a peasant.
There were any number of people out to use one’s private lives for personal gain, particularly among royalty. How well he knew this! Despite her feigned indignation, she knew it as well. Those were generally the guilty ones.
“My reason is personal. Surely you understand the monarchy must keep their private feelings just that—private,” he said. “There is no shortage of those who would use every word against us.” He stared pointedly at her. Clearly she had given him no reason to trust her.
“So now you believe I am out to use you?”
“You do not appear to have the slightest interest in me, Mademoiselle Nicolette. And what I believe is unimportant.” He swallowed hard. “The relevant point is I will provide whatever you wish in exchange for this small favor.”
“I do not require a provider, nor do I need your assistance, your highness. And if it is so small, as you put it, it should not tax you to find someone else who can provide it.”
By anyone’s standards this is not going well. There must be something which can win this pythoness’ good regard if kindness and obsequiousness do not suffice.
Unfortunately I brought no dead mice with me.
“A gift then. For you, Mademoiselle Nicolette.” Without further ado, he took a few steps towards her, taking care to safeguard his aggendages, opening a velvet box which he handed it to her.
Inside was a stunning emerald and diamond necklace of the finest beauty and clarity. It had been no small amount of trouble to send Joaquin for the jewels at the opera's intermission, but he had been on good terms with Cartier's in Paris for some time, and they were happy to open the shop and to take his note.
Alejandro did not miss her appreciative gaze.
As I thought.
“You are offering me expensive gifts so I might sing for you?” She turned to face him, looking more like a dragon with every instant. To be sure, her repertoire of hateful expressions was extensive.
“You do not like the necklace? You may choose something else. I only thought the colors became you so well.”
She turned on him. What he had thought was rude behavior was a child’s lullaby by comparison. “Do you think me a simpleton, Prince Alejandro? Do you imagine I am not aware of what you are suggesting? In situations such as this, I understand one plays along, neither admitting that which each knows to be the true arrangement. You will not find me so insincere, Prince Alejandro.” Her ivory skin was turning pink in her rage—actually causing the emeralds to flatter her even more—even as she thrust the velvet box into his hands. “Leave at once. Even in my grave, I would not wear a gift from any man so ungentlemanly as to treat me thus.”
“Mademoiselle Nicolette,” he replied, his anger growing to match her own, though his voice remained deadly quiet. “Do you accuse me of lying to you? I assure you deception and misrepresentation is far beneath me. I told you my intentions were honorable. If they were not, I would have no compunction in telling you so. Neither would I respond in anger to a gift sincerely offered.”
My ill-mannered wench. And might I add that the last thing in the world I want at this moment is to bed you. A viper would be safer. He didn’t even like her at this point.
I detest her. But when this Diva sings she channels the Divine…
With every bit of effort left to him—thankfully his discipline was remarkable—Alejandro smiled his most alluring smile before adding softly, “Mademoiselle Nicolette. I am sorry if I offended you. If I may say so, you sing like an angel.”
And you have the manners of a jackal.
“How sweet of you to say so, your highness,” she pronounced in severe tones. “But the fact remains you want something from me, so I regard your compliments with suspicion. These are not compliments given from the heart.”
“It pains me to correct you, Senorita Nicolette, but you are mistaken. I may desire something which only you can provide, but it has everything to do with my heart. My heart has rarely yearned for anything more.”
“That may be true,” she replied curtly. “But this gift you desire you also hold in disdain.”
She speaks the truth. How did she know? Alejandro resented his need for this gift.
She truly is a sorceress. Or a witch.
Alejandro took a deep breath. I must contain myself.
It was absolutely necessary that he win her regard; it was critical to his plan. Besides, any ill-bred behavior on her part was no excuse for him to behave in kind. It went without saying she had not been raised with the social advantages he had. Even had he not known it, this unfeeling display was proof.
“Try to consider my position, your highness.” She tilted her head and regarded him coyly, her voice softening. “Your having been brought up properly, unlike myself…”
Bloody Hell, she is reading my mind again!
She continued, “…surely you know a gift of jewelry is entirely inappropriate from a single man to an unmarried woman, unless she is a…a…”
An opera singer? He bit his lip, the words on his tongue. It was rare he should lose his calm—and he never lost control of his speech—but this hoyden would tax the serenity of the holy mother.
And I need her desperately. More than he had needed anyone in a long time, more than he might ever need anyone again.
If only the performance had lasted a little longer, if only the music could have played itself out…If only, he would not have to be here, would not have to actually talk to her, Alejandro thought with exasperation.
How quickly the tables have turned. When he saw Nicolette Genevieve in the Grand Foyer, he would have given anything to be in this woman’s boudoir. Now he wished he could be anywhere else. It was strange how this woman he had thought to be the most beautiful he had ever encountered was becoming less and less appealing to him. She was transforming before his eyes.
Watch yourself. I need to succeed at this more than I have ever needed to succeed at anything. Alejandro had long been able to control his tongue when the situation called for it. He had suffered every type of humiliation for the good of Espána.
Why now, when it is to my own benefit, can I not find a way to win this lady’s favor?
Because she is mad. Erratic, excitable, illogical, unbalanced, and impossible to understand. She flew off the handle for no reason, and disliked him without provocation.
She is volatile to the extreme.
Which no doubt contributed to her ability to thrill on the stage.
She stared at him with repulsion, awaiting his reply.
“Let us stop playing at this, Mademoiselle Nicolette, shall we? I can now see you have no interest in me personally, though I am at pains to know why,” he stated, drawing out the words slowly.
“Truly? You don't have any idea, your highness?” she pursed her lips. “I can see how it would be perplexing to someone of your gallantry.”
“Your salary must not be great with the Opera House.” He motioned to the necklace, ignoring her outburst, as it appeared to be her only manner of expression. “I can supplement your income generously.”
She began pacing the room, throwing her arms in the air like a hoyden as she spoke. The delusion of Mademoiselle Genevieve being a lady—if, in fact, anything was left of that image in his mind—was sadly compromised.
“How could you have heard me sing and believe I sing for mo
ney?” she asked. “I will never, ever cease singing not for all the gold in the world.”
She was an exceptional actress and she never relented, possibly to up the ante. Her singing was breathtaking—there was no room for argument on that point—but the idea that she would choose to work if she did not have to he found difficult to believe. The work to which he was born was the last thing in the world Alejandro wished to do.
But it had to be her. Only her. “I only wish to pay you your due, Mademoiselle. There is no need for pretense. I understand your need for drama—otherwise, how would you do what you do?—but I have no need of it. Please, simply tell me what you want so we can come to a fair exchange.”
“How dare you insult me based on the fact that I am a singer—an artist—without knowing the slightest thing about me.”
Alejandro found that he was grinding his teeth.
Did I misjudge her? No, quite the opposite. He had the misfortune to desperately need the skills of a person who was the embodiment of a temperamental Greek goddess. Why couldn't someone else, anyone else, have created that heavenly music?
“I beg your pardon Mademoiselle Nicolette. Yes, your singing is unequaled, I meant no slight to you.” He added as politely as he could muster, “Please instruct me. I could not very well ask for a private performance without compensation. Please inform me how you wish me to ask for this service.”
“I am under no obligation to do what you wish for any price, Prince Alejandro,” she flared. “And let me add that there is nothing you can offer me—nothing—which I desire.”
“Nothing?” he asked softly. Jewels had not worked. It was time to try a different tactic, one which was tried and true.
He drew close to her and captured her with his eyes. In his glance he bestowed upon her the passion he remembered all too vividly in her performance, in her swaying and cajoling. He caressed her face with his eyes, the fire he had seen in her movements now burning in his chest. Gently he ran one finger along her palm, holding her hand with the lightest touch. He bent to her hand, raising it tenderly to his lips, as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.
For a moment he forgot himself and entered too deeply into the charade. Just when he thought he was the actor, that he would rather burn at the stake than touch her, he succumbed to the transforming energy of her presence.
“N…nothing,” she stammered softly, as she seemed to sway.
She returned his gaze, staring at him both with desire and repulsion.
It excited him. He had awakened the tigress after a long nap, and she was both furious—and hungry.
Alejandro had never encountered the likes of her before. A slow, sensual smile came to his lips. In an instant he knew she was his perfect match in the bedroom.
And she knew it too. He might lack awareness in certain areas, but not here.
As he studied her, his resolve weakened. He ached to take her into his arms and to kiss her with a fervor unlike anything he had ever known before.
What am I thinking? I must remember my purpose. He could not risk her misinterpreting his actions.
The two of them together would set the world afire. His eyes rested on her full red lips before moving to her eyes, aflame with passion.
She was the only person of his acquaintance outside of King Don Bartolomé who had ever approached him as an equal, without fear or apprehension. He had thought it was a ploy to get what she wanted. But she was not short on courage, there was no doubt on that.
“You told me you only wanted me to sing,” she exclaimed breathlessly.
“That is all I require, Senorita. I don't know how to explain it to you, but I need…I need to hear you sing.”
“You can hear me sing any night of the week at the Palais Garnier.”
“Indeed. I wish to hear you sing privately. Only to me.”
“Why do you desire this unusual arrangement, your highness?” Her voice was soft and low as she moved closer to him. Her scent was an enticingly eclectic mix of fragrances: cherries and vanilla with a hint of lilac.
Not what he would have expected: the smell of steel and blood would not have surprised him.
“I doubt there is any man alive who would not wish it. It is naive to be surprised by this, Mademoiselle Nicolette,” he admitted with a slight nod which approached reverence. “Only it is different for me.”
“Whatever do you mean, your highness?”
“The effect of your singing was quite unexpected. It has a spiritual, transformative power,” he said tersely, hoping he hadn’t said too much.
There is a healing in it for me. He wanted to scream it but dared not. Nicolette Genevieve was a heartless creature with the voice of an angel. A siren of the deep.
She studied him for a long while before offering her pronouncement, not unlike a royal edict. Her expression seemed to soften, but her eyes were unrelenting as they penetrated his soul.
“My singing is not for sale. It is something which comes from my heart. And my heart is not in it.”
Leaving him dazed, holding the emerald necklace, she walked the length of the room. Before she exited her own door she turned and looked at him, a trembling smile on her lips.
“I am much honored to make your acquaintance, your highness,” she murmured as she curtseyed, “but I, unfortunately, have a pressing engagement. I invite you and your necklace to go to Hades.”
18
Start a rumor
“Start a rumor
Light as a feather
Watch that rumor float on the breezes!
How it tickles! How it teases,
Oh, how shyly, Oh, how shyly!
Watch it find its way to every hidden place!
As the little words assemble,
Round and round the rumor reaches,
Ears will open to its speeches,
Ears will listen to the lesson that it teaches,
First a whisper, then a murmur,
Little voices all a-tremble!
And the mind will pay attention
To whatever it will mention
Who will drop it
Who can stop it
As it runs its rapid race!”
—The Barber of Seville by Gioachino Rossini
There is no excuse for such inattention! Where is it?
Nicolette rang immediately for her newspaper which
should have arrived along with her toast and hot tea.
An odd oversight today of all days. Her entire future would be shaped by those small black and white letters which appeared so innocuous on the surface.
Possibly her maid thought she would be over-tired. Nothing could be further from the truth!
Not wishing to wait for Emily to pull the curtains, Nicolette did so herself, anxious to let the light in. Her eyes rested on the Fontaine de Medicis in the Jardin du Luxembourg bordering their home, spouting water as if to match her excitement. Never mind that it had been gurgling in precisely the same manner since 1624.
What a glorious, perfect world it is! Nicolette pushed back the sheer chiffon extending from her ring canopy bed. Latching the chiffon in place, she couldn't help but admire the effect of the sheer plum against a damask pattern of rose, mauve, and olive.
Her room was on odd blend of English country garden and French provincial—which worked surprisingly well. Just as her life was an obscure mix of themes, events, and locales which had all come together last evening. Lady Ravensdale had a gift for combining themes, she mused, letting her eyes rest for a brief moment on a round portrait of her mother in an antique gold frame hung by a long rose satin ribbon.
Of all the mornings not to have my newspaper! Nicolette rang the bell again. An instant later she threw on a dressing gown of pale India silk trimmed with white lace frills and gold bands and began pacing the room.
The critics' assessment of my performance is the foundation for the rest of my life.
Nicolette admonished herself for her fretting. Her performance had been flawless, the best
she had ever given, there was no cause to flap about like a chicken loose in the barnyard.
The reviews would be good, of course, but how good was the question.
The answer to that question would determine the length of the road ahead of her. She needed to read them for herself before she could generally know how to proceed.
What is taking Emily so long? It must be five minutes since she rang. At just that moment her young maid entered the room, and she saw at a glance the paper on her tray. She bit her lip to keep from snapping at the girl, whose white bow sat lopsided on her head.
“Yes, thank you Emily, that will be all,” she pronounced dismissively, reaching for the newspaper as she sat on her bed, searching frantically for the arts section. Emily set the tea and toast on her table, curtseyed, and exited the room, the white bow in her hair still bobbing.
Nicolette knew she should pour herself a cup of tea and savor every word, but she was too excited to linger over her happiness.
She gasped. Impossible! No, it can’t be!
As she began reading, her world crashed in around her. Her vision began to go blurry as the reality of what she was seeing overtook her.
This can’t be happening. The paper slipped from her fingers as she blinked, attempting to focus on something, anything.
I gave the performance of my life.
The applause had been thunderous and the stage strewn with roses. Her dressing room was filled with flowers. She could smell them yet.
How could one’s best not be good enough?
It simply is inconceivable.
She heard a light tapping on the door which she knew to be Lady Elaina's. Nicolette did not know how she found her voice, but she managed to utter “come in”.
Her grandmother had traveled to see her first star performance—and possibly my last, Nicolette thought as her throat constricted further. She steadied herself on the edge of the bed, afraid she might slide off.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 14
