Please, dear God, she mentally prayed as she envisioned Prince Alejandro’s engaging smile, let his demands be within my power to meet.
Because if seduction is his true intent, I will refuse him unequivocally. She dug her fingernails into her palms.
And my life's work will be destroyed.
Nicolette glanced at her image in one of the floor-length mirrors, hoping her refined inaccessibility was evident. She had wanted to wear a crisp white blouse and a man's tie but thought the better of it. Prince Alejandro was old-fashioned to the extreme; he had made that painfully clear. Though she intended to instruct the prince, she did not wish to repel him. She had revised that plan unexpectedly.
For heaven’s sake, Spain’s future sovereign was still living in the nineteenth century—no, indeed, the eighteenth! Such a modern outfit as she envisioned would no doubt displease him. As much as she would take delight in annoying his royal highness, this was no longer to her purpose.
In the end, she chose a fashionably flamboyant style with all the feminine touches: lace at her collar held in place by a cameo, an S-bend corset which accented her shapely figure, frill bishop sleeves, a lavish hat, and an aqua chiffon gown trimmed with ecru lace and brown velvet ribbons.
Hopefully this ensemble is embellished in enough lace, ribbons, and feathers to suit his royal highness. A man who likes to see his women without vocation, cosseted and protected from life’s challenging realties and tucked away from private view.
As he had informed her himself.
Possibly I should have retreated yet another century, she reflected as she studied her image. Marie Antoinette’s attire would be perfect, but France’s last Queen was not the subject of any operas—as fine a subject as she would be—so her wardrobe was not available in the Opera House.
I don’t wish to dress as the woman about to lose her head. A head which was pounding with the knowledge that she was very close to the man who would determine her future.
Breathe, she told herself. While attempting to appear disinterested, Nicolette’s eyes searched for Prince Alejandro even as she forced breath into her lungs.
Where is he?
For a person accustomed to being on display, who reveled in it in fact, it felt like an eternity to Nicolette before they reached Le Jardin d'Hiver, the garden room. Even the flowers appeared to be mocking her as she entered the room. But that was nothing to the strangulation: her shortening breath was proof that the plants which surrounded her were reaching for her neck, her chest, her nose.
I am a master of breath control, I am an actress, my body is a trained instrument, why am I having difficulty doing what I can do without conscious thought?
Thank the heavens. Like an oasis in the dessert she spotted Olga, occupied with her own party. Nicolette waved lightly. Just the image of her friend lightened her heart a bit, as well as the fact that Prince Alejandro was not visible.
Probably hiding under a rock.
All too soon the prince came into view. He was seated at a secluded table next to a large picture window. His posture was stiff and dignified, almost watchful.
He surprised her. Gone was the arrogance and presumptive brutishness in his demeanor. When Prince Alejandro saw her from across the room, his anxious expression turned to something in the vein of relief, followed by pleasure.
I am, frankly, astonished. When they first met by the Grand Stairwell, the royal prince almost drowned her in his desire and arrogant confidence.
At their second meeting when he invaded her dressing room, his manner was decidedly changed: equally confident but almost business-like in manner. He scrutinized her like a jeweler examining a new stone for the slightest flaw, his knife at the ready. His belief in her eventual submission had been evident.
He treated me as if I were a courtesan.
Nicolette tightened her lips as she relived the insult. Prince Alejandro might be surficially cordial today, but he clearly believed she was a woman who could be bought and that his will would reign supreme.
As it turns out, he is right on both counts.
Her indignation rising, she forced herself to scrutinize her opponent.
I must find his weakness. Now they met for the third time and his countenance was, yet again, far different. His manner was ceremonial but warm, almost as if he were a child begging to come out and play.
His appearance fit the disguise as well: he wore an elegant but understated olive cashmere Cheviot suit which complimented his dark, wavy hair. His somber brown eyes were piercing and captivating, a look she would have found appealing under better circumstances.
Is this Prince Alejandro’s secret twin? Was this royal a single individual or a series of look-alikes? She began to wonder if she was in the center of a mysterious political intrigue.
She knitted her eyebrows in perplexity. This is definitely a new development…Nicolette was filled with bewilderment at the same time she fought the urge to approve of him.
He watched her attentively as she approached him, which flustered her even more.
Don’t be taken in, my girl! Remember who you are dealing with. Someone who has exercised his power over a struggling actress.
Actually, Prince Alejandro’s only crime is to approve of my performance, she reminded herself. And to be a powerful person who can influence my career. He did not set this up.
Or did he?
He smiled at her as she approached. How can someone so handsome be so unpleasant? She no doubt imagined the solicitation in his expression.
It was the frantic last wish of a drowning person. He is the victor.
The revolting truth is that I need him.
Nicolette fought the desire to wrap her arms around her waist and to collapse on the floor. She stood even straighter, her chin held high.
There is no point in attempting to read him, I will know his true motives sooner than I wish.
21
Viper in Ruffles
“You flashed lightly into my life
And since then I’ve lived
In tremulous possession
Of that unspoken love,
The pulse of the whole world,
Mysterious, unattainable,
The torment and delight of my heart”
—LA TRAVIATA by Giuseppe Verdi
I detest her. Almost as much as he detested his need of her.
Nicolette Genevieve is the most unrestrained, undisciplined, impolite woman I have ever met. I do not care for her at all.
And she has a gift.
“Your highness,” the senorita murmured. She curtseyed very low when she reached him even as the maître 'd bowed and held out her chair.
“Mademoiselle Genevieve.” He rose and bowed, stupefied and perplexed by her overly ornate outfit. It was amazing to think this woman—this viper in ruffles from head-to-toe—was the instrument to his transformation.
The memory of hearing her sing washed over him and he was momentarily transported to that place which had no place: where time was immaterial, where there were no responsibilities, no scorching memories, no guilt, and no judgment.
There was only…rapture.
For one moment in time, I might be in perfect bliss. I might be able to forget about myself and my duty. I might overcome my failings. I might be the leader of nothing and of no one. For one glorious moment I have no father destroying my country, no country to be saved, only…
Peace.
Beholding the woman before him—beautiful, but ostentatious—it was inconceivable that such a flaunting, immodest woman was capable of spiritual healing.
And yet she is. He had tasted, for an instant, comfort. Deliverance. Love.
Nicolette Genevieve was the key bearer. Her heart might be cold, but, for whatever reason, God had entrusted her with the key to his soul. Alejandro would not, could not, let her go until he knew the extent of her reach.
He had never craved anything so much in his life.
She might be a sorceress, but there is no doub
t in my mind that, whatever her failings as an individual, she channels something divine.
She is the path to myself.
22
A Match Made in Purgatory
“Two people like you
shouldn't live together”
- La Boheme by Puccini
“Mademoiselle. Thank you for coming. I am in your debt,” Prince Alejandro offered in low tones. She liked the sound of his voice in spite of herself.
And then he surprised her further by standing, certainly not protocol for royalty, and bowing very deliberately.
Miraculously, the pronounced muscles in his thighs are now functioning, she noted.
She lowered her eyes and seated herself. Prince Alejandro followed suit, and the maître 'd retired.
“I am so pleased you could join me, Mademoiselle.” He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. His masculine scent she recalled and identified in her mind as the smell of the hunt: a decidedly woodsy smell.
“I received an offer I could not refuse.” She retrieved her hand.
“My offer for luncheon?”
“That and continued employment.”
Prince Alejandro frowned. “I assure you, Mademoiselle Genevieve, I had nothing to do with any such threat.”
To be sure, you are not the source of my unpopularity but my only hope at increasing my popularity. Unless…I wonder…could the prince be behind the negative reviews? Had he paid someone to write them as a source of leverage?
“And yet, here I am. My employer told me quite forcefully to attend. It was not worded as an invitation.”
She raised her chin. Having a political father, and having seen first hand the prince’s expectation of having his way, her suspicions kept nagging at her. She knew worse things had been done to procure one’s ends.
“I am sorry my company is so distasteful to you, Mademoiselle.”
Careful, foolish girl! Now you have insulted your only supporter. You wish to believe the hatred of your performance was contrived.
But the truth is the critics gave their honest opinion. My motives for wishing it was a conspiracy are intense. And might very well shoot myself in the foot.
“Not your company, your highness. The means by which I came to be here. Please understand, I have worked all my life to come to this place in my singing profession, only to find myself the pawn of forces beyond my control.”
“I would never threaten a lady. Not if my life depended on it. I find there are other ways to get what I want.” His voice was low and resonant, his jawline firm.
She swallowed hard, looking away momentarily. He had a fixed stare which was entrancing.
He looked up at her through long dark eyelashes. “May I call you 'Senorita'? It is so much nearer to my heart to speak your name in my own tongue.”
Ah, so now I reside near to his heart. She gazed into chocolate brown eyes, deep and intense. His hair was brushed back but when he bent to kiss her hand a portion of his bangs fell forward, brushing against his eyebrows and along his cheekbone.
It was provocative. She glanced up at him under the rim of her wide-rimmed straw hat, a turquoise feather forming a welcome obstruction. Mentally she admonished herself: I might act the part, but I mustn't forget who I am dealing with.
“Certainly, your highness.” Nicolette forced herself to nod in acquiescence. She could not take her eyes from his: he was having an unexpected effect on her. There was a new element to his countenance—not humility, no, never that—but sincerity.
Prince Alejandro cleared his throat. “Would you care to partake of a light lunch?”
“Thank you, your highness, yes,” she murmured, relieved for the diversion. He nodded to a waiter, and instantly four waiters came forward bearing every manner of food, announcing each dish.
Is it possible? He seems sincere, and he has not proven to be a great actor, obviously feeling he has no need to hide his true intent. Much like the bear lumbers through the woods as noisily as it chooses, having no predators.
Oh, I do not like dealing with this man! His address was proper, but the forcefulness of his longing shook her. She did not know why she was so unnerved; she had been courted by persons of rank before.
But this was different. So different. He didn’t appear to like her at the same time he craved her.
But then, what reason had she given him to like her? It was a miracle she had not repelled her only ally.
The elegant repast set before her was anything but light. Eggs and prawns in brioche. Quiche camembert with salmon. Fondue Bourguignonne. In addition, there was a classic English afternoon tea, complete with a four-tier silver tray of finger sandwiches, fresh strawberries, traditional scones served with clotted cream, and French pâtisseries.
“Do you find anything to your liking, Senorita Nicolette? Or would you care to order a more substantial lunch?”
“It is more than sufficient, I assure you, your highness.” She giggled in spite of herself. “I am accustomed to eating a lunch of omelet or fish, fresh fruit, toast, and hot tea, so this is indeed bountiful.”
“Would you prefer that I order these dishes for you, Senorita Nicolette? It can easily be arranged.” For some reason, his thoughtfulness discomposed her even further. She did not expect a royal to be so solicitous.
“I should never forgive you if you do, Prince Alejandro,” she heard herself protesting, placing a bite of strawberry and cream cheese crepe in her mouth.
Prince Alejandro seemed startled at her remark as laughter escaped from his lips. He had the expression of a man who had never laughed before in his life. She wished she might join him but for this hold he had over her.
“I had thought you would never forgive me anyway. For some imagined slight which alludes me,” he added.
“I do have a good imagination, your highness. But even I, in my wildest dreams, ever imagined how unfair life can be.”
This remark sobered him. “Very true, Senorita.”
Despite their relative politeness, they were each stiffly reserved in comparison to their previous interactions. Perhaps that was for the best. One would not wish to create a row in the middle of Le Meurice.
Prince Alejandro was all that was courteous and attentive through-out the luncheon. He was well informed without boasting or inflating himself—this was a welcome change from her male companions—with a pronounced desire to amuse and please her, and he even ventured a few remarks about the music and landscape of Spain. “And what is your favorite opera, Senorita Nicolette?”
“My favorite? Oh, I have many, your highness.” She observed he awaited her answer and was not merely making conversation. “Hmmm, I should say La Bohéme, The Magic Flute, Carmen, Lakme´, The Pirates of Penzance, and, most assuredly, The Barber of Seville.”
“I see you favor the comedies,” Prince Alejandro commented.
“Only two can be said to be comedies, though I’ll grant you even the dramas have comic moments. But, yes, I enjoy laughter.”
“I suppose one likes to be amused.”
Ah, the man she remembered was returning.
“Do you not attend French theatre while you are in Paris, your highness?” This royal was quite perplexing.
“If I must.” The left corner of his mouth raised slightly. It was difficult to ignore how charmingly handsome he was. Quite charming really.
“If you must? French comedies are delightful! Some believe the French to be snobbish, but, rather, I would say they value wit and intelligence.”
“Perhaps it is because the French make fun of everyone.”
“True, but they make fun of themselves as well.” She tilted her hat so her eyes were not fully visible to him, and she observed that he strained forward.
This royal could not seem to take his eyes from her, utterly absorbed in her as if she were a great puzzle to be deciphered. “Their light-heartedness and cleverness, their study of human nature, is mistaken for hauteur.”
“The French know how to laugh, to be sure.”
“They don't take life, themselves, or anything too seriously. They eat, they drink, they love, they live.”
“Would that they did not paint,” he murmured, patting his lips with his napkin. “And you, Senorita Nicolette. Do you take yourself seriously?”
“Very.” She tapped her gloved hand along her lip. He didn't reveal much, but he was quick to ask questions. Prince Alejandro certainly knew how to extract information. A solicitor might learn a great deal from his royal highness. Still, she had to admit it was nice to be with a man who knew how to converse.
Oh my goodness, am I enjoying his company? She was shocked, really. I must be on the alert. He was quite socially adept and able to draw one in if he so chose.
“I take you seriously as well, Senorita Nicolette.” She felt her heartbeat increase under the caress of his rich brown eyes.
She glanced about the room, attempting to hide her discomfort. She willed her hands to stop shaking even as she lowered them beneath the table, pretending to smile at something she saw.
“Does something amuse you, Senorita Nicolette?”
“Always,” she nodded distractedly.
I should be focused on the gravity of my situation, seeking a solution.
Actually, she was fighting her enemies simply by lunching in public. All that mattered was that she was seen with the prince of Spain. That alone would pique the interest of the general public. If the continual glances their way were any indication, she was accomplishing what she set out to do.
My only concern is what I might be asked to do in return.
“What are you thinking, Senorita?”
That is the last thing I shall tell you, my prince. “I always thrill to be in crowds of people, and they never cease to interest me.”
“And I always thrill to be alone.” He smiled, but there was the hint of melancholy in his eyes.
“I can’t imagine wishing to be alone.”
“I would have thought you would enjoy your own company, Senorita Nicolette. You don’t appear to be lacking in self regard.”
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 17
