She laughed, setting her sherry down and moving closer to him. He felt the room grow too warm. “Alejandro, I am entitled to experience joy: it is everyone's right, and the purpose of life. How can this be any different?”
“Joy is…important, I suppose…but the purpose of life?” Alejandro shook his head. Nicolette might be an angel sent from God, but she was of a singular bent.
She was a sheltered child without thought for anything but her own pleasure. In so doing, she could cause great harm to herself. He was determined to look out for her even if she was not.
He owed her. Everything.
“Oh, let me guess, the purpose of life is duty.”
“Do you never think, preciosa, that you cannot do precisely what you wish and what pleases you?” As he watched her pull away he breathed a sigh of relief at the same time he felt enormous regret.
“Do I ever…? Oh! I want to strangle you!”
Good. He might be in as much pain as ever, but he had transformed Nicolette’s lust to anger.
“You believe I sing for myself? Do you see nothing, Alejandro?”
He closed his mind momentarily. I wish I might see an end to this torture. I want to kiss her, I want to hold her…
“It is nothing about me. I am simply a channel through which the Creator flows.” She shook her head as she rose from her seat. “Do you not see even yet, Alejandro? It is about experiencing the Creator’s love. I express these things in a believable way.”
Very believable.
“This is art. This is music. This is God. I did not ask for this gift, but I would be a fool to refuse it.”
No doubt I am the fool.
39
Love Trembles
“Already I taste in spirit
The heights of tenderness!
Love trembles in our kiss!”
- Rodolfo, La bohème by Giacomo Puccini
He doesn’t understand a thing about me. Nicolette wanted to walk out on Alejandro and not look back, knowing he would regret it for the rest of his life.
And she wanted to show him rapture like he could never imagine.
She was certain he had bedded the most skilled paramours. And she was just as certain she could erase them from his memory.
“I can give you something no other woman can give you, Alejandro.” She added softly in her most seductive voice, “If you let me.”
“I have no doubt about that.” He reached for her wrist, even as she walked away from him, pulling her back to him. She stood next to him seated at the couch.
“Myself. I give all of myself to every moment, holding nothing back. It is who I am.” It was her gift and it was her scarlet letter, the means by which she was both labeled and repulsed.
She thought she saw perspiration develop on his forehead, even as he released his hold on her wrist.
Returning her eyes to Alejandro's, a sudden fervent longing for something more than this one night washed over her.
A desire to be with him forever. As different as they were, it was as if they completed each other.
But she knew it was impossible. “The reality is there is no future for us, Alejandro, I am not as naive as you might think. All we have is now: we can delight in it, or we can let it pass us by forever.”
“I wish you would not remind me; it serves no purpose.” He closed his eyes momentarily, and she saw his jaw tighten.
Searching his face, she saw her own desire mirrored there.
How long I have waited to see it. This was supposed to be the evening of revelation for Alejandro, but Nicolette began to think it was hers.
I love him. She knew now. Possibly I have always loved him. She had been attracted to Alejandro since the first moment of seeing him. Nicolette giggled. As well as repulsed.
Against all instincts and reason she had fixated on him, unable to leave him, even as the opening night curtain awaited her.
It went back further than that. When, as a child, she saw Alejandro in the palace of the sultan. Even then, merely seeing him for a few seconds touched her deeply.
I have always been drawn to him, as if by Divine design. And what were the odds they should be in the same place at the same time thousands of miles away from their respective homes? And that she should be there right when he needed her?
And now, nothing is real to me except the desire in his eyes.
She ran her hand along his cheek, the ruggedness satisfying somehow, as was the harsh gasp which escaped from his lips.
“Nicolette …please…don't…” For some time now she had seen isolation, contempt, and sadness in his expression.
She would be satisfied to see any reflection—proof Alejandro had connected with something, with anything—but to see his longing for her thrilled her.
“Please don't what, Alejandro?” she asked coyly, delighting in the effect she was having on him.
“Please don't touch me!” In an instant he stood, grabbing the wrists of her hands, and then, as if he could not help himself, pulling her to his chest, leaving no space between them. He kissed her with a roughness that ignited her, moving his lips rapidly against hers, cradling her head in his hand.
Just as she gloried in it, he released her and turned away from her, leaning on the fireplace. He muttered, “Please go.”
“I wish a night of pleasure with you.”
“I will not ruin you, Nicolette!” he pronounced through barred teeth.
“I have few to no concerns about pregnancy. I know your reputation, and I have no doubt you are in possession of French letters.”
“Nicolette! How can you know about those?” His jaw dropped. “It isn't decent!”
“Not decent?” she laughed. “How ridiculous! It would be far more indecent to become pregnant as an unmarried woman.”
“Of course, but you shouldn't even know about such things.”
“Why Alejandro? Do you prefer your women to be ignorant? Having a suffragette grandmother who provided contraceptives to the women of her village as a young lady and parents who never concealed any truth from their children, I am well aware of Goodyear and Hancock's invention in the 1840's, improving further upon French letters.”
“French letters” he growled “are for use with…” He was clearly struggling, not wishing to say the word.
“With prostitutes?” she asked. “I am well aware that French letters are so associated with prostitutes that many gentlemen cannot brook the thought of using them with their partner, believing it infers she is a prostitute. When, in reality, it is merely selfish and antiquated thought.”
“I would never dream of…”
“Of actually pleasing me?” Nicolette shook her head. “I begin to think so.”
“I can please you. Have no doubt on that score.”
“I have seen no evidence of it. People can say or think whatever they wish about me. I know who I am.”
And I know you are possibly the only man I will ever love.
“No one will know,” she whispered. “It hurts no one for us to experience ecstasy in this moment.”
“That's where you are wrong, Nicolette. I would know. And it would hurt both of us in the end.”
“You have had, and will continue to have, more than your share of betrayers. But you must learn to trust someone. And to receive love.” She brushed her lips against his, and the electricity was instant.
A look of confusion crossed his face, as if her words startled him. Nicolette bit her lip.
I should not have spoken of love. “I didn't mean…”
“Damnation!” Alejandro put his arms around her waist, moving her towards the door. “I want you so much I almost fell for it. Nicolette. Listen to yourself.”
“The words slipped out…I didn't really mean…”
“You are telling me if I compromise your virtue, I will receive love…feel loved?” He laughed. “Believe me, every inch of me wants to believe you. Would that it were so. But it is quite the opposite.”
“You have such
a peculiar view of things, Alejandro. Don't you understand that love is a gift from the Divine?”
“And if I gave in to my desires and compromise you, I would betray you…” He took her hands and held them lightly.
“Please disappoint me, Alejandro, I beg you.”
He grew very still, and his eyes almost boring a hole through her. “I would not disappoint, I can assure you.”
“Trust your passion,” she whispered. “Do not let your mind take over every time your start to feel.” She touched her hand to her forehead. “This entire performance was for nothing. It did not help you at all.”
“That is where you are in error, Nicolette.” He took her by the shoulders, holding her at a distance from him, his expression pleading. “You gave me exactly and precisely what I needed. I owe a huge debt to you and am at your service for the rest of my life.” Gently he kissed her forehead even as he closed his eyes.
“My heart and soul are yours,” Alejandro whispered.
“Mine?” She noticed he had omitted his body. Still his words shocked her. Did he mean it? “You no longer live for Spain?”
“Quite the contrary. My goals are the same as ever. Only now I bring my heart to it. I am more for Espána than ever.”
“More than you were? I don't quite picture this.”
“Now I am a whole man, and I owe it to you, mi cielita.”
My heaven.
“If that is the case, Alejandro, show me what your need looks like.” She looked up into his eyes. “Put yourself first and foremost for one moment in time. Live not for Spain, not for me, but for you, if only for a brief time.”
“It would not be that brief.” His voice was deep and resonant, and she felt it whirl inside her.
“What do you need, Alejandro?” She stroked his cheek.
He looked into her eyes, and she saw a burning desire there. “Princesa, it does not matter what I need. It matters what Espána needs. And, right now, it matters what you need.”
“Excellent.” She threw her arms around his neck and her lips captured his. His body melded to hers, and she was surrounded by his desire for her, as if the dam had burst.
40
Consumed
“How can I bear it!
I am consumed with love!”
- The Barber of Seville by Gioachino Rossini
Alejandro looked about the terrace. Everywhere he looked he saw Nicolette, her white gown shimmering in the moonlight against the Eiffel Tower. He saw her in the black silk with the plunging neckline, a red rose glistening between full, creamy white breasts.
Even when I turn away I see her. Flinging her hair and tantalizing him with her black lace shawl, much as a bullfighter tempts the bull with his red cape.
And I feel her. He felt her everywhere around him and within him, deep within his heart.
Alejandro stepped onto the terrace of the Belle Etoile wearing his gloves, his mask and foil in one hand. Esteban walked behind him, his teacher’s movements swift and precise.
“Good morning, my prince.” Esteban, being the instructor, wore the black fencing uniform and Alejandro the white. Both wore breeches and form-fitting jackets which made their muscular forms evident.
The full circle terrace was ideal for a fencing match. Even with the plants lining the iron balcony there was ample width. The small trees on the terrace provided some need for awareness, as in real life, and the wooden furniture had been moved after their breakfast. The greatest danger was falling over the seven-story terrace.
Placing his sword on a table, Alejandro put on his mask when he was interrupted by the sight of Joaquin at the terrace door, clicking his heels before traversing the terrace with a penguin's gait.
“Your highness.” The manservant then presented a telegram with a bow.
Is there never a moment’s peace? Alejandro sighed heavily, removing his mask and opening the telegram.
Oh, God, no! He frowned as he felt the full impact of the missive.
“What is it, Alejandro?” Esteban asked with concern though he involuntarily continued to swing his sword, loosening his muscles for their morning practice.
“Esteban, we must depart for Spain immediately.”
“Is it bad news?” Esteban demanded, stopping his movement abruptly.
“Si, mi amigo,” Alejandro nodded distractedly, crumpling the note in his hand. “The king has fallen ill.”
41
It’s Over
“Since yesterday I've been chilled
to the bone
He left me last night,
saying: It's all over.”
- La bohème by Giacomo Puccini
What came over me? Nicolette was beside herself with shock as regrets consumed her. She had thrown herself at Alejandro like a wanton.
She had become the person he believed her to be. She had…Oh, I wish I had.
In the end he picked her up with what appeared to be the greatest of will, called for his body guard, and commanded she be taken home.
Nicolette shivered to recall his expression. She felt her body tingle as she envisioned his chocolate brown eyes, begging her to stay at the same time she was escorted from the opulent room.
Throwing the olive and English rose covers from her bed, stretching her legs. She pushed her way through the sheer mauve chiffon extending from the ring canopy eight feet overhead. Throwing on her India silk dressing gown, she paced the room, the box pleat at the back of the gown creating a train of sorts. Hurriedly, she open her bedroom curtains, rang for her morning tea and toast, and moved to sit at her dressing table.
I do not know myself anymore. Gazing at her reflection in the gilded mirror, Nicolette tapped her fingers on her dressing table.
What could I have been thinking? She had never in her life stooped so low as to throw herself at a man. Worse, she had been ready to bed a man who would not marry her.
Nicolette watched a slow, sensuous smile come to her lips. And I would do it again.
Glancing out her window, she caught a view of the statue of Saint Genevieve, a virgin consecrated to God from her earliest childhood. Nicolette shook her head. I am very different from my namesake.
And yet she could not take her eyes from the goodness somehow hammered into the stone. Saint Genevieve had guided kings, fed the poor, performed miracles, cast out demons, and even stood firm before the Franks and Attila the Hun.
Bravery she could muster. Virginity? That was something she wished to part with. As long as the recipient was Alejandro.
No one else.
She hugged herself. Her skin shivered again as she recalled his kiss. Every inch of her had tingled as he kissed her. She had never felt this way about any other man.
Why pursue a man I have no hope of winning? In bedding Alejandro, she could only increase her pain. If the connection was deep now, would it not be more so afterwards?
At least on her side. Once men relieved their urges, they often lost respect for the woman. Deplorable but true.
She was playing with something powerful she didn't understand and setting herself up for failure.
Nicolette shook her head at her reflection. Alejandro might not be fully alive, but he had certainly brought her to life. He had this effect on people.
She heard a “tap-tap-tap” at the door.
“Come in”. Emily curtseyed, setting her tea and toast on her table beside the window where a vase of pink peonies sat.
“How do you curtsey holding a full tray, Emily?” Nicolette asked. She’d always wanted to ask that question.
“Practice, mar’m.”
“Emily, are you happy here?”
“Yes, mar'm. It be the best job ah’ve ever had. All m’ family are so proud.”
“May I be so bold as to ask, do you have a young man?”
Emily covered her mouth with her hand in alarm, as if her secret was out. As a general rule in high society houses, female servants were never kept on once married. If the mistress saw the writing on the wall, she
might dismiss the maid out early, knowing it was coming.
“Don’t worry, Emily. I won’t tell. And anyway, have you ever seen my parents turn anyone out for getting married?”
“I’ve seen them leave! Molly left, and so did Angela.”
“Because they chose to.” Although their standards of performance were high, Lord and Lady Ravensdale were forward-thinking and would never dismiss someone for getting married or being with child. Moreover, Lady Ravensdale did not think it was her business what the servants did on their days off, unlike other high society households.
Emily swallowed hard. “Me mum always said, ‘Don’t tell Quality anythin. It will come back to bite ye.’”
“You didn’t say a word to me, Emily.” Nicolette giggled. So she had her answer. She suspected it was the footman. She’d seen Emily’s face light up in this presence.
“Would you like your hair done, Miss Nicolette?”
“If you could set out my turquoise silk, please. I’d like to have a bite first.” Nicolette sat down at her table and began buttering the toast, followed by a thin layer of strawberry jam. She poured cream in her tea and took the first heavenly sip of the warm liquid. She loved the morning sun streaming through the window.
Nicolette glanced at the painting over her fireplace depicting a scene from La Bohéme, the young Bohemians.
Starving artists. Full of life, fervor, and love. Their dreams as real to them as their friends, and their friends more dear to them than their possessions.
Young love. The scent of the tea and cream and strawberries wafted up to meet her nose.
Had she thrown herself at Alejandro because she was determined he should be awake?
Initially. Then the passion she had sought was not for him; it was for her.
“Is he good to you?” Nicolette asked.
“Who, ma’rm?”
“The young man you didn’t tell me about.” Nicolette took a sip of tea, smiling over the rim of her teacup.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 31
