Nicolette was startled to hear a knock on her dressing room door in almost no time. That was surprisingly quick. Dr. Stanton had a relentless curiosity that led him to other intellectuals like a homing pigeon, resulting in lengthy conversations from which his wife found him difficult to extricate. Hurrying to the door, she opened it without delay.
The vision before her was the last thing she expected to see. There in a black silk cape and exquisite evening dress stood the crown prince of Spain, large and foreboding, his expression not so friendly as it had been before. His piercing eyes shone dark and deep above ruggedly pronounced features. His chin was strong and determined as he beheld her.
He looked more to be the captain of the guard than a royal prince. There was nothing gentlemanly about his manner of expression. His fashionable dress and his thick, dark hair waving around his bronzed face in an impeccably stylish manner attempted to conceal a military man, to no avail.
He bowed stiffly and abruptly to her and acted as if he had every right to be there, had every right to be anywhere he chose. His page was noticeably absent.
“Señorita Nicolette Genevieve,” he acknowledged, pointing to her name on his playbill while simultaneously walking past her all before she had time to close her mouth. “I have the name.”
“Your Highness,” she murmured, failing to curtsey.
“I understand that you are unable to join me for dinner due to a previous engagement.” He looked around the empty room with interest. “May I ask if your entire party would care to join me?” The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement.
How lovely that at least one of them was amused.
* * * *
He forced himself to be everything that was polite despite the unnecessary annoyance that she had caused him. Alejandro admonished himself. He would emerge victorious from this encounter in the end, so why was he plagued with a sudden uncertainty?
The prince took a strong dislike to feeling need, a feeling he would have liked to have forgotten, and she had put him in this position.
“I thank you, Your Highness,” she enunciated with a sharp abruptness, which did not suit him, “but this is a very special night for me, and I am promised to spend it with my grandparents, along with the rest of my family. They have nurtured me in my stage performance, and in addition to what I owe them, I cannot break my commitments. Is this a concept you think foreign to my class of person?”
He felt the muscles around his mouth tightening. He did not appreciate being refused and certainly not by a stage actress. This was of a supreme importance to him, and he resented this ridiculous game.
Every fiber of his being told him that there was an answer for him in her. There was no denying it: he had experienced it this evening in the bizarre reliving of his life, the reopening of his wound, and the confusing state of being he now found himself attempting to fathom.
He was on the brink of illumination, of life. He had the real sense that he was at a crucial turning point, and if he could not make this work, there would not be another chance for him—possibly ever.
And this insolent but divinely talented woman not four feet from him held the key.
Why was she toying with him? He doubted very seriously that she was telling the truth. Let’s see, this seductress was spending the evening with her grandparents. Was she laughing at him behind his back yet again?
“Might I have a private word with you, Mademoiselle Nicolette?” he asked deliberately. With effort he determined that he must force himself to present a warm manner despite being privy to her game.
She looked about her, lifting her eyebrows in conspicuous disapproval and feigning confusion with the question, purportedly because he had already entered her private room. She made no move to shut the door, nor did she nod, so he shut it for her. She frowned but said nothing.
The beautiful temptress maintained her distance, he observed, but she still seemed to consider herself very much in control of their encounter—a display of confidence that he was unaccustomed to in his female companions and which annoyed him.
And in truth, she was in control. She had something that he wanted desperately, and he had, as yet, offered nothing that she wanted. But he was about to change all that.
He cleared his throat as he studied her beauty with appreciation, something he had been attempting to overlook but which demanded his attention.
Nicolette Genevieve looked every inch a lady at the height of sophistication. Her lustrous hair was designed into an elaborate coiffure dotted with pearls—imitation, no doubt, but no mere jewel could improve her looks. She wore a burnished-apricot silk gown with antique lace hanging over her elbows. Belgian lace formed a gentle V-shape from her ample bodice to her small waist. Her gown was complemented by dainty pearl-and-diamond earrings, which offset her black hair and sea-green eyes to perfection.
And she was petite he suddenly realized with surprise. It was astonishing that someone with such a magnificent stage presence, someone who kept two thousand people entranced for hours and filled an entire room, was, in person, quite diminutive.
In the most feminine manner possible.
This was all unchartered territory for him. He almost laughed out loud with the absurdity of it. He was alone in a room with the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, and he was not here for her physical delights.
And he needed her. He made a point never to need anyone, and the circumstance infuriated him.
“Let us be frank with each other, Mademoiselle Nicolette, and waste no more time with games.” He made every effort to bestow his most charming smile upon her despite his impatience. “I can pay you well for your time. You refused me to raise the price. Name your price now, and I will meet it.”
He kept his eyes glued to hers. And what eyes! There was a flash in her eyes like a storm at sea that made him weak in the knees, despite his singular purpose.
“Pay me? With…money?” she whispered, barely audible.
“With money, with jewels, with whatever you wish. I leave that to you, Mademoiselle. It is your choice,” he offered graciously. Sometimes he was too generous, he knew it to be a fault.
“I see.” She turned away momentarily. “My choice?”
“Or perhaps there is something else I can do for you,” he murmured seductively. He had seen her sensuality as she danced on the stage—everyone had. Maybe she lived for the bodily passions. This was not his intent in being here, but he was happy to oblige her if it meant he would hear her sing again.
Her eyes opened wide, her expression one of shock followed by fury.
Why should his offering her anything she wished make her angry? He chuckled despite his serious mood, impressed. She was an actress par excellence.
“Surely you cannot think that this treatment will improve my opinion of you, Your Highness.” Her voice hardened, her eyes as cold as ice. She moved a step toward him, as if to show him that he did not frighten her, her finger directed to his chest.
“I am strongly desirous of your good opinion, Señorita…Mademoiselle…even though you clearly have no need of mine. And yet, I want something of a different nature from you.” He felt his lips form a frown at her impertinence against his will.
“Indeed.” There was a long silence before she replied, her breath controlled, “What is it that you want, Your Highness?”
Alejandro raised his eyebrows. The appropriate tone of respect was noticeably missing from her address.
“I merely desire to hear you sing again, Mademoiselle Nicolette. Privately. Just you…and I.”
“Ah, privately. Nothing more than singing, Your Highness?” Her voice was syrupy sweet but with grave suspicion written all over her face.
“Nothing more,” he replied with more resolution than he felt. “Unless you wish another arrangement, Mademoiselle Nicolette.” His mouth went dry as he pictured her movements as she sang the role of Carmen, and he hoped that his desire was not revealed on his face. With anyone else he could have accomplis
hed the deception, but in her presence, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“What possible arrangement could I want?”
“I could not say. For myself, all I ask is a true performance just as you gave this evening. I will give you anything you desire for this service. Anything.”
“Service?” she repeated, turning from him as she rearranged her perfume on her dressing table. She had her back to him! It was the height of rudeness. One never turned one’s back on royalty.
“For my part, all I require is to hear you sing.”
Suddenly turning to face him, her expression assumed a level of haughtiness that astonished him. “I am merely a singer who would flaunt herself on the stage. Of what possible interest can I be to you, Prince Alejandro?”
“I would think that would be—”
“Obvious?” She finished his sentence for him. That was beyond anything he was accustomed to. 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?”
Damnation, she was ill-tempered. How could someone with the voice of an angel have such a contemptible disposition? He shook his head in disapproval. She was sadly lacking in femininity. He was groveling before an opera singer, and she had the gall to treat him like a peasant.
“My reason is personal. The relevant point is that you are deserving of every good thing, Señorita.” Alejandro bit his lip. He understood the game very well, having played it many times before. “And I will do my best to provide it.”
“I do not require a provider, nor do I need your assistance, Your Highness.”
“A gift then. For you, Mademoiselle Nicolette.” Without further ado, he opened a velvet box that he carried and 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 Pancho 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. Just as I thought.
“You are offering me expensive gifts so that I might sing for you?” Suddenly her expression changed. She turned to him, the fury returning to her eyes.
“You do not like the necklace? You may choose something else. I only thought the colors became you so well.”
“Do you think me a simpleton, Prince Alejandro? Do you imagine that I am not aware of what you are suggesting? In situations such as this, I understand that 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, 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 that deception and misrepresentation is far beneath me. Neither would I respond in anger to a gift sincerely offered.” My ill-mannered wench. He smiled his most alluring smile before adding softly, “Mademoiselle Nicolette, if I may say so, you sing like an angel.” And you have the manners of a horse.
“How sweet of you to say so, Your Highness,” she pronounced in severe tones. “But the fact remains that 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, Señorita 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 you are annoyed that you must ask for the gift. This service, as you say. You hold it in disdain even as you desire it.”
Alejandro took a deep breath. He must contain himself. 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 that she had not been raised with the social advantages he had. This unfeeling display after his ill-advised sharing of his deepest feelings was proof of that.
“Further accentuated by your manner of addressing me.” She continued, tilting her head and regarding him coyly, her voice softening. “Having been brought up properly, unlike myself, surely you know that 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 that he should lose his calm, and he never lost control of his speech, but she would tax the serenity of the holy mother. He was beginning to question if he even liked the woman.
And I need her desperately. More than he had needed anything in a long time, more than he might ever need anything again.
If only he had had a little longer, if only the music could have played itself out, he thought with exasperation.
If only I did not have to actually talk to her.
He 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 España. Why now, when it was to his own benefit, could he not find a way to win her favor?
Because she is mad. Erratic, excitable, illogical, without reason, and impossible to understand. She flew off the handle for no reason and disliked him without provocation. She was volatile to the extreme.
Which no doubt contributed to her ability to thrill on the stage.
“Let us stop playing at this, Mademoiselle Nicolette, shall we? I can see that 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 and with your superior powers of comprehension.”
“At any rate, 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 very generously. I am only here a short time, a week at most. In that time you can collect enough to live quite comfortably.”
He was shocked to observe that she appeared even angrier. She began pacing the room and threw her arms in the air like a hoyden as she spoke. The delusion of her 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 that I sing for money?” she demanded, turning on him. “I will never, never 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 was ridiculous.
The work to which he was born was the last thing in the world he wished to do.
He sighed heavily, frustrated beyond measure. 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? How dare you insult me based on the fact that I am a singer—an artist—without knowing the slightest thing about me!”
He found that he was grinding his teeth. Had he misjudged her? No, quite the opposite. He had the misfortune to desperately need the skills of a person who was the embodiment of the temperamental diva. Why couldn’t someone else—anyone else—have created that heavenly music?
“I beg your pardon, Señorita Nicolette. Yes, your singing is unequaled. I meant no slight to you.” Regimenting himself with everything at his disposal, 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 mean, gift.”
“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 captured her with his eyes and drew close to her. And with that he bestowed upon her with his glance the passion he remembered all too vividly as he had watched her on the stage, swaying and cajoling. He caressed her face with his eyes, the fire he had seen in her performance 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.
“N–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, distracting him for only an instant. He had awakened the tigress after a long nap, and she was both hungry and furious.
He had never encountered the likes of her before, and a slow, sensual smile came to his lips. In an instant he knew that she was his perfect match in the bedroom. And he knew that she knew it, too. He might lack awareness in certain areas but not here.
As he watched 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? He must remember his purpose. He could not risk her misinterpreting his actions.
Aside from the fact that he was fairly certain that he did not like her. And just as certain that he responded to her.
That settles it: I am mad as well. His eyes rested on her full red lips before moving to her eyes aflame with fury. Her eyes were large and expressive, with a slight oriental turn.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 12
