“I see. And what is your favorite opera, Prince Alejandro? Do you know the answer to that question?”
“I would say La Bohème. It has a very special place in my heart.”
“Oh?” she asked, interested to finally see some evidence of feeling cross his face. “And why is that, Your Highness?”
“I was very sick once. Someone was singing a piece from La Bohème.” He cleared his throat, closing his eyes momentarily. “And, I can’t explain why, I found the strength to continue. You see, Señorita, music has held a place in my heart for some time.”
“Where were you…during your illness?” Very deliberately, she quickly bent her head so that her hat would cover her face as the shock of the possibilities hit her. No, it couldn’t be. A memory which is so dear to me. A boy for whom I have prayed for so many years.
“As it so happens, I was in Constantinople in the palace of the sultan.”
“The Seraglio,” she whispered, her eyes stealing a glance at his expression.
“Yes, Señorita Nicolette.” He nodded, raising his eyebrows in condescension. “You have read about it?”
“Read? You flatter me, Your Highness. And how long ago were you there?”
“Eight years ago. In the springtime.”
She felt her hand shaking as she lowered her teacup to the table, covering her face again. She bit her lip as she searched the picture of his face in her mind for some glimpse of the gentleness, the sweetness she had seen in the boy.
Could it be him? No. It was contrary to all reason. That the unfeeling man who was now in control of her future was the sick boy who had touched her heart was impossible.
“April’s first kiss is mine,” he murmured to himself as if he were the only person in the room. As if he were answering her thoughts.
Gasp. She tried to catch her breath.
“Señorita Nicolette?” he asked, bringing the coffee cup to his lips. “Are you well?”
“Surely this singing had nothing to do with your recovery,” she murmured, finally forced to accept that she had been the singer. But his interpretation of her contribution was no doubt a fantasy.
“We shall never know, shall we? The only fact in evidence is that I recovered from my illness and sit alive before you.” He pursed his lips and nodded slightly, as if he did not intend to argue the point. It was evident that his opinion was both private and unwavering.
She glanced around the room, attempting to hide her discomfort. She willed her hand to stop shaking even as she lowered it beneath the table, pretending to smile at something she saw.
“Does something amuse you, Señorita Nicolette?”
“Always.” She nodded distractedly. She reminded herself that she should be focused on the gravity of her situation. She had to think of something to say to appease him. “I always thrill to be in crowds of people, and they never cease to interest me.”
“And I always thrill to be alone.” He chuckled, though there was just a hint of melancholy in his eyes.
“I had a very isolated childhood, you see, and I still pinch myself with happiness to be in Paris.”
“Pinch yourself with happiness…” he repeated distractedly.
“And though I know you find it distasteful, I am an actress, Prince Alejandro, and as such, I am always watching people and speculating on their motivations.”
“I assure you that I do not find actresses distasteful, Señorita Nicolette. Quite the contrary. And what do you see?” he asked with interest.
“I see that the lady in the large pink hat with chartreuse feathers is very interested in our every word—and yet I am interested in her. The gentleman over there in exquisite silks—Indian dress, I believe—is a person of very high rank but of an uncommon jovial disposition.”
“That is the Maharaja of Jaipur, called ‘Bubbles’ by family members. He is indeed of a jovial bent.”
“Most unusual that a person of rank should express such joy,” she remarked as she favored him with an appreciative glance.
“Hmmm. And have you encountered many ‘persons of rank,’ as you say?”
“On occasion, Your Highness.” She bit her lip.
“Has anything else caught your notice, Señorita Nicolette?”
“Did you not see me nod to Olga on my way in the room, Prince Alejandro?”
“Olga? Queen Olga of Greece?” he asked, disapproval escaping from his tone at her familiar address. “Ah, you recognized her from a photo.”
“Of course.” His arrogance never ceased to amaze her. “Although Queen Olga has always mixed among the public. She insisted on continuing her engagements without a military guard even though shots had been fired at her husband and daughter. And she personally visited wounded servicemen during the Greco-Turkish war.”
“And when she attempted to have the Bible translated into the common language of uneducated Greeks, riots ensued in the streets, and eight died.”
“Olga only tried to make the Bible available to everyone, and people killed to stop her in the name of Christ.” Nicolette shook her head. “She is a lovely woman.”
“Lovely but naive.”
“To believe that she could make a difference? To trust in the goodness of people?”
“Precisely,” he murmured, his gaze so unwavering that she felt uncomfortable, she who was used to thousands of eyes being upon her. “And do you make a study of the powerful and famous, Señorita?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.
“All people are the same to me. I do not differentiate. I merely observe what is before me, Your Highness.”
“And what do you believe about me?” he asked, his gaze intense.
“I believe that you can be quite charming when you choose to be, Prince Alejandro. I believe that you want something from me or else I would not even be here.”
“I can assure you that my motives are pure. At least where you are concerned, Señorita Nicolette.”
This was precisely what she had hoped to hear. She was in the process of wondering if she could believe him when an amazingly indulgent dessert was placed before them.
“Oh, my. What is this?” Her eyes opened wide as she kept them glued to the dessert.
“Le Meurice’s signature dessert, Mademoiselle.” The waiter cleared his throat. “It is an exquisite caramel ice cream cut into portions and served with warm caramel sauce, slivered almonds, vanilla whipped cream, and topped with fresh Bing cherries.”
“Does this satisfy you, Señorita Nicolette?” Prince Alejandro asked, returning his earnest gaze to her.
“It will very soon,” she replied, raising a bite to her lips. She closed her eyes momentarily. It was divine. But she only nibbled at the dessert. Although singing opera was strenuous, she did not wish to take any chances that her figure would preclude her from playing Carmen. If the critics were to steal her life from her that was one thing, but she would do nothing to help them along!
Just as she was beginning to like him, he gingerly placed a velvet black box beside her, as if he wished to overwhelm all of her senses at once. It seemed carefully rehearsed to her, which she did not like.
Please, let it not be the necklace again. When he opened the box to reveal a sterling-silver labradorite antique box, his hand lightly brushed hers. She surprised herself by feeling a tingling on her skin. What is this? She was no schoolroom Miss.
Her life was opera.
Her eyes strayed to the box, which was beautiful and ornately carved with a small, single aquamarine stone in its center, though it did not stupefy as had the necklace he had presented her with on the other evening. It was simply charming.
“Señorita Nicolette, this is a box which belonged to my grandmother.”
“Why would you give me a family heirloom, Prince Alejandro?” Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. “Why did you initially offer me such an expensive gift, Prince Alejandro? And now a priceless family heirloom? Why not flowers, a small painting, a lace handkerchief, or a book?” She knew her implicat
ion was clear. A single man would never give a single woman of class such a gift. In offering her such a gift, he marked her as a woman of ill repute. As a man of education and breeding, he knew this. Why did he persist?
“You still do not understand me, Señorita. I give as I have received. The box is yours, whether or not you sing again for me.” Gently he caressed the velvet box with his fingers, and she was surprised to feel her heartbeat increasing with every stroke of his fingers. “It has great significance to me and is very near to my heart.”
“I had understood from Monsieur Beaumaris that you wish me to sing privately for you, Prince Alejandro, so I find it difficult to trust your sincerity.”
“It is true, Señorita, that I strongly desire that you should sing your aria from the opera Carmen in my private suites.” Alejandro cleared his throat, his manner acutely attentive. “If you will but honor me with this one request, I will give you anything you ask. But that must be separate from my gift, which originates in my gratitude for that which you have already given me.”
She said nothing, staring at him. Everything in her revolted at the arrangement.
And yet she knew that she had no choice. She toyed with her caramel ice cream in a desperate attempt to stall for time. “You speak of the ‘Habanera,’ I expect?”
“The ‘Habanera’? I did not realize a song within an opera had a name,” he commented.
“‘If you love me, beware…’” She forced a smile, letting the words fall slowly from her lips. “It begins…”
“That is it.” A remarkably sensuous smile came to his lips.
Nicolette caught her breath. She gasped under the intensity of his gaze. She found herself swimming in the depth of his eyes.
What had he truly offered? Merely things. She reminded herself that he was trying to buy her, and her irritation rose.
“May I ask, Your Highness, do you count your countrymen’s money as your own that you lavish these gifts upon me?” She regretted the words as soon as she had spoken them. She knew that her words were both rude and ungracious, but she could not tolerate how close she felt him to be. She had not given him permission to invade her heart, and yet he was becoming intimate with her in ways she had never imagined when she least expected it. And now she would have to sing privately to him to save something that she had already earned and was therefore entitled to without his patronage!
“You mistake the matter, Señorita Nicolette.” His teeth were clenched, and she could see that she had tested the limits of his temper. “No one feels his countrymen’s pain more than I do, I assure you. Everything I do is for my people and with the future of Spain in mind.”
But she saw that her remark had hit home. Her words pained him. With some difficulty he regained his composure.
“I admit I have been selfish where you are concerned.” He motioned to their surroundings. “Personally, I do not care for such lavish surroundings as this, but it is necessary. I must move within certain circles. Today especially, the decisions made in these circles affect whole countries.”
She merely nodded, watching him closely. This was a reaction she could trust. This was real.
“As for this…” He motioned to the silver, tiny box. “It is a matter of personal honor that I repay those who have given me something beautiful with something beautiful in return.”
“I have given something beautiful to you, Prince Alejandro?”
“Si, Señorita. Something precious.” He closed his eyes briefly. In a whisper he added, “Eres preciosa.”
You are precious. She desperately wished she could control the heat spreading in her body. He was utilizing everything in his power to woo her.
And actually doing a reasonably fine job of it.
“Your Highness, is it true that you merely wish me to sing?” she demanded, her fingers tightening around her fork.
Chapter Eighteen
What’s the use of searching?
We’ll never find it in the dark
But luckily
there’s a moon
and she’s our neighbor here
—Giacomo Puccini, La Bohème
Oh, no, that is not my wish. I wish for much, much more. He studied the curve of her neckline and her lush, red lips. His eyes ran along the smooth finish of her ivory-white complexion, which was the perfect complement to those vividly turquoise eyes, fully focused on him with a defiance she was unable to hide despite the high stakes in his favor. Glossy black curls peeked out from a large wide-brimmed straw hat with entirely too many feathers and too much gauze. Lace, chiffon, ribbons, and ruffles everywhere—even a cameo and bishop sleeves! Despite being in the fashion of the day, this ornate display seemed a costume, while the apparel she wore in Carmen—clearly a stage outfit—was more in line with the woman she was.
Or that’s what I want to believe. He much preferred her hair falling about her shoulders to this elegant coiffure.
His self-control wavering momentarily, his eyes stole a glance at her full, lovely bosom, now completely covered in opaque material. It was a crime against humanity to hide such exquisite beauty.
“That is the arrangement,” he replied evenly with a polite smile.
“No, Your Highness, that is your arrangement. I have little to say about it.”
“What would you care to say about it, Señorita Nicolette?”
Instead of answering him she tipped her hat and covered her eyes—a far worse retort than any response might have been. He detested how she hid those amazing eyes behind her hat when he most wished to see them. He could be certain that if Señorita Nicolette was hiding from him, coyly positioning her eyes behind the rim of her hat, it was to promote her own designs and had nothing to do with shyness.
Nicolette Genevieve was not a shrinking violet—far from it! She met him full force instead of blushing, stuttering, and looking away with discomfiture. He disapproved entirely of her behavior.
And he was thoroughly entranced with her.
“I wish to know the terms of my performance before I favor you with my opinion.” She was tempting him, luring him in—possibly to an early demise—and he would no doubt willingly follow her there.
“The ‘terms’ of your performance?” He chuckled. She made it sound like the terms of her surrender. He surprised himself: he was beginning to warm to her despite her piratical temperament. Make no mistake—she might be impertinent and vain, but she was much humbled from their first meeting. He doubted if she had ever given the reins to anyone else in her life, and she did not like it.
Which made him like it all the more.
Her confidence was shaken, but the independent side of her personality was as strong as ever. She would go down kicking and screaming. She might bend, she might comply, but she would not do so out of fear but because she willed it to achieve an end. To obtain her heart’s desire. She gave her all to something greater than herself. Something greater than him.
Something holy.
How glorious to be driven by passion rather than by duty.
There was an intensity about her that he found wanting in other women. And not the fanaticism of desperation and need but the potency of focus and enthusiasm and centeredness. There was an uncalculated joy in her personality, a zest for life, even in the midst of a great tribulation. She had a dream, and she was not waiting for someone else to deliver happiness to her door.
He never expected happiness to arrive at his door, with or without his efforts, nor did he intend to pursue it.
“Let us not pretend that I have entered into this arrangement willingly when we both know the truth, Your Highness. I find your methods entirely questionable.”
“I suggest that you pretend a little, Señorita.” He frowned. She came dangerously close to attacking his honor and integrity, and that he would not tolerate.
She stared at him, clearly understanding that the line had been drawn, before he saw a resolve cross her face. “What are the conditions which you have placed upon me, Your Highness?
”
“I have no conditions, Señorita Nicolette. I wish you merely to sing, as you put it, with all of the accompanying dances, just as you performed on the stage. Precisely as you are already doing at the Palais Garnier before thousands of people.” He remembered very well how she had looked in the low-cut black silk dress. He cleared his throat. “In the same…ensemble…appropriate to the part.”
“Ensemble?”
“Costume.” He cleared his throat. “Attire.”
“Only the two of us?” she asked unsteadily.
“As we have already discussed, Señorita Nicolette.” He nodded, taking a sip of steaming French coffee. “Why do you force me to repeat that which you already know? Instead of performing before two thousand people, you will perform for me.”
“And you will not attempt to touch me?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“Abrupt, even for you, Señorita Nicolette,” he managed, swallowing a bit more of his coffee than he had intended.
“And your answer is?”
He sighed and looked down, making a show of studying his hands while he attempted to regain his composure. Touching her was the last thing he wanted.
And the thing for which he would trade his every possession.
“Not unless you demand it of me, Señorita.” His lips unwillingly formed a slow, seductive smile, as evidenced by her flustered reaction.
“P–prince Alejandro?”
“For my part, I have a different need,” he replied curtly. The fantasy was beginning to affect him in unexpected ways. The thought of being in a room alone with her in that formfitting dress, swaying her hips and singing as that glorious sound flowed through his veins, was more vivid than he had supposed.
“Your need? And what might that be, Your Highness?” Her probing eyes were framed by long, thick eyelashes and lovely arched brows. She stuck out her chin, which was anything but soft. Like the rest of her, her facial features were feminine but solid. Surprisingly, he began to think that he preferred her features to the Austrian features of his mother’s line—tall women with stick figures, noses that rendered one unable to breathe, and eyebrows in a continual state of condescension.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 17
