The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  He doubted that the Maharani would have looked as well in it, however. Nicolette…that is, Lady Nicolette…was ravishing but far too exotic in appearance for whatever occasion this was.

  Crucify the Monarchy Day, no doubt.

  “It is unusual, is it not?” Lady Ravensdale added gently. “Lady Nicolette is in possession of such an extraordinary gift that we could not let social convention interfere with her sharing that gift.” She spoke as if she were reading his mind, her whimsical expression not quite concealing her amusement. Would there be no end to the surprises this family had in store for him? “Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”

  He searched in vain for words, stunned, even going so far as to open his mouth. But no sound was forthcoming. He glanced at Lord Ravensdale, who eyed his daughter suspiciously.

  Ah, the father was not fooled by her.

  Or was he? Nicolette was too beautiful—and devious!—to be allowed out in company. Without a doubt she could not be contained. Even her hair was exotic and wild. Orange and lavender flowers decorated a bun at the nape of her neck, almost flamenco in appearance, with dark tendrils framing her ivory complexion. Circling her lovely white neck was a black velvet choker with an amethyst brooch.

  “Most certainly not, Lady Ravensdale,” Esteban interjected with finesse, coming quickly to his aid. “It would have been a crime.” Just as strangling Nicolette would be, but the idea had great appeal to him at the moment.

  Prince Alejandro cast a grateful glance upon Esteban. He made a mental note to have Señor Esteban Xalvador knighted.

  Glancing at Nicolette, he observed that she appeared to be in the best of spirits. Thank the saints, God forbid that her ladyship should experience even a moment’s displeasure or discomfort as she destroyed those around her.

  Nicolette Genevieve—or whoever she was, that was the question of the century—was definitely at her hot-blooded best this evening, raring for a fight.

  I will not give her the pleasure. Though he relished her exuberance, he began to grow weary of her constant and unrelenting juvenile games. He might greatly value her talent and her gift, but he would not give in to her childish behavior.

  “Would you care to take my arm, Your Highness?” Lady Ravensdale asked graciously. “I would be most honored to lead you into dinner. There are several notables of state anxious to meet you.”

  “I would be delighted, Lady Ravensdale,” he managed to mumble. Recovering from his state of shock through a sheer act of will, he offered his other arm to Nicolette, who deigned to accept it.

  How very good of her. The diva’s gracious condescension warmed the heart.

  As Lady Nicolette took his arm, he felt a strange jarring of his senses, as if he were a schoolboy again. Ridiculous. He stole a glance at her.

  He couldn’t make sense of this having thought of Nicolette in such a way for many days now. She did not need to sing in order to support herself. She had no need of a living.

  In fact, singing on the stage was a great detriment to both herself and her family.

  But it all fit in a strange sort of way. Nicolette Genevieve had always acted as if she considered herself to be of royal blood. In fact, she generally made him feel as if she were lowering herself to speak with him. She expected him to behave toward her as if she were a queen.

  And punished him if he did not.

  This was one more of her lessons aimed toward him. She had given him the opportunity to escort her. He had refused, and now he must pay the price for that decision.

  He did not know why God had given Lady Nicolette the gift of angels, but she was no angel.

  “Nicolette sings under a stage name, which preserves her identity to some degree,” Lady Ravensdale continued. It was rather jarring how the lady of the house always appeared to be reading his mind. “And she is not known yet. But it cannot be long until the association is widely known.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” he murmured. It was impossible for Nicolette to remain in hiding. All eyes must be on her.

  “We don’t ordinarily reveal the connection, but neither do we conceal it. I think it best to be honest and to lay all one’s cards on the table, don’t you, Your Highness?” Lady Ravensdale asked, her gaze penetrating.

  “Absolutely,” he replied, glancing pointedly at Nicolette. “I wish that everyone were honest.”

  “When the world does not judge according to appearances, no doubt everyone will be,” Nicolette remarked flippantly.

  “I fear if everyone waited for approval to put one’s values into place, it would be a shameless society.” He did not return his gaze to her.

  He would not give her the satisfaction.

  “Wait?” She laughed lightheartedly. “I never wait for anything.”

  It might be to your advantage to wait on your tongue on occasion. She might be a peer of the realm, but she was far from equal in birth to himself, though one would never guess it from her demeanor. Even a very rare occasion would be an improvement.

  And yet, in truth, with Lady Nicolette’s birth and her looks she could have married well.

  Exceedingly well. What was Ravensdale? An earl? Passable. The combination of the diplomat’s rank and his profession was enough to gain his daughter entrance into the right circles—into any circle. And with that entrance, the moment one saw her, one was smitten. She could have married a person of very high rank indeed.

  Possibly even a sovereign ruler.

  He, of course, could not consider marrying someone of her station. Nothing less than a princess would be Spain’s due. Aside from the fact that Spain badly needed a powerful alliance, and the Spanish monarchy in particular was on shaky ground, there was a type of individual he was expected to marry.

  But a gentleman of very high rank in a strong position who had no need of an alliance, that was a different matter.

  Ave Maria, why was he analyzing the hoyden’s marriage prospects? Of what possible concern could it be to him? He wouldn’t marry this sorceress if she were the last woman on earth. She lived to torture him.

  He let his eyes rest on her ivory skin for a moment, and he wished he hadn’t. So white against her coal-black hair. Ordinarily he did not like pale women, but there was nothing pale about Lady Nicolette.

  And what did he know of her values, her character? Too much. He wished he could only hear her sing and know nothing about her. So far as he could tell, she only lived to please herself. The fact that she sang on the stage revealed quite poignantly that she had no regard for her father’s profession.

  “Lady Ravensdale, your parents reside in England?” Curiosity, that’s all it was. And polite conversation, of course.

  “Yes, Your Highness. My father is Dr. Jonathan Stanton—you will know of him, he invented the four-stroke piston engine, transporting the world into the technological age we now find ourselves in—and my mother was Lady Elaina Lancastor prior to her marriage. My grandfather was the Duke of Salford. My husband, whom you have just met, is, of course, the fifth Earl of Ravensdale.”

  Nicolette smiled sweetly at him.

  “A family which has had a great deal of impact on the world.” He cleared his throat.

  “All have merely pursued their interests with vehemence.” Lady Ravensdale chuckled. “It is a family characteristic.”

  “I believe that you lived in Tibet for some years and have traveled extensively.”

  “Indeed, we have led a fascinating life.” Lady Ravensdale nodded warmly. “My husband and Lady Nicolette share a gift for languages. They are both fluent in Spanish, which no doubt you have observed.”

  As they entered the dining room, he was somewhat startled by the vivid color. There was the typical long Louis XV table and crystal chandelier. But the walls were painted in a vivid red-orange color. Arrangements of red flowers were on all the side tables and on the white marble fireplace while bouquets of lavender-blue graced the long table. Candles were lit, and a glow was cast upon the walls. Over the fireplace was a painting of Lady Rave
nsdale, Nicolette, and a boy favoring Lord Ravensdale. Both children appeared to favor their father, in fact. No doubt in temperament as well as in looks, from what he had seen of Lady Ravensdale.

  Let’s see, gentile and proper—or hoydenish and vain. It was difficult to believe that the fragile, blonde Lady Ravensdale had raised the prima donna.

  Glancing quickly from the decor to the persons present, he observed that there were several standing in attendance, as if he were the guest of honor. And yet he recognized their importance at once.

  “The President of France, Émile Loubet, and his wife Marie-Louise, are well known to you,” Lord Ravensdale remarked, beginning the introductions.

  “It is the greatest pleasure always, President and Mrs. Loubet.” Alejandro nodded and bowed deeply, as did Loubet, and Madame Loubet curtseyed. “You will remember Señor Esteban.” He motioned to his friend.

  He reflected that the years had not been nearly as good to Madame Loubet as to her husband, feeling some concern for her health. Émile was vigorous and dashingly handsome with a full head of white hair and deep-blue eyes while Madame Loubet was looking almost elderly. Possibly it was Émile’s farmer-peasant upbringing, while Marie-Louise was the daughter of the wealthiest manufacturer in Marsanne.

  Born a peasant and now the president of France. Does it offend you, my prince? His eye caught Nicolette’s, and he was shocked to find himself guessing what she was thinking. He shook his head in the hope of rearranging his brain cells. Now he was hearing things. Generally the first stage of madness.

  She had driven him to it.

  “May I introduce Émile Combes, the French Prime Minister,” Lord Ravensdale continued. Alejandro smiled slightly and bowed. Combes held views in great opposition to his own. He knew Combes to be an intelligent man, being in possession of a degree in medicine in addition to political acumen, and Alejandro made a mental note to watch the prime minister closely.

  “You are acquainted with Théophile Delcassé, the Minister of Foreign Affairs”—Lord Ravensdale motioned—“and Madame Delcassé.”

  “My countrymen and I are forever indebted to Monsieur Delcassé,” remarked Alejandro, smiling broadly. “A brilliant statesman.” This was an understatement. It was well known that Delcassé had acted as mediator between the United States of America and Spain, bringing the peace negotiations to a successful conclusion.

  It was not a subject that Alejandro wished revisited, but he had the greatest respect for Delcassé, a short, stocky man who wore his hair very short in grand disarray, had a large, bushy moustache, and balanced his glasses on his nose.

  Delcassé had the expression of a bulldog. A pleasant bulldog but not one with which to tangle. He stood in great disproportion next to his wife, a tall, full-figured lady in the Nordic vein, elaborately gowned as if she were British royalty. Unlike Lady Nicolette, who didn’t know what country she was in, as evidenced by her provocative gypsy attire.

  Madame Delcassé gazed down upon her spouse with manifest amour not unlike a puffed-up peacock.

  “Very true,” agreed Lord Ravensdale. “Delcassé concluded the Entente Cordiale, representing France, while I represented Great Britain.”

  “I did a miserable job. Your country received the better end of the bargain, Lord Ravensdale,” remarked Monsieur Delcassé, without the slightest lilt to his voice. Everyone laughed.

  “I am in France, so it would be dangerous to disagree with you, your Excellency.” Lord Ravensdale chuckled. “Your Highness, may I present my wife’s parents, Dr. Jonathan Stanton and Lady Elaina.”

  “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” Alejandro bowed very deeply. “Lady Elaina, I can’t help but be struck by the fact that you are the matriarch of a family of accomplished and interesting women.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. I would be lying if I disagreed with you.” Lady Elaina smiled widely and tilted her chin toward him as she curtseyed, as if she recognized one of a like mind immediately. She was strikingly beautiful and extravagantly dressed, not looking old enough to have a full-grown granddaughter.

  “And”—he motioned to the remaining gentleman—“Hamilton Bromberg, a lawyer from the Americas and a friend of Combes’s.” Mr. Bromberg was irritated at being introduced last and at requiring an explanation for his presence, it seemed to Alejandro. Routed in a democratic tradition, Americans were disdainful of hierarchy, in his experience.

  “Shall we be seated for dinner?” Lady Ravensdale motioned graciously. “Your Highness, ” Lady Ravensdale murmured in a near whisper to him as she drew him to his place at the table. She stopped short.

  “Yes, Lady Ravensdale?” he coaxed. She surprised him with her warm openness and completely at-ease manner, combined as it was with a soft femininity. Rather like a breezy summer day.

  While her daughter was the storm before the apocalypse.

  “Prince Alejandro, I do wish to thank you for the kindness you have shown Lady Nicolette, as yet unbeknownst to my husband. Your patronage…well, let me just say that without your influence and notoriety, Nicolette’s singing career might have been destroyed.” Just at that moment the recipient of his benevolence shot him a look of daggers rather than of appreciation even as her mother raised disapproving eyebrows.

  “Ah, think nothing of it, Lady Ravensdale. As yet I have done very little.” Alejandro bowed most gracefully, displaying as much deference as he could muster. “To be the recipient of Lady Nicolette’s sweet disposition is more than reward enough for me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  So you ruin some poor devil

  with a tiny breath of evil,

  So you beat him and mistreat him

  ’till he trembles in disgrace!

  —Gioachino Rossini, The Barber of Seville

  “Ouch!” He had been kicked under the table! Had someone actually had the audacity to kick the heir to the Spanish throne—deliberately?

  Was it necessary for him to wear his royal robes? If he were to be shown the respect due a street beggar, that would be an improvement over his current situation. Was there no limit to the atrocities that abounded in this corrupt city?

  Ah, but was it fair to blame Paris for Lady Nicolette? No one entity could claim her. Only a bevy of demons.

  “What is the meaning of this, Lady Nicolette?” he asked pointedly. He felt his jaw tighten even as he kept his voice controlled. She had not hurt him, barely tapping him, but he rubbed his calf in acknowledgement of the insult. No one, no one had ever dared…this woman desperately needed to practice having a thought about something other than her own glorious existence.

  “Excuse me? Oh I am sorry, Your Highness,” she whispered.

  “I hope that you won’t misconstrue my remark in that manner that you have of misinterpreting compliments and gifts, but may I just say that your impertinence approaches barbarity, Lady Nicolette,” he replied under his breath.

  “Oh, la! That should not surprise you, Your Highness!” She laughed gaily, with no indication of feeling the embarrassment that was her due. “My mind was elsewhere, and my foot slipped. Women in my profession are not subtle in our advances, you know.”

  “Advances?” he asked in low tones, raising one eyebrow. “The day you make an advance toward me will be the day the Kaiser sings me a lullaby.”

  She giggled, and it seemed to him that her pleasure might be genuine. Thank the heavens—one hated to see the diva lacking in amusement.

  “And may one inquire where your mind was when it lost track of your foot, Lady Nicolette?”

  “I was reflecting on the presumption of judging someone one does not know,” she whispered. Her expression was confident even as the fire returned to her eyes and her luscious ruby-red lips formed a wide smile.

  He glanced down the long mahogany table. Its width provided some privacy. Lady Ravensdale, to his left, was conversing with her husband, and Nicolette, to his right, seemed intent upon monopolizing his attention. There was a large lavender hydrangea bouquet in front of
them, just under a magnificent crystal chandelier, which he moved behind strategically.

  “And how does that failing compare to secrecy, dishonesty, and untrustworthiness?” he asked, baring his teeth in an effort to hold his tongue. Keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard, he added, “It is your subterfuge, as usual, Lady Nicolette, which is responsible for the misunderstanding. How could I have known your true identity if you did not reveal it to me?”

  “You did not know…” She spoke with a smile on her face, as if she were discussing Covent Garden or the Palace of Versailles. “…that I was a British peer deserving of respect instead of a wanton requiring your censure and bribery?”

  “I never thought of you as a wanton!” He cleared his throat. “Until I actually met you.”

  “Oh, you…you…” she exclaimed, and it seemed as if smoke might come out of her ears.

  Then she started giggling!

  It was settled. She had gone mad.

  “I beg you will calm yourself, Lady Nicolette!” he whispered, glancing about him.

  “At least be honest with me, Prince Alejandro! The very talent which touched your being caused you to judge and diminish me!”

  “I have done neither. Explain to me how I have done this. I wish to know. Your absurd fabrications provide me with continual amusement.”

  “How could my singing both elevate your soul and seal my character in your eyes? As the daughter of an earl, I am acceptable. As a stage singer, I am a loose woman! You said as much to me in the lobby when we met.”

  “Do not blame me for societal convention. At any rate, prove the presumption wrong by being the lady that you claim you are.” He cleared his throat. “Your temper is showing, Lady Nicolette.”

  “You have not seen my temper, Your Highness! But you will.”

  “Ah, threats. Very ladylike.”