“You forget yourself, Lady Nicolette,” he uttered softly under his breath. He raised his eyebrows as he ran his finger along the mahogany wood, more attempting to break her spell than anything, though it pleased him to see that she was irritated by his silence. He turned from her and began to study a painting on the wall.
He was growing weary of her constant demands. Never in his life had he been addressed in such a fashion. When he had satisfied himself that she had waited long enough, he returned his attention to her.
“And you forget who I am.”
With her red lips set against porcelain skin she was definitely a temptress. But he must not give in to his urges. He needed this redemption.
He needed to be free. This sorceress with dark hair and blazing eyes was his liberator.
And though every one of her movements was a calculated invitation, no doubt there was no actual invitation. It was merely a game she played to tantalize and reject.
“And you forget yourself, Your Highness. I am not a subject of Spain.” She smiled coyly.
Damnation, this was odd behavior for the daughter of a diplomat.
“And, as such, are you without manners, Lady Nicolette? Do I deserve none of your respect or regard, then? Does anyone?” He reached past the six inches between them—far too close—and ran his finger along her chin, the softness of her skin distracting him for an instant. “Honestly, Lady Nicolette, I have never met a woman who elevated herself higher.”
“And I have never met a more self-absorbed man!” she retorted.
“Self-absorbed!” He chuckled, letting his hand fall to his side. He knew that he should be angry, but it was all so amusing. “Proof that you cannot see beyond your own illusions, Lady Nicolette! Nothing about my life is about me.”
Until he had met her, that is. She made him forget everything that mattered to him.
“If not you, then whom?”
“My life is entirely and unequivocally about Spain. You may live for your own pleasure, but my life is for my country.”
“To the contrary, you see everything in regards to yourself, Prince Alejandro. I am only an extension of how you view yourself. I am not a person to you. No one is.” There were darts of anger in her eyes though her expression remained complacent.
“Is that what this tiresome discussion is about?” Suddenly comprehension dawned. “That I am not perceiving you, Lady Nicolette? That, for once in your life, someone is not falling on the ground before you?” He laughed without his accustomed restraint as the realization hit him.
He surprised himself at how easily the words poured forth when he was with her. Where was the control? Where was the guarded language?
“I feel no embarrassment for wishing to be seen and known, desires which you share however much you may protest.”
“Of course you don’t. Would Cleopatra? Would Lady Godiva?”
“Oh, you are obtuse!” She stomped her foot. “You will see me! And you will see that I am not you! I am not an extension of you nor of any man!”
He walked along the bookcase, scanning the contents, his eyes averted from her, which he knew would annoy her. When Knighthood Was in Flower, by Charles Major. The Crisis, by Winston Churchill. He picked up The Virginian, by Owen Wister, and began thumbing through it.
She followed him. As he suspected, she did not like his attention focused elsewhere.
“And, why, may I ask, did you not tell me that it was you who sang in the sultan’s palace, Nicolette?” he demanded, suddenly turning toward her. “Why are you determined to keep every last point about yourself a secret from me, at the same time venomously punishing me for that about you which I don’t know and with the clear goal of humiliating me?”
“You are not entitled to anything from me, Prince Alejandro! You are only entitled to that which you can discern for yourself, which, as it turns out, is very little!” She bit her lip. “Which does not excuse you from your judgments nor from your immediate transformation of every revelation about me into a statement about you!”
“Explain to me this, Lady Nicolette.” His voice grew very quiet. “Why it is necessary to hide who you are from me?”
“Because I want you to respect me even believing that I am a mere opera singer, not the daughter of an earl, not someone who…who…”
“Who once saved my life?” On a sudden impulse he put the book down and quickly closed the distance between them, taking her by the waist.
What terrible brand of insanity is this? He never gave into his impulses. But other sensations were clouding his mind. He could feel the rough seam of her gown under his fingertips and longed to feel her skin beneath his fingertips. He felt the smallness of her waist in the crook of his hand. What he did not feel was any hesitation from her, which excited him all the more.
Instead of wanting to control or tame her, he was surprised to realize that he wanted to unleash her.
God save me. His lips drew very close to hers, and he could feel her breath on his lips.
“And who will again,” he murmured softly, knowing it to be true.
She looked up at him defiantly, seemingly unconcerned by his grasp. Her eyes dared him to kiss her. He had been right. She was pleased to be the focus of his attentions.
“Decide, Nicolette. Decide what you want, and I will give it to you,” he uttered.
“What do you want, Alejandro?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“More than anything in the world, I want to hear you sing privately to me. Only me.” He held her tightly, moving his lips toward hers, and he felt an instant and unexpected charge rush through his body even without their lips touching. “Tell me what you want,” he commanded hoarsely.
He released her as suddenly as he had taken her and stepped back, shaking his head. He was the crown prince of Spain, and he was asking her how she wished him to behave.
She practically had him on his knees. He turned and paced in front of the fireplace. Behind the desk, in proximity of the window, he saw a decanter of sherry and two glasses. He moved to the table, grateful to create some distance between them.
Without asking, he poured a glass for each of them, which she readily accepted. Without speaking she turned and sat in a winged-back Louis XV sofa in cream, olive, and muted plum, which faced the fireplace. She motioned to him to sit beside her, but he sat in an adjoining chair.
Alejandro was glad to have his hands occupied. The feel of her in his arms had been heavenly. She was confident, fiery, explosive.
He had wanted to kiss her with every fiber of his being, but he could not risk it. He had come too far, and he needed to see this through.
And she would no doubt kill him if he tried anyway. Lure the creature in and then stab it.
“All you want is your little recital, Prince Alejandro.” She tilted her head as she studied him. “You don’t see anything outside of that and your reign of Spain.”
“Not my reign of Spain. My service to Spain,” he corrected her, releasing his breath slowly. “I would not expect you to know the difference between service and reign, Lady Nicolette.”
She glared at him. He had finally broken through that serene façade, and the real Nicolette was emerging. He welcomed it.
“All of the privileges exist to serve the responsibility.” He took a swallow of the sherry, stretching his legs out before him, and turned to watch the water flowing over the fountain just outside the window. “I have servants so that I might give every waking hour to serving Spain. My life is not my own, my time is not my own, and nothing is for me. Everything that I am—my honors, my bloodline, everything—this all gives me the opportunity to serve my people. Nothing more.”
He returned his eyes to hers. Still she stared at him as if he were a madman.
Why could he explain nothing to her? It was elementary. He had known these truths before he could speak! This knowledge, this way of being, flowed in his blood.
He searched her eyes, suddenly desperate to see the realization there, desp
erate to be known by someone.
Damnation, what was he thinking? He knew better than to reveal himself to any woman. And certainly not to this temptress.
“How can you believe that you mean nothing?” She stared at him as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She set the small crystal cordial glass, half-full, on the end table, her hand shaking. “Is this what you were raised to believe, Prince Alejandro?” She raised her hand as if to stroke his cheek though they were several feet away, and though she was seated, it rested there in midair for some seconds until she returned it to her side.
“Of course,” he answered simply.
“But didn’t your parents dote on you?” Surprise was written all over her face, and he couldn’t help himself, he reveled in the fact that she was utterly focused on him. “Cherish you?”
“Hmmm. Cherish me?” Laughter escaped from his lips. “No doubt they did from afar. I was sent away at eight years of age.”
“At eight years old?” she repeated, shaking her head, clearly disbelieving. “So young. When did you see them?”
“At Christmas and holidays.”
“But they must have missed you terribly, how could they bear…”
“They bore it as best they could,” he replied curtly, swirling his sherry.
“I realize it is not sufficient, but they telephoned and wrote you often, I’m sure.” Her eyes opened wide.
“No. Hardly ever.” As soon as he spoke the words, he wished he hadn’t. He should never have revealed as much as he did.
“Well, then, what is your responsibility”—she swallowed hard, and she seemed to have some difficulty regaining her composure—“to yourself and to your soul, Prince Alejandro?” She leaned toward him, still some feet away. He was certain he could have calculated the exact number of inches despite his difficulties in mathematics.
“My soul, Lady Nicolette, requires that I sacrifice myself for my country.” He replied somberly and in the simplest terms that she might understand.
“I cannot live like that.” Nicolette shook her head, her expression defiant. It occurred to him for the first time that her unusual gown complemented her demeanor perfectly. Like her, the gown was beautifully feminine and lush yet daring. “My life must have value to me.”
“And does it?”
“Very much.” She nodded, her mouth forming a whimsical smile. “Why not join me?”
“My life has value to me as well, Lady Nicolette, but I have been denied it. Life may be one amusement after another for you, but the lives of tens of thousands of people and the future of my country are in my hands.”
“I beg you, live for yourself for an hour, Prince Alejandro. No, you could not manage it. Ten minutes, then. Your country can spare you for ten minutes. Think to yourself, ‘What would I like to do in these ten minutes?’”
Abruptly, he set down his glass and moved to the couch, closing the distance between them. Slowly, gingerly, he ran the fingers of his right hand along her arm, and her skin transmitted an undeniable charge to his fingertips. He pulled her up too forcefully to stand beside him, somehow finding himself in the middle of a thunderstorm.
“I know precisely what I would like to do,” he whispered unevenly. Studying the depth of her gaze, he was shaken by how close she stood to him in every way, not merely in her physical presence, though that was a closeness which he sorely felt.
No one ever spoke to him so freely. Everyone either sought his approval or his demise. Outside of Esteban, no one conversed with him honestly.
He craved it. He craved her.
He was a fool to respond to her. Everything about her intensified his every sensation a hundredfold. He had never in his life experienced any person like this. He was struck by lightning every time she walked into the room.
“It is a difficult time in the world, and what we do now will shape the future,” he murmured in the most nonchalant tone he could muster, his lips inches from hers, so red and vibrant.
“Of course.”
“Should I ignore all this so that I might ponder what I want?” His voice came out hoarse and barely audible.
“I begin to wonder if you know, Alejandro,” she whispered, her breath on his skin.
Oh, he knew. As his eyes caressed her ivory-white skin, he knew. He forced a smile, fighting himself with every breath, trying to talk himself out of that which he would surely regret as his lips moved closer. “Unfortunately, there are greater things at stake than one’s personal preferences, Lady Nicolette.”
“Are there?” She smiled at him, which surprised him. Unexpectedly, she moved away from him, shooting disappointment through his being, and she began pacing the room. Clearly she did not wish him to be in such close proximity.
Suddenly she turned on him, as if an idea had occurred to her. “Tell me, Prince Alejandro, do you enjoy your own companionship?”
“I don’t take your meaning, Señorita…Lady Nicolette.”
“It is very simple. Do you take pleasure in your own company? Do you revel in who you are? Do you provide yourself with entertainment? Do you delight in your opinions?”
“It doesn’t concern me, Lady Nicolette.” He laughed, unable to help himself. He was otherwise frozen as he watched her.
“It doesn’t concern you?” She raised her eyebrows in undisguised disapproval. “I do not wish to be as one who denies life, constantly seeking to avoid attachment, with the intent to never feel. I wish to live, to experience, to grab life by the horns. What else is the point? There is much suffering in life, for everyone. If we must suffer, then let us live. If we are not to live, then let us die and be with our Creator.”
“It will come soon enough. Hopefully we will have fulfilled our duty when it comes.”
“No, Prince Alejandro.” She shook her head, her long black hair swinging back and forth. “I will embrace life with all of my senses. I will live with the gusto of the bullfighter, I will sing until my voice is hoarse, I will run with the wind, I will taste the wine, I will shout to the stars. I will love, I will feel pain.”
You will make us all feel pain.
“But I will not be the plaything of a man who is so afraid to live that he only feels when he is escaping from his own life.” She turned toward him abruptly, her hips swaying as she walked. “If you do not like your life, Your Highness, then make another one. Abdicate the throne. Leave it for someone who embraces the calling. If you cannot embrace it, then leave it, I beg you.”
“You are charming but very naive, Lady Nicolette,” he replied, smiling to himself. “I do not wish the position. But it is mine nonetheless.”
“You must either change your life or learn to love the life which you perceive as your duty. What is it that you love, Prince Alejandro?” she demanded, persisting, her voice returning.
“Sailing, fencing, riding, music, and…” he responded, his voice low and even. His dark eyes settled on her, and she seemed suddenly agitated.
“And?” she asked.
He said nothing, hoping his eyes did not betray him.
“And what is preventing you from enjoying these activities?” She gulped, struggling to find words for the first time in his acquaintance with her, to his satisfaction.
“I do enjoy them, Señorita…Lady Nicolette,” he drawled, his eyes slowly moving over her. “Very much.”
“Please, do not inconvenience yourself on my account.” She moved those lush, full lips slowly, sensually. “You may address me as ‘Señorita’ if it pleases you, Your Highness.”
“It does.” A slow, easy smile formed on his lips, and he saw that it had the desired effect. He ran one hand through his hair as he studied her.
He suddenly grew somber. It was time to put an end to this pointless banter. Its only purpose was to arouse him when there was no hope of satisfaction.
“It would be a shame if you never became king and yet forfeited your entire life to that end,” she murmured.
“Why should that be a shame? My life is not my own. I will
serve as I am called.”
“Because you made a great sacrifice for no reason.” She paused, whirling toward him. “You have everything at your fingertips and embrace nothing.”
“I embrace more than you might think.”
“And how does my singing fit into this? How do I fit in? Women are nothing but a diversion for you. Your one release—your one escape—from your life.”
“It is my only vice.” He was perplexed. Of what concern could it be of hers?
“This is what women are to you? A vice? Oh!” He could almost see the flames shooting out of her eyes as she moved closer to him. She clenched her fists and shook them at the prince of Spain.
“No, you are perfection, Señorita Nicolette.” They stared at each other, unable to move.
“I know that you perceive me to have many faults, Prince Alejandro,” she murmured softly.
“Did I say that you had a fault? No, you please me immensely, Señorita Nicolette. I thought I said as much.” He studied her with no small amount of pleasure. “But since you ask. Your faults…hmmm…one must dig deep to find any fault in you. If you have a fault, Lady Nicolette, it is the same which you accuse me of having, that of not living.”
“Not living?” she exclaimed, stifling laughter. She eased back down on the couch, her sideways glance with those exotic eyes particularly inviting. “That is absurd! I have risked everything—reputation, standing, a life of leisure—so that I might live. So that I might experience all that life has to offer! Now I know that you are truly mad!”
“No, Señorita Nicolette, you have risked everything so that you might do precisely as you wish and live in an imaginary world where you are worshipped and adored.” He chuckled, moving to refill his glass. He motioned to her with the decanter, and she shook her head impatiently, clearly awaiting his response. It filled him with a strange pleasure that she was anxious for his opinion. He returned to sit beside her on the couch, insuring that there was some distance between them.
“I only live in that world some of the time, it is my guilty pleasure, and I know it. There is a balance to my life. I know my responsibilities, and I know when it is time to stop playing theatre. You, on the other hand, don’t know how to live in any setting in which you are not center stage.”
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 22
