“I do not wish to marry, and I never will.” She shook her head in frustration, the fight almost gone out of her. She turned so that he would not see the tear that escaped down her cheek. “And I wish to make love to no man but you.” A man who does not want me.
“I have never wanted anything so much in my life.” As she returned her gaze to meet him, his eyes seemed to swallow her whole, his longing recognizable. He held her by the shoulders, keeping her some distance from himself with great resolve as he looked down at her. “But I am not so full of myself that I believe that you will never desire another man. Secretly, I wish it, but only an idiot would believe it. There is a man for you, Nicolette.” His lips tightened as he stated the words. “You don’t see it now, but you will meet him someday. He would not forgive this transgression. You would be unable to ever marry. I cannot destroy your life for my own pleasure.”
“Or mine?” she asked.
“It is merely the passion of the moment. You do not understand it, but I do. It will pass.” Something in his expression was unconvincing.
“Lust? It will…pass?” she demanded, pulling away from him. “I tire of your treating me like an imbecile, Alejandro! You think that I do not know my own mind—and that you do! You are the most arrogant…oh! I am not like most women. I do not have to marry to have a life. I have a life now, and I will have a life when I leave here, so there is absolutely no reason that I should not experience everything to the fullest in every moment. And…I love you.”
The words escaped from her lips before she knew what she had said. Oh, why, why did she have to feel this way? And, worse, why did she have to say it? She stormed away with Alejandro not far behind her.
“Nicolette! Nicolette!” She heard him yelling after her even as she ran.
She ran as fast as she could past the guards when she spotted Rafael Ortega on the balcony. She stopped right in front of him. “Señor Ortega, is your invitation still open for tomorrow?” she asked sweetly just as Alejandro approached.
“Of course, Señorita Nicolette!” he replied, his voice sultry.
“Please call on me tomorrow. I should very much like to go to your little bull ranch.” She curtseyed and managed to disappear into the crowd as Alejandro became surrounded by subjects and admirers.
If he wanted to find her, he knew where her room was. She would make him want to break down that lock with his bare hands.
Chapter Thirty-Four
She’s a coquette
Who flirts with everybody.
Some dandy of a viscount
makes eyes at her
She lifts her skirts and shows her ankle
In a most provocative and encouraging way
—Giacomo Puccini, La Bohème
“May I recommend a wine for you, Señorita Nicolette?” Rafael asked attentively. He wore a variation of the matador’s costume, tight, high-waisted bright-blue pants and a white ruffled shirt unbuttoned to reveal his chest. On his feet were something akin to ballet shoes, no doubt to maximize his ease of movement, which did nothing whatsoever to detract from his masculinity.
“By all means.” She smiled. “But I have already had one glass, Señor Ortega.” She was not accustomed to much spirits, generally having no difficulty enjoying herself without the added incentive, but the drink was superb, the luncheon divine, and she felt like throwing caution to the wind. Or in the face of a certain self-centered, uncomprehending, oblivious, ungrateful, insensitive, chauvinistic royal.
“You have only tried the champagne, Señorita Nicolette. Our red wines are unequaled in all the world. And, please, Señorita, call me Rafael,” he said, his smile dazzling. She returned the smile with pleasure, finding his company and attentions to be utterly delightful.
“Oh? This is champagne? It is lovely!” Ordinarily she was preparing to sing and could not indulge. But for someone who had been summoned here in Spain to sing, she was doing very little of it.
A bountiful buffet picnic had been laid out for the king’s personal party, resplendent with Spanish delicacies from the sea in savory sauces, skewered lamb and beef with vegetables, cheeses, olives, breads, fried peppers and onions, custards, pastries, and an overabundance of wine. The ranch, about ten miles out of Madrid, was beautiful and peaceful, surrounded by Scots pine and Pyrenean oak. In spite of the fact that she was furious, and the source of her anger was present in the company, she found this trip to the tienta, the testing of young bulls, strangely enjoyable and peaceful.
“You see, the tienta is like a minifiesta,” Rafael explained, caressing her with his eyes. “It allows the bull owners to learn which are the bravest bulls. It is an opportunity for the matadors to practice the cape work, and the select guests are honored to see behind the scenes as to what a bullfight involves.”
It was difficult not to take some pleasure from the idyllic and relaxed surroundings, especially for one who loved to enjoy herself. The Spanish people loved socializing, good food, laughing, and overall partaking of life’s bounty.
Except for their idiot king, who had a different view of things.
As Rafael got up from the table to select a glass of wine for her, she placed a succulent prawn in her mouth, enjoying a favorable view of his departure.
She had been seated next to Rafael Ortega, who had escorted her, and yet Alejandro rarely took his eyes from her. The king’s unrelenting attentions had even begun to make Rafael appear nervous, a man who was accustomed to facing raging bulls.
For her part, she reveled in it, enjoying herself thoroughly as she took another sip of champagne, glancing provocatively at Alejandro over the rim of her glass. If Alejandro had wanted her, he could have had her. She wished to remind him of that with her every sensual movement, of which she had a significant repertoire. He didn’t want her, and he didn’t want anyone else to have her either.
She smoothed her green riding habit, which she knew was very smart. The skirt reached just below the top of her beige leather boots, and a bowler’s hat perched provocatively atop her head. She stroked a cameo nestled in lace at her throat, positioning a high-necked white cotton lace blouse.
Making a statement with her outfits was an attempt to feel noticed. Of all things, she hated to feel invisible.
And no one had made her feel more invisible that the man she loved the most in all the world.
“Señorita Nicolette,” King Alejandro murmured close to her ear, taking advantage of Rafael’s absence, “I am not certain that you understand the strength of our wines.” As he leaned forward, his hair fell into his eyes. She wished he would not look at her that way. He looked far too dashing in his riding attire: camel-colored formfitting pants, shining black knee boots, a white shirt, a navy jacket, and a riding hat.
“I am glad to learn there is strength in something.” She laughed, peering at him from under the rim of her bowler’s hat. “I had begun to think I would encounter nothing but milk and water here in Spain.”
“As usual, Lady Nicolette, you have no idea what you are doing.” King Alejandro frowned.
“I’m sure I don’t, Your Majesty! But I shan’t be with you when I begin to understand, will I?” Oh, that was a bit too low, even for her, but she did enjoy seeing the fury in his eyes.
“How much have you had to drink, Lady Nicolette?” he demanded through bared teeth.
“Only one teensy glass of champagne, my dear King Alejandro. But soon I shall sample the wine as well at Rafael’s, oh, I mean Señor Ortega’s, insistence. As I’m sure he would agree, there is no substitute for experience.” Admittedly, it was considered unladylike to partake of anything more than a small cordial in London. Paris was more accepting. In truth, she had imagined that, in this illustrious party, she would be repulsed for not being a dignified shrinking violet. Contrary to her assumptions, it appeared that the tienta was more casual and that Spanish men, in general, did not admire the reserve or pretense of British women. Her observation thus far was that Spaniards were emotional, brave, warm, full of en
thusiasm for life, and that they admired these qualities in others.
Except for their illustrious king, who was never pleased with her.
Well, she was not entirely pleased with him at the moment either.
“Some experiences will only lead to heartbreak.”
“Better than living in heartbreak. At least I shall go there happy.”
As Alejandro opened his mouth to reply, Rafael returned. This would not have deterred Alejandro’s response, Nicolette knew, but she turned away from him to face Rafael. She listened for the sound of Alejandro’s voice but was disappointed to hear nothing.
Upon proceeding to the bullring, the party positioned themselves outside the ring on simple, plank-like seating, a small rustic stadium of sorts, which was utterly charming. Rafael commanded everyone’s attention simply by a slight turn of the hand, even in so illustrious a crowd. He had a magnificent presence.
“I will provide a short demonstration before we show our prize bulls,” he explained, all eyes on him. “After which we will bring out the two-year-olds and ask for volunteers.” He positioned the cape in front of his body, bright pink on one side and yellow on the other. He masterfully demonstrated how to hold the cape to the side of one’s body, how to pop the cape to maintain the bull’s attention, hypnotizing and directing the bull, and how to disengage oneself from the bull and quickly exit from the ring.
Drinking the wine and watching him, it all appeared quite simple. She knew that she had an excellent physical memory, and she replayed his movements in her mind. She might act gay and tipsy for Alejandro’s benefit, but she was in complete control of herself.
And I am rather enjoying myself, she realized with a sudden surprise.
How could she not? The food, the wine, the culture, the novelty.
The surly royal. As they waited for the bull, the party sat together, laughing and drinking—all except for the king. His tanned jawline was firm and his piercing dark eyes determined and unrelenting. He appeared to be in the worst of spirits.
Good.
Alejandro consistently told her how she felt and what was best for her—it was not a communication, it was an edict—and the entire exchange existed in his mind alone. How she longed to bring their relationship into the real world with herself as one of the participants.
Melancholy threatened to descend upon her as she gazed upon Alejandro. She felt a sudden longing in her heart as she wished this lovely day had unfolded under far different circumstances: that this was their first shared outing after a night of making love. That they were new lovers instead of practiced adversaries. That they shared an intimacy unlike any she had ever known. She pictured brushing his hand as they spoke and feeling an electricity reverberate through her body. She felt it even as she watched him.
She saw them giggling and laughing over unimportant observations instead of…she looked away. There was nothing she could do about the turn of events, and she was determined to aggravate Alejandro to his limit. Perhaps then he would come to his senses and realize just how precious their time together was.
And it appeared that she was successful. She could see him shaking his head out of the corner of her eye, and she took yet another small sip of the fragrant wine.
Snap! Like a flash of lightning in a clear summer sky, Rafael instantly materialized in the ring, his bright-pink cape imposing crackling sounds in the air, flashes of pink and gold indistinguishable from each other. At the young bull’s first sight of Rafael and his cape, he charged at full ramming speed. Rafael flashed the cape and tempted the bull, yelling.
“Eh, toro, toro!” The bull plowed through the cape, forcing it into the air with a sharp explosive sound. Before Nicolette had time to blink, the bull had whipped around, creating a circular cloud of dust, his own private tornado, which attached to his rear hooves. The bull held nothing back in his glaring determination to pulverize Rafael.
Her eyes were glued to the scene before her, and she wondered that she was able to breathe. It was thrilling beyond anything she had ever seen.
Enacted before her eyes was man’s fight to hold onto life against a ferocious beast determined to deprive him of it. He moved with the grace and beauty of a dancer. The difference being that he faced death with each performance.
The bull lunged forward, certain to gore Rafael. He pulled the cape closer to his body, and just as the beast seemed certain to collide with the cape, Rafael spun around, the result being that the bull twisted into empty space like a twirling top.
“Olé!” Involuntarily, the crowd jumped to their feet in unison, simultaneously clapping, shouting, and waving their arms.
Time stood still as she watched the entrancing fluidity of Rafael’s movement, traveling at the speed of lightning in the last possible instant. As if he were not placing himself in enough danger in facing the bull, Rafael strutted toward the audience with his back to the bull in an arrogant display of boredom, swinging the cape with one hand and yawning with the other.
There was a collective “Gasp!” In an instant the bull was curved around Rafael’s waist, his horns inches from Rafael’s body. As the snorting, lunging beast attacked him again and again, each of Rafael’s calculated movements was an exquisite balance of art and conqueror. To combine battle with art, with such exquisite beauty of movement, all in a matter of seconds, set off an explosion of wonder and excitement in Nicolette’s mind. It was, quite literally, a man walking a tightrope between life and death before her eyes.
“And what was your opinion, Señorita Nicolette?” Alejandro moved to sit beside her. “Is it as you expected?”
“It is magnificent.” Thrilled and breathless, Nicolette shook her head, placing her hand over her heart.
“And do you still not approve of our bullfight?”
“I do not.” She let out a long sigh, staring straight ahead. “But no one who has seen Rafael in the ring can deny his extraordinary talent.”
“True.”
“But in the bullfight, the bull will be killed, will he not?” She could not help but turn toward Alejandro, her heart pounding.
“Yes, ideally with one stab of the sword.” His eyes rested on hers, softening as he saw that she had finally met his eyes. “The audience never condones a lingering death for the bull.”
“I understand that it doesn’t always happen that way.” She frowned, returning her gaze to the ring. “In fact, the bull suffers horribly. Is not the bull stabbed even before the arrival of the matador on the scene to weaken it and to enrage the beast?”
“Yes, with banderillas, literally ‘little flags’ decorated with colored paper, placed on the bull’s flanks. These further weaken the enormous ridges of neck and shoulder muscle, causing loss of blood while also frequently spurring the bull into making ferocious charges.”
“No doubt it makes the bull angry to be stabbed.” Nicolette shook her head in disgust, turning to study the bulls in the pen. “Even despite the unfavorable odds, sometimes the bull lives, does he not?”
“The bull’s final fate is decided by the president of the arena.” Alejandro nodded, seeming to caress her cheeks with his eyes. The words came out, but he seemed a thousand miles away, it seemed to Nicolette. “If the matador performed well, he is allowed to cut off one of the bull’s ears and toss it into the crowd. If he showed unusual bravery and showmanship, both ears are cut off and sometimes the tail as well. And yet, the crowd can override the decision of the president of the arena and spare the bull’s life if the bull has shown great courage.”
“How benevolent,” Nicolette pronounced with a shaky voice.
“It is more honorable than the British foxhunt, in my opinion. There is no real courage required to chase and slaughter a small animal with the aid of dogs and guns, sitting high atop a horse. And yet we are proclaimed to be barbaric.” He laughed heartily.
“Shall you aspire to be no worse than everyone else then?”
“Every culture has its outlet for violence. Reform your own countrymen and l
et the Spanish have their culture, Señorita Nicolette.”
“I only ask you to consider. Everything desired can be achieved without killing the bull. As it was today. Rafael did not kill the bull, and yet he both faced death and showed enormous courage. Much more courage, in fact, because the bull was not weakened. Killing an animal and finding sport in its pain diminishes rather than adds to one’s manliness.”
“It seems a subject of great interest to you, Señorita Nicolette.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Manliness? Indeed it is.”
“Actually, I was referring to the bull.”
“By all means, then, let us discuss the topic of interest to you, Your Majesty.” She smiled as sweetly as she could muster. “I shall address the subject of interest to me at some time when you are not present and will not be bored by it.”
“Do I have any volunteers?” Rafael suddenly reappeared even as the two-year-old bulls were paraded about the ring, younger and with shorter horns. He illustrated with the cape even as he spoke. “Matadors will assist and hold one side of the cape. Although it is safe if performed correctly, you must remember that the bull is still an unpredictable, wild animal.”
“I held the cape closer to my body than is wise in an attempt to create more drama,” he continued. “You must hold the cape here.” Being an entertainer, she understood his ploy. He was attempting to walk that fine line between danger and showmanship, walking the line like a trapeze artist without a net. Several toreadors misjudged that line every year and paid the ultimate price. But in that instant, none of the precautions loomed paramount in her head, only the beauty and the thrill of it.
The first volunteers held the other side of the cape opposite the matador, some losing their nerve and releasing their side when the bull got near. They had been instructed not to run, but one man took off like a flash of lightning. All seemed relieved when their short display came to a close.
“So shall we call a truce, Nicolette?” she heard Alejandro ask her, almost in a whisper.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 32
