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

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “Of course,” she replied quietly. “Otherwise you would not be needed. If there were no need, God would not have destined you to be king of Spain.”

  “I will not hold you to your promise, Nicolette.” He stared at her, his jaw hard.

  “But I will hold you to yours.” She took his hand, turned it, and kissed his wrist. She sighed, picturing her glorious wedding dress, by now burned. Her eyes rose to meet his as she whispered, “The setting might not be made in heaven, but you are.”

  “Mi cielito,” Alejandro whispered hoarsely. Without any hesitation he took her in his arms and pressed her body very close to his, as if he wanted to hold her forever, as if he had thought she might actually leave. He claimed her mouth with desperation, and she responded in kind. Nothing more was needed from her.

  “As in opera, the story leaves much to be desired but the singers do not.” She giggled between kisses. She laughed for the first time since the explosion.

  He trailed kisses along her neck, his love for her desperate. But she could feel that he was not actually aroused. His movements were almost mechanical, as if he were in a daze, as if he were yet again performing his duty. She knew that his love ran deep, but he was saddened and dismayed. He was deeply distraught and weary. And it was his wedding night.

  And hers. Not while she still had breath would she allow that madman to intrude upon her wedding night.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “You sit over there, Your Highness.” He did as he was commanded. She moved past the marble balcony, where the stars had only begun to dot the sky, and poured him a glass of brandy, placing before him a tray of strawberries, grapes, olives, cheeses, and cold salamis and finger sandwiches, which had been delivered to the room earlier. The champagne on ice was untouched. She lit the candles and stoked the marble fireplace. She moved to stand on an intricately embroidered peach-and-navy floral rug.

  He took a sip of brandy as he watched her, curiosity encroaching upon his weariness.

  “This is my wedding present to you, Alejandro.” Clearly intrigued despite his grief, she felt him watching her intently.

  “Did you plan to sing this song this night, Nicolette?” he asked, confusion written all over his face.

  “Of course, it is my wedding gift to you, Alejandro,” she replied indignantly. In truth, she had not, and she was thoroughly exhausted herself, barely able to move, much less sing. But she knew that he was wretchedly dismal, determined to annul their marriage to protect her.

  She had to show him how much she wanted him. Her eyes searched the room for her portmanteau, which contained her actual wedding gift to Alejandro, a beautiful walking stick with a sword hidden inside the handle. At the time a weapon had seemed an odd sort of wedding gift. As usual, her instincts had rung true.

  Ah, there it is, next to the huge walnut canopy bed, rose petals scattered from the door to the bed veiled in lace. She spotted the portmanteau and breathed a sigh of relief. She would find what she needed in there.

  She swept past Alejandro, his expression hollow and empty, as if he had finally been separated from everything in the world that mattered to him.

  She must sing. She took a deep breath and mustered all of her inner discipline.

  The audience demands it.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  With you I would share

  my days of happiness;

  Everything is folly in this world

  that does not give us pleasure.

  Let us enjoy life,

  For the pleasures of love are swift and fleeting

  As a flower that lives and dies

  and can be enjoyed no more.

  Let's take our pleasure!

  While its ardent,

  Brilliant summons lures us on.

  —Giuseppe Verdi, La traviata

  Perhaps tomorrow. Which would never come. He opened his mouth to protest. They had only been in the bridal suite several hours, and yet he was drained of all energy. If he did not perform his marital duties soon, he might not be able to. And he desperately did not wish to disappoint his bride further.

  But he could not refuse her wedding gift. He smiled for the first time in many hours as he watched her busying herself and pulling a sheer white chiffon scarf some five feet in length and an elegant walking stick with a carved, white marble handle from her portmanteau, which had been delivered to the room earlier that day.

  He loved watching her acting quite at home in the sitting area of his suite, pretending that she now belonged here in this mix of Grecian columns, stone, wood, and stained glass. Pretending that she would stay.

  Returning from her dressing room, she was a vision in white, wearing a dressing gown of white batiste on which alternate rows of embroidered and tucked bands gathered just under her exquisite bosom. The gown crossed her breasts and trailed all the way down the front of her nightgown, opening over a plaited flounce and accented by a white satin ribbon drawn through the border. The same ribbon circled her elbow, accenting flowing sleeves trimmed with tucks and gathered frills.

  She was beautiful, and she was his. At least for tonight.

  Quietly she announced, “I will now sing an excerpt from Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Grand Duke. I shall sing both the part of the duke and his new bride.”

  Leaning the walking stick against the wall, without more than the slightest pause while he still reveled in the feeling, she waved the scarf alluringly in front of herself. Her movement was womanly and seductive, leaving no doubt that she was singing the part of the duchess.

  “And now that everyone has departed, and we’re happily and comfortably married, I wish to have a few words with my new husband.”

  She sang, her mannerisms coquettish and winsome as she swayed. In an instant, she picked up the cane, hiding the scarf from view, lowering her voice, and assuming an authoritative gait.

  “Knowing as I do, I expect you’ll often have a few words for your new husband, Julia. And for everyone.”

  He was surprised how easily Nicolette drew him into the duke’s part, even in a flowing white gown. He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. She did sing in over three octaves, after all, easily encompassing the tenor’s part. And she was a superb actress.

  She embellished Julia’s role with bel canto flourishes making it decidedly beautiful and feminine in presentation.

  “Ludwig, I’ve been considering how I can make the most of my position as grand duchess.”

  Tap-tap. The sword-stick tapped the floor.

  “I shouldn’t make it one of your hoity-toity vixenish viragoes, Julia.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes from behind the scarf and then walked several feet, dragging the long, sheer scarf behind her. Suddenly she turned and looked back at him, lifting one voluptuous hip as she did so.

  “Should you not, Ludwig? Do tell. I know you will with or without my encouragement.”

  The duke twirled the cane in a distinctively pompous manner.

  “Oh, I’m quite clear about that, Julia. The grand duchess is a not-too-clingy child-wife timidly anxious to coil herself into her husband’s heart but kept in check by an awestruck reverence for his exalted intellectual qualities and majestic personal appearance.”

  The scarf went round her shoulders like a shawl then trailed in front of her eyes, now alight with mischief.

  “You don’t say, Ludwig. These ideas do cast you in a certain light. Is there anything else that would please my husband, the duke?”

  Alejandro laughed spontaneously as she, in turn, feigned airs of innocence and naivety while, at the same time, leaving no doubt that ignoring her wishes would be quite detrimental to her husband’s continued happiness. He found that he could not help himself as he burst into laughter when just a moment ago he had wondered if he would ever laugh again.

  “I’m glad you should ask, Julia. A wife who regards my slightest wish as an inflexible law and who ventures but rarely into my august presence, unless I should summon her to appear before me. A crushed, despairi
ng violet.”

  She threw the scarf into the air and let it slide down her hair, her shoulders, her hips, until it fell upon the floor, reminding him of a woman undressing. He found that his heart was beating faster despite his amusement.

  “I see, Ludwig. There is a good deal to be said for your view of it. And it shall not be long before I say it.”

  Her lips pouted provocatively.

  “My dear Ludwig, I feel I must warn you that there are some instances which would necessarily result in strong scenes of justifiable jealousy.”

  She presented these simple words with the most phenomenal run of scales that he had ever heard, adding emphasis while creating beautiful music. He was awestruck that she was able to perform with such perfectionism when she must be exhausted. Where she found her reserves of energy, he did not know.

  “You shall have them, Julia. I could never deprive you of anything.”

  She turned her back to him, draped the scarf over her head, and peered at him over her shoulder.

  “With a lovely but detested rival.”

  The duke assumed a smug expression.

  “Oh, I’ll provide the rival, Julia, never fear.”

  Suddenly she pulled the scarf tightly between both arms, almost making it pop.

  “Whom I should honor with a fencing lesson!”

  She took the cane and pulled out the sword, stabbing the air. Even though the sword was the duke’s prop, it was clear what she meant.

  Again she displayed the range of her trills and scales, absolutely astounding him with the beauty of her voice and her delivery. She was the consummate performer. She laughed and cajoled, and he was right there with her, completely immersed in her performance, present with her in all respects, sharing her emotions. He was certain that her character would be victorious in the end, that she would accomplish whatever she set out to do. He experienced the pleasure of knowing one’s own power. He felt…joy.

  In an instant she transformed to the duke.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t stab her, Julia. It’s been done to death. I should treat her with a silent and contemptuous disdain and delicately withdraw from an awkward scene which, to one of your sensitive nature, would be disagreeably vexatious.”

  “Should you, my darling Ludwig? You forget my special magic lies in situations tragic. Far from being disagreeable, it would be my delight to dispose of her in the most public and uncivilized manner imaginable.”

  Nicolette leaned close to his face, and he could feel her breath on his ear as she sang.

  “Do you know now what will happen if you ever stray from me, my husband?” It was Nicolette speaking to him now, there could be no doubt in his mind.

  “How could I ever want anyone else when I have you, mi cielito?” He burst out laughing, but there was love in his heart. And desire. He was not afraid, even though he knew she meant business and was not one to tangle with.

  She pulled away, and he was sorry that she had. His forehead moistened at the same time he could not control his mirth. She curtseyed, and he both clapped and laughed.

  Alejandro surprised himself. He rarely laughed out loud in the brightest of circumstances, but he could not contain himself. And he found that he did not wish to. She had played both parts so expertly and with such believability, transitioning back and forth before his eyes, that he was dizzy with amusement.

  In only a few moments she had exposed feelings that were heavily weighing on him. Once she had released them, she had replaced them with joy…and hope.

  She pulled the pins out of her hair. Slowly she began undressing before him as she sang, her breasts almost entirely exposed, rich and full. His mouth watered just staring at her.

  She pulled the edge of her gown over her shoulder. No, please don’t do that. I am in a weakened state and have a job to perform.

  But she showed him no mercy. She lifted her gown up past her knees, revealing beautifully shaped legs, legs he had never seen before, and continued to sway and sing. She sang the piece from Bizet’s Carmen for which he had offered to pay an emerald necklace so long ago and which she had told him was not for sale.

  She swayed and danced. She turned and looked over her shoulder at him, her red lips parting slightly. She was an exquisite mix of girlish coquette and mature woman.

  The most amazing woman he had ever known. On the most painful day of her life, she was offering herself to him as a gift for his soul.

  Is it possible that she truly is my queen? No, she must leave in the morning. It wasn’t safe. She leaned toward him, revealing full, gorgeous breasts. Oh, my God.

  He forgot his own grief. He began to forget everything as he was swept up in her pure, intoxicating sensuality.

  As his anticipation grew, the realization struck him that this was not a performance. This time it was real, and the idea excited every fiber of his being. She is seducing me.

  And she would succeed. This incomparable seductress was his wife. At least for tonight.

  She utilized every feminine wile available to her—it was quickly becoming apparent she had a considerable repertoire—and, in truth, the pain had subsided.

  Though it wasn’t her purpose, she was about to experience every pleasure a woman’s body could know.

  Cutting her solo short, Alejandro picked her up and took her to their marriage bed, where he proceeded to do all within his power to make her forget.

  More than anything in the world, he wanted to erase the memory from her mind of what should have been a magical day. He wanted to replace that memory with the memory of his making sweet, sensual love to her. He wanted everything in her world to be beautiful and dear. As beautiful and dear as she was to him.

  She was the only light in his life, and the love he had waited all his life for. She was the only thing in his life he had chosen. He was not about to let her wait another second for an expression of his love.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  To the devil with all this chattering!

  —Georges Bizet, Carmen

  His lips came down on hers, and she found herself swimming in sensation. It had taken everything she had to divert Alejandro’s attention, though she had been in no mood for anything but an endless sleep. Suddenly she felt very alive indeed.

  Oh, she had waited so long for this. His lips caressed and coaxed every inch of her body. To be next to him, to feel his lips on hers, to be touched by him. To be his and only his. Never had she imagined the thrill it would give her knowing that this was her husband.

  Each time their lips touched, she reveled in the joy of being desired by him, and time stood still. At this moment, nothing existed in the world but this man. She looked into deep-brown eyes, alive with warmth, acknowledging her, opening to her, laying his soul bare before her. His hair fell into his eyes, and there was sweat on his forehead. She could hear his heart pounding, but still he caressed every inch of her slowly, deliberately, tenderly.

  Gingerly he lowered her gown over her shoulders, exposing her breasts. He paused to look at her, smiling with satisfaction. “Beautiful,” he murmured, gazing upon her as he removed his own silk pants, revealing the startling beauty of his own physique.

  Then he took both hands and gently pushed her breasts together, reveling in the fullness. Even as he suckled her, he gently massaged her lower body with his manliness, caressing and arousing her.

  “Alejandro,” she whispered breathlessly.

  She moved her body with him, longing for him, not understanding these new sensations.

  As every exposed and unexposed surface tingled, each new touch sending a rush of pleasure through her body, there could be no doubt left in her mind that he was skilled in lovemaking.

  But this was not what thrilled her. She knew with each touch that it was not a mechanical exercise for him: he saw her. He was with her. He loved her. And, most surprising of all, he trusted her.

  She could feel his heart beating faster and his body hardening as he bent over her, both of them sinking into the feather mattress. T
here would be time for leisurely lovemaking for the rest of her life. For now, she wanted him, and with no further delays. She stroked him, and he moaned.

  “No, Nicolette, not yet,” he barely managed.

  “Now,” she commanded in a whisper. She stroked him again, gingerly running her finger along the tip of his shaft. He groaned, and she put both hands on his face and brought him to her, kissing him deeply.

  As they kissed, he entered her slowly. She winced, and he began to withdraw. She put her hands on his hips and pushed him toward her with force, gasping.

  “Nicolette,” he whispered, “are you ready?”

  “Oh, yes,” she exclaimed.

  He increased his pace to match her need and his own. A wave of pleasure washed over her, he shook, and, in that moment, she felt the supreme satisfaction of knowing that she was Alejandro’s wife. She was sure that she had never before known such pure bliss.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  He who wanders this street

  Full of hardship, becomes clean

  Through fire, water, air, and earth

  If he the terror of Death can overcome

  He vaults from the earth heavenward

  Illuminated

  —Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart, The Magic Flute

  He was on a galleon sailing ship on a moonlit night, alone on the starboard deck. Two enormous masts extended from the center of the ship, both flowing in syncopation with the waves, threatening to fly free. Ropes, pulleys, and ladders attached various parts of the masts to the deck below, fighting their apparent desire to free themselves and swirl up to the heavens. It was their constant fight that propelled the ship forward, that perfect balance between subjugation and struggle.