The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (20 page)

He was shocked to observe that she appeared even angrier. She began pacing the room and threw her arms in the air like a hoyden as she spoke. The delusion of her being a lady—if, in fact, anything was left of that image in his mind—was sadly compromised.

“How could you have heard me sing and believe that I sing for
money
?” she demanded, turning on him. “I will never, never cease singing, not for all the gold in the world.”

She was an exceptional actress, and she never relented, possibly to up the ante. Her singing was breathtaking—there was no room for argument on that point—but the idea that she would choose to work if she did not have to was ridiculous.

The work to which he was born was the last thing in the world he wished to do.

He sighed heavily, frustrated beyond measure. But it had to be her.
Only her.
“I only wish to pay you your due, Mademoiselle. There is no need for pretense. I understand your need for drama—otherwise, how would you do what you do?—but I have no need of it. Please, simply tell me what you want so we can come to a fair exchange.”

“How
dare
you? How
dare
you insult me based on the fact that I am a singer—an
artist
—without knowing the slightest thing about me!”

He found that he was grinding his teeth. Had he misjudged her? No, quite the opposite. He had the misfortune to desperately need the skills of a person who was the embodiment of the temperamental diva. Why couldn’t someone else—
anyone
else—have created that heavenly music?

“I beg your pardon, Señorita Nicolette. Yes, your singing is unequaled. I meant no slight to you.” Regimenting himself with everything at his disposal, he added as politely as he could muster, “Please instruct me. I could not very well ask for a private performance without compensation. Please inform me how you wish me to ask for this service . . . I mean,
gift
.”

“I am under no obligation to do what you wish for
any
price, Prince Alejandro,” she flared. “And let me add that there is nothing you can offer me—
nothing
—which I desire.”

“Nothing?” he asked softly. Jewels had not worked. It was time to try a different tactic, one which was tried and true. He captured her with his eyes and drew close to her. And with that he bestowed upon her with his glance the passion he remembered all too vividly as he had watched her on the stage, swaying and cajoling. He caressed her face with his eyes, the fire he had seen in her performance now burning in his chest. Gently he ran one finger along her palm, holding her hand with the lightest touch. He bent to her hand, raising it tenderly to his lips, as he looked up at her through his eyelashes. For a moment he forgot himself and entered too deeply into the charade.

“N–n–nothing,” she stammered softly as she seemed to sway.

She returned his gaze, staring at him both with desire and repulsion. It excited him, distracting him for only an instant. He had awakened the tigress after a long nap, and she was both hungry and furious.

He had never encountered the likes of her before, and a slow, sensual smile came to his lips. In an instant he knew that she was his perfect match in the bedroom. And he knew that she knew it, too. He might lack awareness in certain areas but not here.

As he watched her, his resolve weakened. He ached to take her into his arms and to kiss her with a fervor unlike anything he had ever known before.

What am I thinking?
He must remember his purpose. He could not risk her misinterpreting his actions.

Aside from the fact that he was fairly certain that he did not like her. And just as certain that he
responded
to her.

That settles it:
I am mad as well
. His eyes rested on her full red lips before moving to her eyes aflame with fury. Her eyes were large and expressive, with a slight oriental turn.

She was the only person of his acquaintance outside of King Don Bartolomé who had ever approached him as an equal, without fear or apprehension. He thought it was a game to get what she wanted. But she was not short on courage, there was no doubt about that.

“You told me you only wanted me to sing,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

“That is all I require, Señorita. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I want…I
need
to hear you sing.”

“You can hear me sing any night of the week at the Palais Garnier.”

“Indeed. I wish to hear you sing privately. Only to me.”

“Why do you wish for this unusual arrangement, Your Highness?” Her voice was soft and low as she moved closer to him. Her scent was an enticingly strange mix of smells—cherries and vanilla with a floral centerpiece. He swallowed hard even as his mouth watered, finding that he wished to move closer.

Not what he would have expected. The smell of steel and blood emanating from her wouldn’t have surprised him.

“I doubt there is any man alive who would not wish it. It is naive to be surprised by this, Mademoiselle Nicolette,” he admitted with a slight nod that approached reverence. “Only I am in a position to have it. And… there is a healing in it for me,” he added softly, the truth slipping from his lips before he knew it. In her presence, everything he had learned seemed to fall away.

“A healing? Do tell,” she asked incredulously, raising her lovely arched eyebrows.

What could he have been thinking to give her this power over him? As a person in a public position, he knew
never
to share anything with anyone: it might end up in the papers.

“The effect of your singing was quite…unexpected,” he added, stumbling over his words.

She studied him for a long while before offering her pronouncement, not unlike a royal edict. Her expression seemed to soften, but her eyes were unrelenting as they penetrated his soul.

“Mademoiselle?”

“My singing is not for sale, Your Highness. It is something which comes from my heart. And my heart is not in it.”

She walked to the door to depart the room, dazed but determined, though not as dazed as he was. Before she exited her own door she turned and looked at him, a trembling smile on her lips.

“I am much honored to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” she murmured as she curtseyed, “but I, unfortunately, have a pressing engagement. I invite you and your necklace to go to Hades.”

Chapter Fourteen

Start a rumor light as a feather,

Watch that rumor float on the breezes!

How it tickles! How it teases,

oh, how shyly, oh, how shyly!

Watch it find its way to every hidden place!

First a whisper, then a murmur,

little voices all a-tremble!

As the little words assemble,

round and round the rumor reaches,

Ears will open to its speeches,

Ears will listen to the lesson that it teaches,

And the mind will pay attention

to whatever it will mention

Who will drop it

Who can stop it

As it runs its rapid race!

—
Gioachino Rossini,
The Barber of Seville

There is no excuse for such inattention!
Where is it?
Nicolette rang immediately for her newspaper, which should have already arrived along with her toast and hot tea.

An odd oversight today of all days. Her entire future would be shaped by those small black-and-white letters, which appeared so innocuous on the surface.

Possibly her maid thought she would be overtired. Nothing could be further from the truth!

Unable to wait for someone to do it for her, she pulled the curtains. Her eyes rested on la
fontaine M
é
dicis in the Jardin du Luxembourg bordering their home, spouting water as if to match her excitement
, even though it had been gurgling in precisely the same manner since 1624.

What a glorious, perfect world it was! Of course, it would be perfect even if she were in the middle of a hurricane. She giggled, pushing back the sheer chiffon extending from her ring-canopy bed. Latching the chiffon in place, she couldn’t help but admire the effect of the sheer plum against a damask pattern of rose, mauve, and olive. Lady Ravensdale had a gift for combining themes, she mused, letting her eyes rest for a brief moment on a round portrait of her mother in an antique gold frame hung by a long pink satin ribbon.

Her mother might have been the top decorator in Paris, with her insight into each person she met combined with her decorating skills. The room was an odd blend of English country garden and French provincial, which somehow worked surprisingly well.

Just as her life was a strange mix of themes, events, and locales which had all come together last evening.

Of all the mornings not to have my newspaper!
She rang the bell again. An instant later she threw on a dressing gown of pale India silk trimmed with white lace frills and gold bands and began pacing the room.

The critics’ assessment of my performance is the foundation for the rest of my life.
She admonished herself for her fretting. Her performance had been flawless, the best she had ever given. There was no cause to flap about like a chicken loose in the barnyard. The reviews would be good, of course, but
how good
was the question.

The answer to that question would determine the length of the road ahead of her. She needed to read them for herself before she could generally know how to proceed.

What is taking Emily so long?
It must be five minutes since she rang. At just that moment her young maid entered the room, and she saw at a glance the paper on her tray. She bit her lip to keep from snapping at the girl, whose white bow sat lopsided on her head.

“Yes, thank you, Emily, that will be all,” she pronounced dismissively, reaching for the newspaper as she sat on her bed, searching frantically for the correct section. Emily set the tea and toast on her table, curtseyed, and exited the room, the white bow in her hair still bobbing. Nicolette knew that she should pour herself a cup of tea and savor every word, but she was too excited to linger over her happiness.

She gasped. As she began reading, her world crashed in around her. Her vision began to go blurry as the reality of what she was seeing overtook her.

It isn’t possible.
The paper slipped from her fingers as she blinked, attempting to focus on something, anything.

I gave the performance of my life
.

The applause had been thunderous and the stage strewn with roses. Her dressing room had been filled with flowers. She could smell them yet.
It simply isn’t possible
.

She heard a light tapping on the door, which she knew to be Lady Elaina’s. Nicolette did not know how she found her voice, but she managed to utter, “Come in.”

Her grandmother had traveled to see her first star performance. And possibly my last, Nicolette thought as her throat constricted further. She steadied herself on the edge of the bed, afraid she might slide off.