The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (23 page)

“You know, Esteban, she is much shorter in person. Too short, I should say. It is astonishing that someone who is larger than life on the stage is, in fact, petite.”
A hellion in a small package
.

“Petite…and quite…
shapely
,” Esteban mused.

“Extremely.”

His thoughts tortured him, throbbing inside his head. He must see her privately. He
needed
to see her. How could he make her understand? Why didn’t she believe that his intentions were honorable?

On that he could not fault her—he didn’t believe it himself. But why was he in such disfavor with her? What could account for it? Surely she didn’t prefer staid Englishmen who never expressed their desires honestly and had no feeling about anything—he had more passion in his little finger than they had in their whole bodies.

“You interest me greatly, Alejandro,” murmured Esteban, taking a slow sip of coffee.

“Hmmm. Why is that?” He hoped Esteban wouldn’t press him. He was having difficulty ignoring his feelings.

“I have never heard you speak thus.”

“It is her singing, Esteban. Something happened to me when she sang,” Alejandro blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Something
happened
? What do you mean, Alejandro?” Esteban leaned toward him, setting his coffee cup on the table.

“I relived a terrible memory. Only, this time it wasn’t
terrible
.” There. He had said it.

“Of what do you speak, Alejandro?” Esteban sat up in his wooden chair, which caused it to scrape against the stone slightly.

“Were you aware how unhappy I was when the king—that is, my
father
—sent me away to school as a child?”

“Of course
,
Alejandro!” Esteban replied, his voice uneven. “I never saw a child so distraught and miserable, amplified by your parents’ total absence of contact. They might have telephoned or visited.”

“My mother later told me that my father decided it was best.”

“It was very badly managed. Even if it was necessary for national security, which is doubtful at best, there was a far better way to send a child away, enacting considerably less trauma and damage.”

“I know it sounds strange, Esteban, but when she sang, I relived it. My world crashed down around me. I was…spinning.”

“Are you quite serious?” Esteban whispered, his eyes opening wide. “I agree that she is a genius at eliciting emotion, and you have always been responsive to music, but…”

“Never more so, Esteban. Only, when it was over, instead of wanting to die, instead of desperately longing to put a period to the terrible torture of my emotions, I felt lighter somehow.” He took another bite of the croissant, and the warm, dark chocolate oozed around buttery flakes of bread in his mouth.

Esteban stared at him as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing, his eyes utterly intent upon the prince. He reached out to touch Alejandro’s sleeve.

“I am changed, Esteban,” Alejandro stated calmly. He patted his mouth, holding his linen napkin in midair as he reflected.

“You
are
somehow different, Alejandro,” Esteban enunciated slowly as he scrutinized him. “I haven’t heard you speak so openly since you were a child.”

“How do you mean, Esteban?”

“You seem as if you are actually
here
.”

“It sounds strange to say, Esteban, but the truth is that I have the sense that my salvation lies with this bewitching seductress.” He heard the words for the first time, and he knew them to be true. He felt a tightening in his stomach.

“Your Highness.” At this moment, Pancho entered the terrace, standing as straight as a board at the doorway. “As you directed, I have learned who the woman in black is.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Pancho. I know all about it.” Alejandro waved his hand, the corners of his mouth stiffening as he relived the embarrassment of learning that the woman who had captivated him was an opera singer. He picked up the marquis from the performance and slapped it on the table between the chairs where they sat. “Señorita Nicolette…Genevieve. You are dismissed, Pancho.”

“Your Highness, I beg to inform you—” He waved his white-gloved hands.

“You are dismissed, Pancho.” Esteban waved him away with an uncharacteristic abruptness, clearly anxious to return to their conversation. “
Muchas
gracias
.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Pancho sighed heavily in marked contrast to his straight posture, omitting his usual bow. A white lawn tie clasped the standing collar of his crisply ironed shirt tucked into a white waistcoat. Everything about the movement and appearance of the short, wide man was stiff and pronounced as he retreated to the interior of the suite.

“He has become impertinent of late.” Alejandro raised one eyebrow toward Esteban. “He was never used to exhibit that behavior.”

“Go on, Alejandro. You were speaking of the Señorita and her effect on you.”

Alejandro stood and walked along the balcony. He would spend all his time on the terrace if he could, which he much preferred to the overly ornate suites decorated entirely in the Charles X style: intricate wood paneling with gilt edges, white marble, thick draperies, chandeliers, and murals everywhere. Even an art gallery. He ran his hand along the balcony edge and reveled in the smoothness of it. What a strange thing to respond to. Esteban was right, he was different.

But not different enough
.

He turned to face Esteban, and a thought broke into his reverie like a beam of light in a heavy fog: how wonderful it was that there was one person he could talk to. Here he was surrounded by priceless treasures, and Esteban was his only true treasure. How much had Esteban forfeited to be his companion?

Alejandro cleared his throat. The heaviness in his heart reappeared, and he suddenly felt the weight of it. He needed to tell someone.

“Ah, yes. Señorita Nicolette. There was something of the dark arts in her, and yet I know…I believe…somehow that she could take me to heaven.”

“How do you know that?” Esteban picked up his pipe and lit it.

“She has already taken me partially there.”

“You wish to bed her.” Esteban’s face fell, his disappointment evident.

“I have no intention of seducing her, Esteban.” Despite the seriousness of his feelings, Alejandro could not help but smile as he beheld the disapproval in Esteban’s countenance. “She is too precious for that.”

“Precious?” repeated Esteban, clearly bewildered, almost dropping his pipe. “The dark arts? Are these not contradictory?”

“Contradictory? Yes, everything about Señorita Nicolette is contradictory.” Alejandro returned to his seat. He took both silver pots, one filled with coffee and one with milk, and began to pour them into his cup. He watched the warm, frothy milk mix with the rich, dark coffee effortlessly, forming a new creation. His lips curved into a smile as he reseated himself and brought the cup to his lips. “She might be a sorceress, but there is no doubt in my mind that, whatever her failings as an individual, she channels something divine. She is…
the path to myself
.”

He was not surprised to see the disbelief in Esteban’s expression. He didn’t believe the words himself. He didn’t know them until this moment.

“Let me hear it from your lips, Alejandro. You do not wish to bed her.”

He could not say that, as much as he might wish to. “I could have a woman in my bed at the snap of my fingers.
Ay caray,
I have to work to keep women out of my bed. You know that, Esteban.”

No, she was much more important than the fleeting satisfaction of his physical desires. He would not let his own cravings, his need that could not be satisfied, destroy the most beautiful moment he had ever experienced. “You have it wrong, my dear friend.”

“Clearly,” Esteban whispered. “And I have never been so happy to be wrong. Tell me, Alejandro. What do you think this singer can do for you?”

“Possibly nothing. But I know what she represents for me.”

“And that is…?”

“She is salvation.” Under his breath Alejandro murmured, “She represents a lost life.”

“You…
love
…her, Alejandro?” Esteban stared at him, aghast.

“I detest her.” Almost as much as he detested his need of her.

“You…
what
?” Uncharacteristically, Esteban slammed his fist on the table. “For God’s sake, Alejandro, talk sense!”

“She is the most unrestrained, undisciplined woman I have ever met. I do not care for her at all. However, she has a gift.”

“Several, I should think,” Esteban murmured, his calm returned.

“Don’t you see, Esteban?” Alejandro clenched his fists as realization tumbled down around him. “For one moment in time, I might be in perfect bliss. I might be able to forget about myself and my duty. I might overcome my failings. I might be the leader of nothing and of no one. For one glorious moment I have no father destroying my country, no country to be saved, only…
peace
.”

“Why would you think this woman could do all this for you, Alejandro?” Esteban asked softly, his expression incredulous.

“Because she already has, Esteban.” His lips formed a half smile as his eyes rested on the
Sacré-Coeur
.
Softly he added, his voice distant, “
She has the power to rewrite the past
. Of that there can be no question.”

“Only God has that power, Alejandro.” Esteban shook his head.

“You are correct, Esteban. As I said, she channels the divine. Proof that the Almighty chooses the imperfect among us.”

“There is no other option.” Esteban shook his head, chuckling to himself.

“There can be no doubt that I reconnected with the pain of my childhood, if only for a moment. It is also noteworthy that I…survived.” Something unnamable had surprised him. He wondered what it was, he wanted to learn what it was.

Everything around him was new and vital. He glanced at the three silver tiers of fruit on the table, which held apples, pears, grapes, and bananas. He popped a grape into his mouth with irreverent defiance. It occurred to him that he loved traveling abroad and being able to serve himself. It would not be allowed in the Palacio Real
.

He closed his eyes as the sweet juice of the grape filled his mouth. He relished not so much the flavor of the fruit as having a moment free of self-scrutiny. He had been released from the inner torment that he had known intimately since that terrible day.

He was not free. He might never be free. But he had turned a corner, and neither the memory nor the pain would ever again have the same hold over him. He had faced his fears—he had lived them—and he no longer needed to exert energy to suppress them.

They were welcome to come and fight him in person. Never again would he hide.

But he wanted more than to courageously face his tormenter.
I want to
live
.

Nicolette Genevieve was the key bearer. Her heart might be black, but for whatever reason, God had entrusted her with the key to his soul, and he would not, could not, let her go until he knew the extent of her reach.

He had never craved anything so much in his life.

“Dining with a beautiful woman can do you no harm, Alejandro.” Esteban studied him with great interest as he took a puff on his pipe. “It hasn’t yet, at any rate.”