The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (43 page)

She shivered to recall his expression, as if it were torture for him to send her away. She felt her body tingle as she envisioned his chocolate-brown eyes, begging her to stay, saying that he wanted her desperately.

At the same time she had been escorted from the opulent room.

Throwing the English-rose-and-olive covers from her bed, she stretched her legs out before her. She pushed her way through the sheer mauve chiffon extending from the ring canopy some eight feet overhead. Throwing on her pale-aqua India-silk dressing gown, she began pacing the room, the box pleat at the back of the gown creating a train of sorts.

As she walked, the wide lace frills extending from the gold bands at her elbows flapped back and forth, tickling her arms. Hurriedly, she opened her bedroom curtains, rang for her morning tea and toast, and moved to sit at her dressing table.

I do not know myself anymore
. Gazing at her reflection in the gilded mirror, she tapped her fingers on her dressing table. The aquamarine eyes staring back at her had a touch of mischief in them, it seemed to her.

What could I have been thinking
? She had been ready to bed a man who would not marry her. She had never in her life stooped so low as to throw herself at a man.

She watched a slow, sensuous smile come to her lips in the reflection.
And I would do it again
.

Glancing out her window, she caught a view of the statue of Saint Genevi
è
ve, a virgin consecrated to God from her earliest childhood.

Nicolette shook her head. She had nothing in common with her namesake.

And yet she could not take her eyes from the gentleness somehow hammered into the stone. Saint Genevi
è
ve had guided kings, fed the poor, performed miracles, cast out demons, and even stood firm before the Franks and Attila the Hun.

Bravery she could muster. Virginity? That was something she was anxious to part with. As long as the recipient was Alejandro.

No one else
.

Nicolette stood abruptly and paced the room, overcome with the memory of his gentle touch upon her skin, so at odds with the ferocity of the need in his expression.

She hugged herself. Every inch of her had tingled as he kissed her, and her skin shivered again as she recalled his kiss. She had never felt this way about any other man.

Why have I pursued a man I have no hope of winning?
Returning to her mirror, she attempted to remind herself of who she was and how impossible this situation was.

Was it because he rejected her on every level that she sought him out? In bedding him, she could only increase her pain. If the connection was deep now to the point of torment, would it not be more so afterwards?

Possibly something worse. Once a man relieved his urges, he often lost respect for the woman. Deplorable but true. She was playing with something powerful she didn’t understand.

Oh!
She clenched her fists, cradling her head and closing her eyes. Love should not be painful.

Alejandro’s face came to her mind and she opened her eyes, as if it might will him before her. In his pushing her away, did she take it as a challenge and determine that she would make him see her? Was she determined to break through his barrier?

She was setting herself up for failure.

Nicolette shook her head slowly, showing her staunch disagreement with her mirrored image. Alejandro might not be fully alive, but he had certainly brought her to life. He had this effect on people, and when they responded to him, he felt none of it. No, she did not pursue the prince for the challenge, though he certainly posed a great challenge.

She pursued him because her heart would allow her to do nothing else.

Tap-tap-tap
. It sounded like her maid at the door.

“Come in.” Emily set tea and toast on a table adorned with a vase of pink peonies beside the view window. “Thank you.” Nicolette smiled.

Emily curtseyed and turned to leave when Nicolette heard herself speaking. “Emily, are you happy here?”

“Yes, ma’rm. It be the best job I hae ever had. All me family be so proud.”

“May I be so bold as to ask, do you have a young man?”

“Yes, ma’rm.” Emily smiled wider. “He ’ar a footman. We be engaged to be married in a yar ’ar so.”

“Is he a fine young man?” Nicolette asked.

“Cracking.” Emily nodded, her expression suddenly shy.

“I wish you very happy.” Nicolette sighed.

“Thank ye, ma’rm.” Emily curtseyed again and left the room.

The sun streamed through the window. She loved the morning sun. Combined with the fact that her wallpaper was almost gold in tone, it was so wonderful to wake up to. She sat down at the table and began buttering her toast, followed by a thin layer of strawberry jam. She poured cream in her tea and took the first heavenly sip of the warm liquid.

The scent of the tea and cream and strawberries wafted up to meet her nose. Nicolette glanced at the painting that depicted a scene from
La Bohème
, the young Bohemians. Starving artists. Full of life, fervor, and love. Their dreams as real to them as their friends, and their friends more dear to them than their possessions. All one needed to be happy in life.

Had she thrown herself at Alejandro because she was determined that he should be
awake
?

No, the passion she had sought was not for him. It was for
her
. She did not wish to marry—her love of music held her captive—but she wanted this one experience of rapture. And she wanted it with Alejandro, no one else.

She might never want another man, and this was the man she wanted. As she recalled his dark hair waving over his shoulders, she shivered. There was no doubt about her choice. She wanted to have this experience where love and desire came together.

Oh, dear God
. These feelings were so new to her that she truly did not know if her reaction was licentiousness, pure and simple, which, she was ashamed to admit, did not alarm her. She loved being a passionate, spirited woman.

But
love
? That was far more frightening than the possibility of being a wanton! Alejandro de Bonifácio, the crown prince of Spain. She threw her head into her hands. She had truly gone mad.

She opened her mouth and shut it several times in amazement at herself. Could it be?

Her eyes followed the trail of the sunlight until it rested on her nightstand, where her books were piled.
The Tripitaka, the Bhagavad
Gita, the Koran, the Upanishads, the Vedas, the Bible.

All the books that people both based their lives on and utilized to determine who they would kill and hate. Did any of these books have the power to unite her with her Maker? To transform? Was this not the only goal of these writings?

Only music does this for me
. Music was her muse, her life, her reason for being, her connection to the divine.

Was she evil? Was she a lost woman?

She would make no apologies. From the moment of her birth, she had given herself fully to life. She had been open to everything, and these were the moments in which she had most felt God to be with her.

She must follow her heart above all else. In the end, if she was wrong, she would set a new course. For now she would live according to her convictions and her heart.

All anyone could do.

Why Alejandro?
Questions kept nagging at her, testing her resolution. Why not someone who could give back?

Because I sense something wonderful in Alejandro, something so far above the usual
. She sighed as she ran her fingertip gently along her lips, attempting to recapture a sensation. She bent down to smell the blossoms at her dining table. Most men she knew lived primarily for their own pleasure. Alejandro lived for the well-being of others: his entire being was devoted to it. He had a higher calling, but he had never met the Sender of the calling. He was like the obedient servant who had never entered his master’s chambers.

Prince Alejandro had yet to feel the love of the One who had sent him. He doubted himself continually, enumerating his faults as inadequate to the job.

He did not know what it was to be the beloved.

Did she love him? Or was he merely the means to an experience? Nicolette laughed, shaking her head, amused with her attempts to even fool herself.

She loved him
. There, she admitted it. But not as the love that completed her. There was only music for her.

Alejandro had refused her anyway: he would not let her in. His heart was intertwined with Spain.

She glanced at the statue of Saint Genevi
è
ve, and before her eyes the rendition that had seemed so real to her turned to stone. Cold, hard stone.

Nicolette sighed, regret filling her. She ran her finger along the rim of her cup and almost jumped from the heat radiating there.

It was a bloody shame
. They were both incredibly passionate people within an inch of each other. Rather like an eternal sleep, side by side, with their fingers almost touching.

Only she had lost her chance, and it would never come again. She could feel him drifting away even now.

As she bit her lip, she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

How can I find the words to describe her?

She is graceful

she is charming

a lovely figure

cheeks as red as roses

and long black hair

eyes that smile so sweetly...

—Gioachino Rossini,
The Barber of Seville

He looked about the terrace, and everywhere he looked he saw Nicolette, her white gown shimmering in the moonlight against the Eiffel Tower. And then he saw her in the black silk with the plunging neckline, a red rose glistening between full, creamy-white breasts.

Even when he turned away he saw her, flinging her hair and tantalizing him with her black lace shawl, much as a bullfighter tempts the bull with his red cape.

And he felt her. He felt her everywhere around him and within him, deep within his heart.

Alejandro stepped onto the terrace of the Belle Etoile, wearing his gloves while carrying his mask and foil in one hand. Esteban walked behind him, his movements swift and precise. As was traditional, Esteban, being the instructor, wore the black fencing uniform and he the white. Both wore the breeches and formfitting jackets, which made their muscular forms evident.

The full-circle terrace was ideal for a fencing match. Even with the plants lining the iron balcony there was ample width. The small trees on the terrace provided some need for awareness, as in real life, and the wooden furniture had been moved after their breakfast.

“Your Highness.”

Placing his sword on a table, he began to put on his mask when he was interrupted by the sight of Pancho at the terrace door, who clicked his heels before traversing the terrace with a penguin’s gait. The manservant then presented a telegram with a bow.