The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (48 page)

Yes

On the stroke of midnight

with all my heart’s devotion

I’ll wait for you, my dear

—
Gioachino Rossini,
The Barber of Seville

Nicolette felt her heart beating faster when she saw Alejandro. Entering the Gala Dining Room of the Palacio Real, she saw that he was dressed in evening wear like every other man in the room—and any stranger would have quickly known the identity of the king.

He was physically formidable. His regal stance furthered the impression he gave of being fearless. And it was evident that he was of a singular mindset—he would not suffer fools gladly nor would he allow anyone to stand in his way. Not if it had anything to do with Spain.

Those who knew him knew that Alejandro de Bonifácio lived for this role—nothing else—and only death could separate him from it. He had been through hell to get to this point, and there was nothing further anyone could do to him.

He stood near his place at the head table, regal and commanding, but his eyes searched the room until he found her. He seemed almost frozen in time as she was led to her place beside him. This only served to make her heart beat relentlessly faster.

Where was the training which had taught her to reduce her heartbeat with her breath? If she had been able to breathe, she would no doubt take advantage of that training.

If it had not been for his burning gaze as he watched her, she might have thought the king to be a statue. When a slow, sultry smile formed on his lips, her hands began to shake slightly. She, who was always in control.

No longer
. She took her place beside him at the table after curtseying.

“Señorita Nicolette.” He took her hand and kissed it, holding it longer than protocol dictated. “You look exceptionally beautiful this evening.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And how is your room? If you are lacking in any comfort, please let me know personally.”

“Comfortable? My room is enormous—and so opulent.”

“Yes, but do you like it?”

“It is almost oppressive,” she blurted.

He chuckled, his brown eyes suddenly twinkling as he nodded his chin slightly. When he was amused all the harshness in his look dissolved away, and there was an almost-boyish look to his expression. Ordinarily he was so attentive that his eyes pierced her soul as he gazed upon her. It never ceased to amaze her that he could switch from fierce to warm in an instant. “The entire palace is. Shall I have something removed from your room, Lady Nicolette?”

I would like to have something added to it.
She swallowed hard. “Do you think it would reduce the impact, Your Majesty? The walls and chairs are lined in a lime-green silk. Gold-filigree designs accent the point where the walls meet the ceiling. A crystal chandelier hangs from the middle of the room. A canopy bed twenty-feet high with red velvet curtains is somewhat startling. And paintings! People staring at one as one attempts to sleep.”

“One always feels watched in the palace.” He was clearly having difficulty containing his laughter, although he was making a halfhearted attempt. “And sometimes it is difficult to separate the paintings from the real people.”

“Everything screams, ‘Look at me!’” She giggled.

“Would you like me to have the paintings removed, Lady Nicolette?”

“Oh, no, of course not.” She raised her eyebrows, startled by his offer to alter his ancestral home. “Honestly, someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to lighten the heaviness. There are white roses and white lilies-of-the-valley everywhere.” As if adding white could soften the impact.

“I always think white roses become you, Señorita,” he remarked softly.

“I must say that it is quite an honor to be in the room. It must have belonged to a person of great importance.”

“It was Charles III’s wife’s quarters.”

“Maria Amalia of Saxony?”

He nodded.

“But then…that must mean…” She bit her lip. She leaned near to him and whispered, “I cannot help but notice that I seem to be very near to your quarters, Your Maj—Alejandro.”

“Your room is next to mine,” he remarked matter-of-factly, as if he had just announced that a fruit basket had been specially prepared for her. Rather than appearing embarrassed, his eyes sparkled with amusement. The surprise on her face must have shown, because he smiled. In low tones he added, “Never fear, you are quite safe. There is a lock on your door. And I revere you too much to dishonor you.”

She found herself strangely disappointed to learn it. And, indeed, he did appear to be quite in control of himself and yet comfortable in his new role of ruling a country.

His calm facade in the light of the giddiness she felt exasperated her. She never had a moment’s uncertainty around other men. She was the one who led them about as if they had rings in their noses.

How could her heart be fluttering and he feel nothing in her presence? As if he were conversing with a painting instead a living, breathing woman who had the ability to turn men’s heads if she so chose.

Other men
. Not Alejandro. He was indifferent to her charms. He had always been indifferent to her charms, even when she had increased them tenfold over that which she utilized with other men. This was the primary source of her aggravation with him. Her
only
source, she reflected, as she gazed into his eyes. He had never wanted her as she had wanted him

“Why then did you place my room next to yours, Your Majesty, if your intentions are so honorable?” she asked under her breath, smiling while she looked straight ahead. He never saw her for who she was—he never seemed to see her at all. Her heart beat faster and faster, anxious for his answer.

“I like the idea that you are near to me, Señorita Nicolette, nothing more devious than that.” His strongly defined facial features remained immobile. Nothing moved but his lips. “And if I should catch a glimpse of you on the balcony in the moonlight, or overhear you singing with a nightingale, all the better.”

Nicolette closed her eyes momentarily. This man would drive her to insanity. He didn’t want her. And he reached for her in a way that would have made a weaker woman faint.

He made love to her with his words
. She had never before been the recipient of such mixed messages, and between the longing she felt in Alejandro’s presence, the impossibility of their situation, and the utterly inconsistent way he treated her, it was sure to cause her to burst.

Just when she thought she could be annoyed no further, the queen mother arrived and stood on the other side Alejandro. The disapproving royal wearing a pale-yellow chiffon confection, a tiara, and heavy topaz jewelry frowned when she saw her son’s companion. Nicolette curtseyed, smiling to herself. If she did not seek to find amusement from the situation, she would no doubt pull her hair out in hysteria.

The queen clearly disapproved of her red silk evening gown as she ran her eyes over Nicolette, an assessment that was completely unfair in the younger woman’s mind. She knew that her gown was far less elaborate than most of the other dresses—resplendent with bows and frills and flounces and lace—but she was inclined to think that a simple design showed her to best advantage. Why was it wrong that she should look her best when everyone else was trying ten times harder to flaunt themselves?

The vibrant red dress was low-cut and formfitting, hugging her figure to just below her hips, where it flared out. Satin rosettes accented her bosom and thin sleeves formed a band around her arms, leaving her shoulders bare. She wore red lace gloves, a white pearl choker, and drop pearls at her ears. Her coal-black hair was arranged in an elegant “Gibson Girl” style, and pearls were placed throughout her coiffure. She thought that she looked well enough—and certainly undeserving of censure.

Turning her eyes from the queen’s haughty stare, as she had no need to receive it nor to return it, she searched her surroundings, concluding that the Gala Dining Room was one of the more elegant rooms in the palace. It was certainly ostentatious, with a table that seated one hundred and twenty-eight people. There were the characteristic countless chandeliers, arches, candle wall sconces, fancy wooden inlay flooring, and heavy brocaded red curtains. And yet the colors were more subdued, predominantly red and brown. The comfortable chairs were well cushioned in beige velvet. It was overall elegant and lovely.

After the king and queen were seated, everyone else followed suit. Seated next to Alejandro at dinner, she found it difficult to keep her eyes from him. She seemed to know every breath he took, even when she made conversation with Lady Elaina, now seated next to her, or with Rafael G
ó
mez Ortega, Spain’s most famous matador, seated across from her, and with Señor Esteban, seated next to Rafael.

Rafael was lithe and graceful, and yet Nicolette had readily seen that he was solid muscle, especially in his legs and buttocks, which he was at no pains to hide in his formfitting clothing. She would have taken him for a dancer if it weren’t for the giveaway—his golden caramel skin clearly tanned by the sun, striking against his white tuxedo shirt. He had masculine features, white teeth, a strong square jaw, a wonderful sense of humor, considerable charisma, and was as charming as he was virile. Ordinarily she would have taken great pleasure in his company, but everything seemed a distraction in Alejandro’s presence.

“Matadors have the status of gods in Spain,” Lady Elaina whispered in her ear, observing her eyes following Rafael.

“Generally far more loved than even royalty by the Spanish people,” she replied under her breath. She was well acquainted with the enormous tables that allowed for such private tête-à-têtes, even among company. The noise of one hundred and twenty-eight was just at a level where privacy could almost be assured. “Rafael is, in fact, dashing and charming, with a wonderful sense of humor in addition to his masculine good looks. I have no doubt that women go wild for him.”

“It appears that the feeling may be mutual in your case,” Lady Elaina remarked with a nod of her chin and a sly smile, motioning her eyes to Rafael.

Nicolette wanted to scream, knowing the truth of her grandmother’s words. Why couldn’t she turn off her ability to attract in one direction and increase it in another? Though another woman might have reveled in receiving the attention of both of these men, the king of Spain and the nation’s leading matador, Nicolette hated every moment that she was not conversing with Alejandro.

She shook her head in disgust at herself! She had long known how to fuel a man’s jealousy, and she had been reduced to a stupid schoolgirl in Alejandro’s presence.

“What is wrong, my dear girl?” Lady Elaina patted her hand under the table.

“I do not
know
, Grandmamma!” she whispered in the quietest tones she could manage. “Even as a child, I was never
childish
in my deportment, and yet I cannot seem to take my eyes from Alejandro.”

“You are certainly not alone in
that
, my love.” Lady Elaina chuckled as she exercised her ventriloquist skills, smiling at those around her simultaneously in a practiced manner.

Nicolette stole yet another glance at Alejandro, even when it became clear that Rafael was attempting to gain her attention.

She knew better than this. This was madness. She didn’t wish to be in love with a monarch, and her profession meant the world to her. No matter—marriage was out of the question for him, and she would be no man’s paramour.

Or would I?
As her eyes remained fixed on Alejandro, she began to feel that life without Alejandro would be strangely devoid of color. A child’s single musical piece instead of a symphony.

Life was meant to be a masterpiece.