The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (52 page)

Her eyes were glued to the scene before her, and she wondered that she was able to breathe. It was thrilling beyond anything she had ever seen.

Enacted before her eyes was man’s fight to hold onto life against a ferocious beast determined to deprive him of it. He moved with the grace and beauty of a dancer. The difference being that he faced death with each performance.

The bull lunged forward, certain to gore Rafael. He pulled the cape closer to his body, and just as the beast seemed certain to collide with the cape, Rafael spun around, the result being that the bull twisted into empty space like a twirling top.

“
Olé!”
Involuntarily, the crowd jumped to their feet in unison, simultaneously clapping, shouting, and waving their arms.

Time stood still as she watched the entrancing fluidity of Rafael’s movement, traveling at the speed of lightning in the last possible instant. As if he were not placing himself in enough danger in facing the bull, Rafael strutted toward the audience with his back to the bull in an arrogant display of boredom, swinging the cape with one hand and yawning with the other.

There was a collective “
Gasp!”
In an instant the bull was curved around Rafael’s waist, his horns inches from Rafael’s body. As the snorting, lunging beast attacked him again and again, each of Rafael’s calculated movements was an exquisite balance of art and conqueror. To combine battle with art, with such exquisite beauty of movement, all in a matter of seconds, set off an explosion of wonder and excitement in Nicolette’s mind. It was, quite literally, a man walking a tightrope between life and death before her eyes.

“And what was your opinion, Señorita Nicolette?” Alejandro moved to sit beside her. “Is it as you expected?”

“It is magnificent.” Thrilled and breathless, Nicolette shook her head, placing her hand over her heart.

“And do you still not approve of our bullfight?”

“I do not.” She let out a long sigh, staring straight ahead. “But no one who has seen Rafael in the ring can deny his extraordinary talent.”

“True.”

“But in the bullfight, the bull will be killed, will he not?” She could not help but turn toward Alejandro, her heart pounding.

“Yes, ideally with one stab of the sword.” His eyes rested on hers, softening as he saw that she had finally met his eyes. “The audience never condones a lingering death for the bull.”

“I understand that it doesn’t always happen that way.” She frowned, returning her gaze to the ring. “In fact, the bull suffers horribly. Is not the bull stabbed even before the arrival of the matador on the scene to weaken it and to enrage the beast?”

“Yes, with banderillas, literally ‘little flags’ decorated with colored paper, placed on the bull’s flanks. These further weaken the enormous ridges of neck and shoulder muscle, causing loss of blood while also frequently spurring the bull into making ferocious charges.”

“No doubt it makes the bull angry to be stabbed.” Nicolette shook her head in disgust, turning to study the bulls in the pen. “Even despite the unfavorable odds, sometimes the bull lives, does he not?”

“The bull’s final fate is decided by the president of the arena.” Alejandro nodded, seeming to caress her cheeks with his eyes. The words came out, but he seemed a thousand miles away, it seemed to Nicolette. “
If the matador performed well, he is allowed to cut off one of the bull’s ears and toss it into the crowd. If he showed unusual bravery and showmanship, both ears are cut off and sometimes the tail as well. And yet, the crowd can override the decision of the president of the arena and spare the bull’s life if the bull has shown great courage.
”

“How benevolent,” Nicolette pronounced with a shaky voice.

“It is more honorable than the British foxhunt, in my opinion. There is no real courage required to chase and slaughter a small animal with the aid of dogs and guns, sitting high atop a horse. And yet
we
are proclaimed to be barbaric.” He laughed heartily.

“Shall you aspire to be no worse than everyone else then?”

“Every culture has its outlet for violence. Reform your own countrymen and let the Spanish have their culture, Señorita Nicolette.”

“I only ask you to consider. Everything desired can be achieved without killing the bull. As it was today. Rafael did not kill the bull, and yet he both faced death and showed enormous courage. Much more courage, in fact, because the bull was not weakened. Killing an animal and finding sport in its pain diminishes rather than adds to one’s manliness.”

“It seems a subject of great interest to you, Señorita Nicolette.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Manliness? Indeed it is.”

“Actually, I was referring to the bull.”

“By all means, then, let us discuss the topic of interest to you, Your Majesty.” She smiled as sweetly as she could muster. “I shall address the subject of interest to me at some time when you are not present and will not be bored by it.”

“Do I have any volunteers?” Rafael suddenly reappeared even as the two-year-old bulls were paraded about the ring, younger and with shorter horns. He illustrated with the cape even as he spoke. “Matadors will assist and hold one side of the cape. Although it is safe if performed correctly, you must remember that the bull is still an unpredictable, wild animal.”

“I held the cape closer to my body than is wise in an attempt to create more drama,” he continued. “You must hold the cape
here
.” Being an entertainer, she understood his ploy. He was attempting to walk that fine line between danger and showmanship, walking the line like a trapeze artist without a net. Several toreadors misjudged that line every year and paid the ultimate price. But in that instant, none of the precautions loomed paramount in her head, only the beauty and the thrill of it.

The first volunteers held the other side of the cape opposite the matador, some losing their nerve and releasing their side when the bull got near. They had been instructed not to run, but one man took off like a flash of lightning. All seemed relieved when their short display came to a close.

“So shall we call a truce, Nicolette?” she heard Alejandro ask her, almost in a whisper.

“You went to great pains to bring me here, Alejandro.” She stared straight ahead. “Why? So that I might worship you from afar? So that we might discuss the respective merits of British and Spanish sporting events?”

“So that we might share some time together, Nicolette.” He turned her face toward him with both hands and looked into her eyes. She was glad that she was sitting instead of standing. “It is not
enough
, I know that, too. Shall we throw it all away because it isn’t perfect?”

“Perfect? We are like two islands in different oceans.”

“I shouldn’t have, it was selfish of me, but I couldn’t help myself.” He looked away. “I still can’t.”

“
Alejandro
.” She kept her eyes downcast or she knew she wouldn’t be able to get through it. “I want you to completely show yourself to me. To trust me. To be with me. I want…
you
. And when it is over and we return to our separate lives, I want to forever carry something of you with me.”

She heard no response. She glanced at his face, turned from her. He was like a stone.

It was pointless
. He would never comprehend her or their situation. And conversation had done absolutely nothing to advance his comprehension, even though she had shown him her heart.

“Would anyone else like to try?” Rafael offered loudly, smiling and twirling his cape. “Our next bull is ideal for the novice. He keeps his eyes on the cape.”

She turned to study him. His expression was sincere, and his deep-brown eyes were so bloody inviting. Once again he was drawing her in only to reject her. It was inevitable.

She had offered herself to him, and he had tossed her aside. He had refused her, making what should have been a beautiful moment demeaning and empty. From the moment of their meeting, he had made every decision that concerned the two of them, forcing his will on every encounter, inching her into nothingness. Theirs was a relationship comprised of one person: one pompous, inflated, high-handed, self-proclaimed god who took up so much space that she had ceased to exist.

The indignation welled up inside of her that he would not see her, would not acknowledge her, and she wished she might burst. She was a mere contrivance in his mind, not a living, breathing woman.

And she would be controlled by no man.

“I will taste everything life has to offer with or without you.” She raised her eyebrows, casting her most disdainful glance at Alejandro. “You cannot both direct everything and everyone and live a life, Alejandro.”

I am done with words
. She stood too quickly, feeling the effect of the wine slightly. “Excuse me a moment, Your Majesty. I need to powder my nose.” She dismissed him as she moved toward the ring. She had no problem walking, she was merely a little light-headed and feeling invincible.

Alejandro stood abruptly, appearing stunned. In an instant he seemed to realize her intention, almost disbelieving his eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him running toward the ring. He reached the gate just as she was entering the ring.

“Lady Nicolette,
please
, I beg you not to attempt this.” Bearing his private thoughts appeared to cause him enormous embarrassment. She was gratified that he knew her intent to be serious. For once, she had managed to get through to him.

“I shall leave you to your discussions, Your Majesty,” she replied sweetly as she waved. She proceeded into the holding area, and there was some visible discomfort and murmuring as everyone could readily see that the king did not wish her to go.

Rafael looked at the king and then at her, trying to dissuade her. She grabbed one side of the cape. He maintained his grip on the other side of the cape, smiling at her resolve. “I shall help you, Señorita Nicolette.”

“No, Señor Ortega. I wish to do it alone.” She shook her head, feeling both confident and defiant. She pulled the flashy pink-and-yellow
capote
from his fingers. “I have been watching closely, and I comprehend how it is done.”

She swung the cape back and forth as she had seen Rafael do, and she was satisfied that she was imitating the master passably well. There was applause from the crowd, and Rafael gave her an approving nod. She turned with confidence toward the opening where the bull would be released.

Chapter Thirty-Five

What’s done cannot be undone.

—
Gioachino Rossini,
The Barber of Seville

Holy Mother!
Nicolette opened her mouth wide as she gasped in terror. This was no young bull but the son of a maniacal killer. His horns might not be as long as a full-grown bull’s, but they were perfectly capable of putting a period to her life! The gigantic black beast charged into the ring, snorting as he stormed past her former seat on the side of the ring. As he blew through his nose and pawed the ground, charging invisible foes at will, she suddenly felt very sober indeed.

Move! Move! You must move!
But she was frozen where she stood. Everything she had believed about her courage and ability was suddenly brought to question.
She could not even save herself!
She felt her heart racing as the bull circled the empty arena looking for something to kill, charging at full speed.

And then he spotted her
.

She had longed to be visible. And now she longed with all her heart to be invisible.

Oh, no
. In an instant she was the focal point of his world. He had one and only one object.
To pulverize her
. Before or after he had killed her, it made no difference to him.