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

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  His sincerity was contagious. All raised their glasses, though the mood was decidedly somber.

  “Speaking of alliances,” infused Madame Loubet, her elaborate coiffure bobbing, “when can we expect to see a royal wedding, Your Highness?” She smiled with the expression of someone who wished approval.

  “I hope that I may count you among my guests, Madame Loubet, when that happy event occurs,” Alejandro replied, bestowing his most charming smile upon her despite his discomfiture. He found the attacks on his person and his country, as angry as they made him, easier to contemplate than his marriage, which could not be long delayed. The necessity of forming a prestigious alliance was critical to Spain’s future.

  “I thank you for the honor, Your Highness.” Madame Loubet beamed. “Nothing would please me more.”

  “And may one inquire who is to be the bride?” asked Madame Delcassé.

  Alejandro felt some easiness beside him and turned to glance at Nicolette, who busied herself rearranging raspberries atop her crème brûlée even as one escaped below the table.

  “I am not yet betrothed, so you cannot expect me to disclose the name of my intended, Madame Delcassé,” replied Alejandro, attempting to extend his most charming smile upon the ladies.

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Madame Loubet touched her painted index finger to her lips, smiling with delight.

  “One wishes your father a long and prosperous reign,” remarked Prime Minister Combes stiffly, “but when you are king, might we then expect to see a separation of church and state?”

  “I hope I shall never live to see the separation of church and state in Spain.” Alejandro laughed at the absurdity of it. “A godless country is an empty reward.”

  Nicolette glanced at him sideways, and there could be little doubt of her views on the subject. He found it astonishing that she held her tongue.

  “It does not necessarily follow that such a separation results in a godless country,” stated Combes.

  “Prime Minister Combes, through your efforts nearly ten thousand religious schools have been closed in France. Thousands of priests and nuns fled France rather than risk persecution. What impact do you think this has on religion?”

  Monsieur Combes smiled proudly, clearly pleased with the outcome.

  “I completely agree with the separation of church and state,” stated Nicolette, managing to add a raspberry to her spoon. “The church should not be running the country.”

  Ah, there it is. He had to wait a full thirty seconds.

  “That is a view I can respect, but I do not approve of the methods utilized, which were no less than the massacre of religion.” Alejandro was surprising himself. He was remarkably opinionated this evening.

  “It was a very sad affair.” Lady Ravensdale stood and gently interjected with a smile, “Let us continue our conversation in the parlor. As you know, it is our English custom, and we are blessed to have the exceptionally talented Lady Nicolette as our private performer. Shall we retire to the sitting room for coffee, drinks, and music?”

  Alejandro smiled. This was sure to be the highlight of an uncomfortable evening.

  “I cannot think of anything I would like better,” remarked Madame Loubet.

  Precisely his thoughts.

  “I will be just a moment,” Lady Ravensdale added. “I promised my son he could attend the musical portion of our dinner party.”

  Alejandro saw certain eyebrows raised, but to his way of thinking there was nothing odd about putting family, and especially one’s children, first. It might not be true in his family, but it was completely consistent with Spanish culture.

  They removed to a striking but far-from-grand parlor, small and intimate, primarily peach in tone with ecru molding, a crystal chandelier in the middle of the room. The white marble fireplace displaying a painting of Lady Ravensdale and Nicolette at an early age caught the eye first, bronze candle sconces accenting each side of the painting. The piano was a lavish rosewood Bechstein. The flowers were yellow, dark orange, rose, lavender, and plum, bringing out the colors of a hand-woven Aubusson rug in dark orange, plum, and light blue under a stone table. Off to the side was a tea and coffee service along with an assortment of pastries.

  He liked the room. Everything about the home and the family was warm.

  Hot, at times.

  As Alejandro watched Nicolette prepare to sing, moving her music stand next to the piano, he wondered why he could not keep his tongue in check whenever she was present. He had always been able to refrain from speech if it furthered his purposes.

  Despite being forced to converse with others, his eyes continually returned to Nicolette, everything about her drawing him to her. The copper spangled fringe flapped against her ivory arms from a lavender satin armband, and lavender chiffon floated about her as she walked, the elaborate embroidery catching the light. Her eyes were like jewels in a mystic sea, and his eyes sought to meet hers.

  She held everything he hoped for in her hands. God had played a very strange joke on him. Lady Nicolette did not like him, and yet she was his path to the divine.

  They were as incompatible as could be imagined. He smiled to himself, reflecting that as long as they were not speaking to each other they were on the best of terms.

  She moved toward him.

  What was her purpose in approaching him? To kick him, stab him, or insult him? Or all three?

  “Your Highness, let me show you to your seat.”

  “Of course.” He followed her, almost stumbling, and his hand touched hers for a moment.

  What is my affliction? He was like a schoolboy, as if he had never known a woman.

  “Your Highness, please,” she murmured under her breath, mischief in her eyes. “I thought we agreed that there would be no touching.”

  “I beg you will forgive me, Lady Nicolette, as I will forgive you for kicking me.”

  “That is very good of you, Your Highness, but I will not forgive you.”

  “That is no surprise, Lady Nicolette. It would be too civilized on your part.”

  “I cannot forgive you because you feel no remorse.”

  “You were on the stage in front of hundreds of strangers flaunting your…your…” He had perfect control of himself except when in the company of this woman. He smiled at something that was said before returning to her. “And I am to be blamed for not thinking you a prim and proper lady? You gave a performance which was the most sensuous performance I have ever beheld. Every man in the room felt it.”

  “It was a role, a part,” she seethed, turning toward him, flame in her eyes.

  “Ah, I see. I understand now. It wasn’t real.” He straightened his white tie and the pale-blue sash across his torso, feeling his hand shaking even as he envisioned her performance. “Believe me, it felt real.”

  “Of course it was real. It was…it was…”

  “Furthermore, I meant no slight to the music, far from it. I am mortified for having been less than perceptive and for having overlooked my duty.”

  “Your duty, Prince Alejandro?” she repeated, the rage spreading from her eyes across her face.

  “Mama, did we miss anything?” he heard in that piercing, high-pitched voice that children utilized when they were attempting to speak softly.

  “No, dear, of course not. We wouldn’t start without you. But after this it’s straight to bed.” Lady Ravensdale returned with her son, completely dressed in his Sunday best in something resembling a Lord Fauntleroy suit. His black curls were unruly, and his sapphire-blue eyes twinkled with excitement, but he was otherwise in excellent behavior. Alejandro wished he could say the same for some of the other guests.

  “Yes, Mama.” It warmed his heart to see such a happy child. At the same time he felt a strange ache as he inevitably did around children.

  “Nicolette, are you ready?” Lady Ravensdale asked, but it appeared to be more of a command.

  Alejandro turned to see Esteban, who was standing against the wall, motioning tha
t he preferred to stay there.

  Even though he did his best to ignore her, Nicolette gave him one last look of daggers before regally advancing to the podium while her mother gracefully glided to the piano. The child moved to sit in Lord Ravensdale’s lap.

  He smiled, the family scene before him so sweet, so…

  What is this? As she began to sing, he sat up in his chair abruptly. It was the piece he loved so well, Mimi’s song.

  My pastime

  is making lilies and roses.

  I love all things

  that have gentle magic,

  That talk of love, of spring,

  that talk of dreams and fancies—

  The things called poetry…

  No, it couldn’t be. As he listened, it was hauntingly familiar. Too familiar. His hand dropped to the arm of his chair abruptly.

  His heart began pounding uncontrollably as he watched her. Suddenly he remembered that her teacup had been shaking as she lowered it to the table in Le Meurice. He had thought it odd at the time.

  Of course. She was the daughter of a diplomat, and she had traveled the world.

  They had met before.

  No, they had never met. But his soul had met hers and been reawakened.

  She caught his eyes, and he knew that she knew the moment comprehension dawned. Why hadn’t she told him?

  She retrieved her lace handkerchief embroidered in flowers, showed it to the audience, and then caressed her cheek with it, closing her eyes. He felt his own begin to tear.

  But when spring comes

  The sun’s first rays are mine.

  April’s first kiss is mine!

  I cannot bear for her to mean even more to me than she already does.

  He did not want a woman who never told the truth to be this close. She was never honest with him.

  As her lips opened and closed, he should have felt nothing. Instead, he felt everything as his emotions swirled around him.

  And yet the moment of deliverance that he desired, the instant explosion, did not come.

  And he knew why. Not because he was angry with her—that was a given with Nicolette. Because he could not help but be aware that there were so many other people in the room. People he must impress, people to whom he must not be seen as weak or, far worse, peculiar. He could not experience the music as he felt it.

  He dared not.

  The concert was more torture than delight because he approached salvation but only looked at it through a foggy glass, like a poor child longing for the Christmas toys on the other side of a store window while knowing they were not for him.

  In an instant he was granted a revelation. He suddenly knew with a certainty that he could be himself, experience himself, alone with Nicolette. He did not know why, but he was now sure of it—and just as sure that she would not use his reaction against him.

  In this, at least, he could trust her. It would stay between them forever.

  She might be a lot of disagreeable things, but she did not care for his money, she had no use for him—this was a novel experience!—and she was as proud as he was in the defense of her character and honor.

  And she would never betray the music.

  In realizing that he trusted her where it now mattered most to him, he who trusted so few people, the inexplicable hope in his heart was fanned. His conviction grew that if she sang for him privately there would be a turning point to his life.

  He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything since he had prayed to be reunited with his parents. At that time, his prayers had not been answered, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Prince Alejandro hoped with all his heart that this was different.

  The concert complete, he stood to move toward her and her entourage when he noted the embroidered handkerchief still lying on the floor. He bent to pick it up and extended his hand to her.

  She reached out her hand, but instead of taking the handkerchief she closed his hand around the cloth without speaking, even as she turned and addressed a question.

  Unobtrusively, he placed the delicately embroidered fabric in his pocket, hoping that the time had come for the answer to his prayers.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My strong box

  is robbed of all its jewels

  by two thieves

  A pair of pretty eyes

  They came in now with you

  and all my lovely dreams,

  my dreams of the past

  were soon stolen away

  —Giacomo Puccini, La Bohème

  The applause had been as robust as a dignified dinner party would allow, and Nicolette deigned to sing another. He was grateful, as it gave him time to regain his composure.

  Not enough time.

  “Mother said that you would like a tour of the house, Prince Alejandro.” Nicolette approached him after her performance, disrupting his reverie.

  “Indeed, I would,” he replied stiffly. He nodded and bowed, feeling strangely uncomfortable at the thought of being alone with her.

  Lavender chiffon floating about her, she led him past the fountain in the entryway down a long hallway of pebbles laid in stone. She pointed out various rooms and paintings until they reached an almost-hidden room overlooking a garden and an outdoor fountain.

  “This is Father’s favorite room. He finds it very peaceful.”

  “I can see why, Lady Nicolette,” he remarked, somewhat awestruck. It was almost as if they had stepped through an enchanted mirror into Arthurian times with modern decorations added. As with every other room in the house, color, vitality, and a life fully lived were in evidence.

  The library was painted in hunter green combined with mahogany wood paneling halfway up the wall. Above the paneling were endless built-in bookcases filled with every manner of reading material, some of the books appearing to be antiques, as was a Persian rug underneath the coffee table.

  A leather chair sat next to a stone fireplace in full flame. Also filling the room with warmth was a large mahogany desk, an old-world globe, a grandfather clock chiming the hour, a leather sofa, statues of horses and deep-red flowers.

  “But it indisputably is a working room as well,” he added.

  “My father used this sword in combat.” She pointed to a large sword framing a painting over the fireplace.

  “The Princess Royals?” he asked, studying the painting.

  “Yes, the 7th Dragoon Guards.”

  As he scrutinized the wall hangings, he observed a black-and-white photograph of the Dalai Lama and yet another painting of Lady Ravensdale and her two children. Next to the fireplace was a painting of an Arabian family also absent the father, a mother and two children. A bugle hung next to the painting.

  “What is it, Prince Alejandro? Why does my father’s study make you so silent?”

  “It’s all very startling somehow in its simplicity.” Wood floors, area rugs, antique furniture, rocks, lots of rocks, fountains, running water, and plants.

  “Startling? I don’t quite take your meaning.”

  “The palace…” he managed to utter, “consists of the most lavish surroundings imaginable, and I find myself wondering…”

  “Wondering what, Your Highness?”

  “What it would be like to have a home of my own.”

  “Is not the palace your home? It must be ten times larger than this house.”

  “Much larger than that.” He chuckled, waving his hand.

  “Prince Alejandro,” she murmured as she moved closer to him. Somehow she reduced those lush, full lips into a narrow smile. “You have piqued my curiosity.”

  “And you mine, Lady Nicolette.”

  “You mentioned your ‘duty’ at dinner.”

  “Was that before or after you kicked me? I forget.”

  “I am simply mortified, Your Highness.” It was evident that their brief interlude of tranquil harmony had passed. The mystical magic of the room’s decor had managed to overcome their incompatibility for all of thirty
seconds. “Ladies’ shoes are so uncomfortable these days, I had been on my feet all day in that profession we don’t like to speak of, and sometimes the muscles rebel. I am certain you have seen the same condition in…your horses?”

  “Not with such force.”

  “And yet,” she added contemplatively as she swayed provocatively to the window. “Now, as I recall the situation, it does occur to one that you thought me a woman of no virtue who could be bought, when I am, in fact, British nobility. And yet how quickly I became a nonentity in the insult to my person, and how quickly your mistaken conclusion became about you. And your duty.”

  “Forgive me for not keeping the conversation entirely about you, Lady Nicolette. It must be unusual in the circle with which you surround yourself.”

  She turned abruptly to look at him, copper fringe spangles flying, her arms resting on the back of a leather chair against the fireplace, but her countenance was nonplussed. Only her knitted eyebrows revealed any deviance from conviviality. She moved closer to him, and it seemed the room was suddenly overwarm and more convivial than he would wish. He rested his hand casually on her father’s desk.

  “It does not occur to you that I am owed an apology, Prince Alejandro?” Her eyes were flashing.

  “Are you quite serious, Lady Nicolette? Illustrate to me how it is done.”

  “Prince Alejandro,” she sighed heavily, as if she were dealing with a five-year-old. “Discovering who I am must be a revelation of enormous proportions to you, and yet no mention is made of this. Instead, all I hear is a lamenting of your image, your duty.” She tapped her hand on the desk impatiently, her sea-green eyes cool as they stared at him unwaveringly. Sometimes they were the color of emeralds, but now they seemed lighter and yet deeper, like the color of the Mediterranean—illusory home to mermaids, sunken treasures, and pirates.

  The faint scent of the sea reached his nostrils, and he was suddenly lost in those eyes. She leaned toward him, affording him an incomparable view of milky-white breasts framed in copper and lavender.