The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (12 page)

Indeed, she was dressed with less extravagance than any other woman in the room and was by far the most dazzling.

He felt his anticipation growing. It was only a matter of time until he would succeed with this beauty.

“Excuse me, please. I beg you will forgive me.” He nodded distractedly to his admirers, making a less-than-cordial exit, something he never allowed himself. Who knew whom it might offend?

But he had no choice. It was out of the question that he should lose her.

“Who is she, Pancho?” He motioned to his manservant to keep pace with him. “How is it that I have never seen her before?” He was suddenly aware of being pleased that he had come to Paris, a rare and welcome sense of anticipation.

“I don’t know who she is, Your Highness.” Pancho shook his head. “Shall I find out?”

His eyes remained fixed on the woman in black, who was clearly in a hurry as she moved past the Grand Staircase toward the box office while he pursued her, their combined movements creating no small amount of interest.

Despite the throng of people who were in the Grand Foyer, the crowd parted to make way for each of them.

Like Moses crossing the Red Sea, it was as if the waters separated in two directions as he hurried toward her. Alejandro smiled to himself as he rushed forward, amused at his unexpected delight in the scene before him.

* * * *

Oh, for goodness’s sake, who is he and why is approaching me?
It was little more than twenty minutes until curtain. Until her life changed forever, until all of her hard work culminated in one perfect moment, until…

She smiled at her own excitement. It was all deliciously true, and there could be no further delays before proceeding backstage. Although she was in full costume, her heavy makeup had not yet been applied.

Nicolette glanced his way, his exquisitely elegant dress catching her interest. Definitely wealthy, or dressed the part if not. For a moment her curiosity overcame her ire. Even in a sea of seemingly identical evening wear, he stood apart.

His dark hair waved over his ears from underneath a black silk top hat, and his dark-brown eyes were…inviting. There was a regal, stiff formality about him, but both his forcefulness of manner and his muscular physique contradicted a life of idleness. His clothing shaped to his impressive build superbly.

And he has the most engaging smile I ever beheld
. Combine that with the heat in his eyes and…

What am I thinking? I need to leave
—
now
. She admonished herself to hasten out of the Grand Foyer without looking back. And something about him…She studied him, searching for the reason.

This isn’t like me.
Especially
tonight.

He had the look of a notorious flirt.
Dangerously virile
. She never succumbed to any courtship by the extremely rich or notoriously handsome and most assuredly not both! They had everything, and nothing pleased them.

Why am I speculating on this man I don’t know? He is nothing to me, and this is the singular most important night of my life
.

As he grew closer, Nicolette observed the unmistakable look of desire in his eyes. Well, she certainly was not going to be next on this dark lord’s discard list.

Inexcusable! I allowed him to reach me
. No doubt due to the fact that his gait contained much more energy than the elderly bow he was now executing as if he were suffering from gout, despite having the superb physique of a sportsman.

She let her eyes rest on his thighs for a pleasant instant, muscular and lithe. No infirmity there. It was preposterous, a young man, a
vigorous
young man, bowing almost undetectably, as if the effort tired him.

“Mademoiselle, may I beg your acquaintance?” His smile was dazzling. It surprised her that he exerted the effort.

“You may. If it pleases you.” She barely nodded, but she kept her eyes glued to his face, growing increasingly annoyed with his effrontery. She was no man’s
student
, nor did she wish to engage in any game and call it love. He had best look elsewhere. Love must be love and nothing else. Like music, love must be pure and rich and encompass everything. It must swallow one whole.

Why am I concerning myself with him?
Nicolette raised her chin, her forced expression cordial, she was sure, but her mood anything but. In contrast to his languid movements, which bordered on condescending, in his eyes was the unmistakable look of raw passion. No doubt he lusted after the stage singer, as did many men, and assumed that she was an easy target, eager to become the rich man’s mistress. The worst kind of suitor: one who intensely desires the woman while determined to teach the object of his desire her place.

Well, I know my place.

What is keeping me here?
She didn’t know why she hadn’t simply turned and left.

The elegant gentleman appeared startled at her dismissal.
Marvelous
. Something told her he was not accustomed to begging—or even asking. He would soon gain an education in manners. Why the fact that she was not at all impressed by him should momentarily stun him, Nicolette did not know, but it appeared to be a new experience for him. True, he was exquisite and wealthy, but this did not preclude rejection.

“I would prefer to please you, Mademoiselle,” he remarked slowly, his tone both tempting and bewitching, as if he were wavering between commanding and placating. “And how might that be accomplished?”

Suddenly a little man appeared out of nowhere, clearly intending to announce the gentleman’s presence—how outmoded! She smiled in spite of herself. He displayed a practiced arrogance that implied the announcement was generally not needed but that she, in her unrefined foolishness, required it.

Her eyes moved to the attendant, who formed an odd sort of duo with the gentleman of consequence. He was a short, wide man, muscular and solid. He wore a complete black evening dress but without the decorative braiding and facings, as was the accepted style of manservants. This lack of showiness was more than made up for in his hairstyle. He had a moustache that curled up at the ends, and his beard consisted of a single inch-wide line of dark hair down his chin, which accentuated his poofy cheeks. His hair was slicked to one side. He wore a light scent of perfume, which was unheard of in a servant. All in all, he had the appearance of a bull who had been given a day at the beauty parlor and was vastly pleased with the outcome.

She returned her eyes to the elegant gentleman who had cleared his throat, an apparent signal to her to answer him. She happily obliged him. “That is not information which should be necessary for me to reveal. One who was truly interested would discern it.”

The page observed her lack of deference with an unconcealed desire to correct it as he hovered beside her polished intruder in overt dismay, his moustache bobbing.

This delighted Nicolette all the more.

“Mademoiselle, have I offended you? The very idea pains me. Let us take the first step toward reconciliation and actually
meet
. It is the greatest wish of my heart.”

Those residing in hell wish for a glass of water, but I should not expect them to get it.
She lowered her eyes in an effort to hide her mirth. “And mine, I assure you.”

“Your servant, Mademoiselle.” His manner was polite, but his positioning prevented her from advancing. He reached for her hand to kiss it in a gesture of introduction.

She denied her hand. Simply because she was an opera singer did not mean that she owed men an audience or free access to her body.

He was clearly astonished that she refused him her hand, his practiced demeanor suddenly stupefied. Much to her amusement, this was far more than his companion, the perfumed bull, could endure. The attendant grew red in the face and rushed forward, sputtering, “The crown prince of Spain, Alejandro de Bonifácio, wishes to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle.”

Oh, my. This is a most distressing development.

So she had refused to grant the prince of Spain his every wish, had she? Well, not the best thing to do, she supposed, but he couldn’t expect her to know who was demanding her hand.

Wasn’t that who her parents…?

The little bull cleared his throat much more loudly than was necessary, commanding her to attention.

“Pancho, I need no further assistance,” the prince proclaimed curtly and with a decided air of finality.

“Your Highness,” she murmured in perfect Spanish, curtseying very deeply and bowing her head.

Still, she did not offer her hand, which she now needed to maintain her balance in the required obsequious genuflection. “Please forgive me. I did not know. I am not much about town.”

The veneer of his polished expression wavered for the merest instant. His facade was so practiced and so exact, his clothing and appearance perfection, as if he had been parading as someone else almost from the moment of his birth.

She could not like him.

And then the corners of his mouth formed a slow smile, with the merest laughter in his eyes, and for an instant her resolve to dislike him melted.

Just as quickly the steel returned to his eyes, and her resolve returned as well. She pursed her lips.

Oh, this is all a waste of time
. She had wished to inform the box office that her parents would not be attending this evening as expected, her mother having caught a cold.

There was no time for that now. She assumed that the box office would have it well in hand, but one did not like to be inattentive to detail.

“Think nothing of it, Mademoiselle. That will allow you to forgive me for not knowing who you are. I beg you will enlighten me.”

“You truly do not know who I am?” Nicolette looked up suddenly in midcurtsey, unable to suppress a giggle. He was here at the Palais Garnier Opera House, she was dressed for the leading role, and yet he did not know who she was.

She had thought it was all a guise. In light of his persistent pursuit of her name, now bordering on frustration, she was inclined to believe him. She supposed that, without her makeup and her hair done in wild disarray, she might not be recognizable to all.

“I am attempting desperately to amend that oversight, but I must beg your cooperation, Mademoiselle.”

She thought the page would have a heart attack right there in front of her, his face turning red and white in succession in a sort of rhythmic fashion as his lips puckered silently on the off beats.

“How could I refuse you anything, Your Highness?” Oh, she was enjoying herself.

“You seem to manage, mademoiselle.”

“I long for you to know who I am. And I am determined that you shall!”

“Excellent news.”

She looked up at him, searching his eyes. She wanted to believe that he hadn’t sought her out because he thought her a loose woman, though she couldn’t fathom why she should concern herself with the inner thoughts of a spoiled royal. If indeed he had any.

Her index finger lingered on her lips as she studied him. Had she met him before? She supposed that all royals shared a certain
familiar
characteristic.

“Oh, I comprehend,” she murmured. She stifled a grave disappointment as she suddenly realized the reason he did not know her: she was the understudy. It was not
her
picture that was plastered everywhere.

“And?”