The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (18 page)

“What shall you wear to dinner tonight, Nicolette?” Lady Elaina asked, ignoring the outburst. “The emerald-green silk?”

“No, I gave that to Désirée, Grandmamma.” Nicolette moved behind an antique white mirrored dressing screen and began sponging herself with a wet washrag dipped into a white porcelain washbowl painted with blue roses. There was not room for a full bath in her dressing room, so the washbowl and pitcher of warm water would have to do.

“Désirée? Who is the young lady, and why should she need an emerald silk?” Lady Elaina asked in raised tones so that she might be heard.

“She is in the chorus. It became her so much, and she has no money for such things.” She began to dry herself with a towel and to put on her underthings. “I think the apricot silk and the pearls would be perfect.”

“You are an odd type of prima donna, my dear,” Lady Elaina observed as Nicolette moved from behind the screen and began to powder and perfume herself.

“I live to sing, nothing more.”

“I know very well that you adore the attention, my dear, so none of your Banbury tales for me,” Lady Elaina stated, tapping her foot. “An odd thing to be giving away your finery, with your disposition.”

“My disposition? To what do you refer, Grandmamma?”

“You were made to be before an audience, my dear.”

“I merely wish to be the one being watched instead of the one doing the watching.” She gurgled as she cast a sly glance upon her grandmother. “That I am well able to accomplish with or without my finery.”

A knock on the door interrupted their outburst of laughter. Nicolette quickly slipped on her wrapper and moved to open the door. There stood the odd page who had accompanied the prince that evening, a subtle masculine scent of carnation, cardamom, and oak moss accompanying him, which she was now able to identify. He bowed with much more aplomb, and agility, than had the prince.

The page handed her a note, which Nicolette hurriedly read. It was from Prince Alejandro, asking her to dine with him at Le Meurice on the private terrace of his suite—the Belle Etoile!
—
that evening. It was all she could do to keep from dropping the note. She was tempted to pinch herself so that she did not stand there reading it over and over like a gaping toad.

She swallowed hard and looked up. Clearly the page was awaiting her reply.

It was astonishing! Learning that she performed on the stage had not deterred His Royal Highness!

Or possibly it was precisely the opening he wished. She remembered well how he had looked at her.

He would be sorely disappointed if he thought she would be the recipient of improper advances.

At Le Meurice with the prince of Spain
. It would be a crime to forego dining at that grand hotel even accompanied by less notable of a dinner guest. The legendary Le Meurice was located in the heart of Paris, with a prestigious location between the Place de la Concorde and the Louvre on the fashionable Rue de Rivoli, overlooking the Tuileries Garden. Queen Victoria, the sultan of Zanzibar,
and the grand duchess of Russia were among the hotel’s clientele.

Nicolette smiled to herself as she reflected that Le Meurice was sometimes referred to as l’Hôtel des Rois, “Hotel of the Kings.” It seemed most fitting given her dinner invitation.
The hotel had developed a reputation for lavish entertainment, with dinners lasting from eight in the evening until eight the next morning. And though she had never seen the Belle Etoile, every Parisian knew that the suite featured a three-thousand-square-foot private terrace offering a spectacular 360-degree panoramic view of Paris.

It is impossible
. She was promised to her grandparents. And it was absurd that she would wish to dine with anyone who had slighted her.

Well, she didn’t, of course, but the Belle Etoile…

Still, she could not erase the image from her mind.
His
image. Should she reject so illustrious of a suitor? She was not likely to have an admirer of that magnitude again.

And he was so
very
handsome. Dark, wavy hair, a half smile, and a twinkle in those delicious chocolate-brown eyes.

Something in those eyes entranced her. Just when he appeared hard and cold, he would break into a boyish grin. Those eyes could stab or melt just outside of a second.

Staring at the note, all she saw was his expression. He had been utterly charming despite knowing that she had been playing him. Until that unfortunate remark.

She motioned to the page to await her reply. Forcing herself to proceed to her dressing table and to pick up her pen, she unwittingly brought herself back to reality. On a magical evening like this spells were cast and realized, so it was difficult to discern between reality and fantasy—or even to believe that reality existed. And now, to complete the fantasy, her own personal Prince Charming had materialized out of nowhere.

Well, a
prince
anyway. Charm was all relative.

But something in him attracted her despite her reservations…

She tapped her pen on her dressing table. Dinner with a prince. That was a mere fantasy she could not afford to indulge. It was one thing to create an imaginary world on the stage but quite another to attempt to recreate it in real life.

Her hand shaking, she began to write a very polite note of rejection, thanking him for the honor but stating that she had a prior dinner engagement.

“Nicolette?” Lady Elaina asked. “Do you have another invitation? Do not refuse on our account.”

“No, of course not, Grandmamma.” Nicolette shook her head but continued writing. Her instincts told her that a man of those looks and that wealth was one to be avoided at all costs. Coupled with the fact that her profession led men to think she was unchaste, she had to be wary.

She sighed. And it was all a moot point: she was promised to her family.

Did she wish to dine with the prince?
Yes
. Yes, she did. If she had not had a prior engagement, would she accept?

Yes
.

She surprised herself. But it was not wise, and it was not meant to be.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she completed her note. Nicolette glanced in the mirror, her sea-green eyes shining, her red lips parting slightly. His image flashed briefly behind her, as if he belonged in her boudoir.

The prince of Spain in her boudoir?
Had she lost her mind? The excitement of the evening must have affected her.

“What is it, Nicolette?” Lady Elaina demanded.

“Oh, merely a solicitation from an acquaintance,” she replied with as much boredom in her tone as she could muster. “A dignitary of sorts who wishes me to dine with him.”

The page cleared his throat.

“You must go then, Nicolette,” Lady Elaina insisted, a hint of disappointment visible in her voice.

“Of course not! I am promised to you, and there is no one else I would rather be with.”
Almost
no one.

She handed the note to the page, who bowed but departed with haste.

“Who was the invitation from, Nicolette?”

“A gentleman I only met this evening.”
Click
. She replied softly as she shut the door slowly, feeling an uncomfortable finality. “We spoke for but a few minutes.”

“Does he travel in political circles? Would I know him?”

“I doubt it. Though it is conceivable that he has a certain influence in the arena of politics, I would not expect him to attend London’s political parlors.”

Lady Elaina opened her mouth, clearly curious, but then closed it as she watched her granddaughter suspiciously.

Nicolette walked over to the two dozen red roses in an exquisite stained-glass vase. She closed her eyes and inhaled the delicious scent as she took a single rose and let it caress her cheek.

An unexpected melancholy swept through the room, a sense of something lost.

Chapter Thirteen

I need you.

Stay right here!

Maybe you’ll think of something

to clear away my troubles

—
Gioachino Rossini,
The Barber of Seville

“Nicolette, you look stunning. I am going to find Jon.” Having emerged from behind her cream-tone mirrored dressing screen for her grandmother’s final inspection, Nicolette received Lady Elaina’s final pronouncement as she held her hands, smiling warmly. “I shall return shortly.”

Nicolette was startled to hear a knock on her dressing room door in almost no time. That was surprisingly quick. Dr. Stanton had a relentless curiosity that led him to other intellectuals like a homing pigeon, resulting in lengthy conversations from which his wife found him difficult to extricate. Hurrying to the door, she opened it without delay.

The vision before her was the last thing she expected to see. There in a black silk cape and exquisite evening dress stood the crown prince of Spain, large and foreboding, his expression not so friendly as it had been before. His piercing eyes shone dark and deep above ruggedly pronounced features. His chin was strong and determined as he beheld her.

He looked more to be the captain of the guard than a royal prince. There was nothing gentlemanly about his manner of expression. His fashionable dress and his thick, dark hair waving around his bronzed face in an impeccably stylish manner attempted to conceal a military man, to no avail.

He bowed stiffly and abruptly to her and acted as if he had every right to be there, had every right to be anywhere he chose. His page was noticeably absent.

“Señorita Nicolette Genevieve,” he acknowledged, pointing to her name on his playbill while simultaneously walking past her all before she had time to close her mouth. “I have the name.”

“Your Highness,” she murmured, failing to curtsey.

“I understand that you are unable to join me for dinner due to a previous engagement.” He looked around the empty room with interest. “May I ask if your entire party would care to join me?” The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement.

How lovely that at least one of them was amused.

* * * *

He forced himself to be everything that was polite despite the unnecessary annoyance that she had caused him. Alejandro admonished himself. He would emerge victorious from this encounter in the end, so why was he plagued with a sudden uncertainty?

The prince took a strong dislike to feeling need, a feeling he would have liked to have forgotten, and she had put him in this position.

“I thank you, Your Highness,” she enunciated with a sharp abruptness, which did not suit him, “but this is a very special night for me, and I am promised to spend it with my grandparents, along with the rest of my family. They have nurtured me in my
stage performance
, and in addition to what I owe them, I cannot break my commitments. Is this a concept you think foreign to my class of person?”

He felt the muscles around his mouth tightening. He did not appreciate being refused and certainly not by a stage actress. This was of a supreme importance to him, and he resented this ridiculous game.

Every fiber of his being told him that there was an answer for him in her. There was no denying it: he had experienced it this evening in the bizarre reliving of his life, the reopening of his wound, and the confusing state of being he now found himself attempting to fathom.