The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (25 page)

“So I must cater to
gossipmongers
?”

“And once they are here, you show them precisely what the fuss is about.” He moved very close to her face and looked directly into her eyes. In a low voice he added, “You give them the show of their lives, Mademoiselle.

“You decide what is most important to you, Mademoiselle Nicolette.” He began pacing again, but his voice remained calm. “I can find another singer, so it is up to you.”

He would not find another singer who would sing the role as well as she did.
Never
.
But he could most certainly find another singer
.

“I am willing to give you this chance, Mademoiselle.”

Her head was swimming, and she was growing dizzy, but another question of importance occurred to her. “And what of Enrico? Is his future secure?”

“I would not worry, Mademoiselle Nicolette. In fact, Caruso has just received an offer to sing at The Metropolitan Opera in New York City, America. He will begin after he has completed this season.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“And your answer is?”

Swallowing hard, Nicolette perceived that Monsieur Beaumaris was no longer engaged in conversation. His eyes seemed suddenly softened, but he would not waver from his decision.

She knew him that well, at least. Either she agreed now, or someone else would be cast in the role.

Her
role. She had been presented a solution to her career in the person of the prince of Spain. Like it or not, he was her greatest hope for a future. She might find his methods despicable, but the fact remained that he was the answer to her problems. She must do as she had always done: smile, take life by the horns, and become the star of every room she entered.

“Where am I to meet the prince for lunch?” she managed, her voice small but determined. Once set on a course, Nicolette grew unwaveringly tenacious. She would do whatever was necessary to save her singing career.

But it would be on her terms.
No one
, not even the prince of Spain, would back her into a corner.

“
Bon
.” Monsieur Beaumaris smiled. “His Royal Highness has an escort and carriage waiting for you outside the Palais Garnier to take you to lunch in precisely one hour, Mademoiselle Nicolette. The opera’s wardrobe is at your disposal in the event you have nothing
appropriate
to wear.”

“But what of our practice?” She gulped, wondering what outfit he would consider appropriate if not what she was wearing. She decided not to ask.

“You do not need any more practice, Mademoiselle Nicolette. What you need is a miracle.” He sighed. “And that you have.”

“Monsieur Beaumaris. Did you happen to mention my birth—my relations—to the prince?”

“
Mais non
.” He nodded with refinement. “I am not engaged in chitchat with the crown prince of Spain. He speaks, I listen.”

Excellent
. She felt a slow smile come to her lips.

Chapter Seventeen

I am quite well behaved,

As sweet as honey.

My disposition

is bright and sunny.

For I am gently bred

when I am gently led,

It all depends on what you do.

If you push me ’round

then I will stand my ground,

The final joke will be on you

I’ll get my own sweet way

—
Gioachino Rossini,
The Barber of Seville

Her heart pounded with the knowledge that a complete stranger had control over her dreams, her future. Her
life
.

A stranger whom I have no reason to believe I can trust.

“Mademoiselle, please follow me,” the maître d’hôtel requested, leading her forward.

She was escorted past
Louis XVI crystal chandeliers, antique beveled mirrors, and large bay windows framed in rare marbles toward Le Jardin d’Hiver, the garden room, in Le Meurice. The interior was lavish in cream, olive green, and light blue, and there were pink roses everywhere.

The smell of roses, dark French coffee, buttery pastries, pâté, and caviar filled the air. There was a certain quiet elegance, which, surprisingly, increased her anxiety level, accentuated by the sound of her shoes clicking noisily on the white-and-black marble.

Please, dear God
,
let his demands be something I am able to meet without compromising my virtue
. She dug her fingernails into her palms.
Because if seduction is his true intent, I will have to refuse him unequivocally, and my life’s work will be destroyed.

Even the flowers appeared to be mocking her as she entered the garden room.

But that was nothing to the strangulation. Her shortening breath was proof that the plants that surrounded her were reaching for her neck, her chest, to cover her nose.

Or so it felt. Her eyes searched for the prince even as she forced breath into her lungs.

Breathe
. She did not see him, but her head was pounding with the knowledge that she was very close to the man who would determine her future. She was a master of breath control, she was an actress, her body was a trained instrument, so why was she having so much difficulty doing that which she could do without conscious thought?

Nicolette glanced at her gown in one of the floor-length mirrors. She had wished to wear a crisp white blouse and a man’s tie. The prince was old-fashioned to the extreme—he was still living in the 1700s!—and such an outfit would no doubt annoy him.

But annoyance was not her purpose, as much as she would like it to be. In the end, she dressed in a most feminine style—lace at her collar held in place by a cameo, an S-bend corset, which accented her shapely figure, frilled bishop sleeves, a lavish hat, and an aqua chiffon gown trimmed with ecru lace and brown velvet ribbons.

Hopefully that was outmoded enough to suit him.

All too soon the Spanish royal came into view. He was seated at a secluded table next to a large picture window. His posture was stiff and dignified, almost watchful.

And then he surprised her
. When Prince Alejandro saw her from across the room, his anxious expression turned to something in the vein of relief, followed by pleasure.

He stood immediately, which was not a necessary protocol for royalty.

He had clearly been watching for her. When they first met, he had bathed her in his desire, not to mention his arrogant confidence. His belief in her eventual submission was evident. At their second meeting, when he had invaded her dressing room, his manner was decidedly changed—equally confident but almost businesslike in manner. He had scrutinized her like a jeweler examining a new stone for the slightest flaw, his knife at the ready. Even worse, he had treated her like a courtesan. She tightened her lips as she relived the insult. He might have been superficially cordial, but everything in his demeanor had reflected his resolution that she was a woman who could be bought.

And that his will would reign supreme.

Now they met for the third time, and his countenance was, yet again, far different! She shook her head, almost amused. His was not the look of a man bent on seduction, Nicolette observed with surprise as she grew closer, an intent that he had made no effort to conceal at their first meeting.

The dashing prince’s expression was one of
hopefulness,
it seemed to her. Uncertainty, even confusion. She was filled with bewilderment at the same time she was more inclined to approve of him.

Was this a single individual or a series of look-alikes? She knitted her eyebrows in perplexity. Definitely a new development.

He remained standing, watching her attentively as she approached him.

Oh, who am I attempting to fool?
She had no doubt imagined the hesitancy in his expression—the frantic last wish of a rebel being taken before the firing squad. He
had
won.

The revolting truth is that I need him
. She fought the desire to wrap her arms around her waist and stood even straighter, her chin held high.

Moving toward his table with a new resolve, she took a deep breath and increased her pace. There was no point in attempting to read him. She would know his true motives sooner than she wished.

She curtseyed very low when she reached him. “Your Highness,” she murmured, even as the maitre d’ bowed and departed.

“Mademoiselle Nicolette,” he offered in low tones, and she liked the sound of his voice in spite of herself. And then he surprised her further by bowing very deliberately before seating himself.

She had read him correctly: he was affording her far more respect than he had in their previous two meetings. Miraculously, the pronounced muscles in his thighs were now functioning, she noted.

His masculine scent she recalled and identified in her mind as the smell of the hunt, a decidedly woodsy smell. He wore an olive-and-brown cashmere Cheviot suit, which complemented his wavy, dark-brown hair. His manner was formal but warm, almost as if he were a child begging to come out and play. He tilted his head and nodded as he smiled slightly with the left corner of his mouth.

But she knew from experience that his warm and inviting manner could turn fierce in an instant.

“Mademoiselle. Thank you for coming. I am in your debt.” He took her hand before she could withdraw it—he was determined that he should have her hand, it seemed!—his baritone voice deep and resonant. He looked up at her through long, dark eyelashes, his brown eyes taking on a very slight golden tint in the light against even darker hair. “May I call you ‘Señorita’? It is so much nearer to my heart to speak your name in my own tongue.”

Ah, so now I reside near to his heart.
As she moved her chin slightly she gazed into chocolate-brown eyes, deep and intense.

She began to believe it was true. His hair was brushed back, but when he bent to kiss her hand a portion of his bangs fell forward and brushed against his eyebrows and along his cheekbone. It was…
provocative
. She glanced up at him under the rim of her wide-brimmed straw hat, a turquoise feather forming a welcome obstruction.

Mentally she admonished herself
. She
might act the part, but she mustn’t forget whom she was dealing with.

“Certainly, Your Highness,” she replied, forcing herself to nod in acquiescence, her voice strained. She could not take her eyes from his. He was having a strange effect on her.

There was a new element to his countenance. Not humility, no, never that, but sincerity possibly.

Oh, she did not like dealing with this man! She curtseyed once again, giving herself the opportunity to attempt to regain her composure.

His address was proper, but the forcefulness of his longing shook her. She did not know why she was so unnerved: she had been courted by persons of rank before. But this was
different
.

“Señorita Nicolette, would you care to partake of a light lunch?” he asked before seating himself.

“Thank you, Your Highness, yes,” she murmured, relieved to discuss a subject she understood.