Love Storm (13 page)

"Pins?" Zena squeaked and struggled to a sitting position.

Reacting to the panic in Zena's eyes, Alex chuckled genially and hastened to reassure her. "A dressmaker's here—that kind of pin, my pet. Really, child, sadism isn't my style. I feel deeply offended," he mocked, teasing still, but his soothing reassurances didn't have the desired effect.

"Dress . . . dressmaker?" she now quavered in renewed horror. "Oh no, my lo—(he scowled) er, Sasha. I couldn't. I'd be too embarrassed."

"Good God. Embarrassed about what? There's no need to feel embarrassment before a tradesperson. Come now, I'm wearied of that green dress."

He drew her forcefully from the bed, wrapped her in the silk comforter, and with the curt injunction to do as he said, forced her, still weakly protesting, through the bedroom door into the adjacent sitting room.

"Sasha, really this isn't necessary. I'm sure I could . . ." Zena was objecting as he propelled her into the center of the room, "just redo that green
..."
The sentence died abruptly at Zena noticed an elegantly dressed woman standing the window. Clutching the sapphire silk comforter with redoubled intensity, Zena threw a distracted, frightened look over her shoulder at the impassive prince.

Alex ignored the pleading in her eyes, determined, as was his custom, to brook no interference with his wishes. Gripping Zena's shoulders, his long fingers digging painfully through the silken coverlet, he held her firmly imprisoned before him.

"May I introduce Mrs. Mvaky, my dear. She has kindly consented to put your wardrobe to rights."

No explanation was given the dressmaker as to either the name or the relationship of this young woman. Curiosity consumed Moscow's finest modiste, but the prince's lucrative patronage commissioned so often over the past years sealed the haughty woman's lips. Prince Alex's generosity often indulged a lady love's whim for new gowns, which in turn filled Mrs. Mvaky's pockets with gold rubles. The prince's openhanded liberality stifled the dressmaker's native curiosity. The prince never quibbled over prices, his bills were paid promptly by his man of business, and his taste in female attire was richly articulate. Indeed, he was one of a handful of her male customers who understood what looked best on a woman and who never asked the price.

It appeared Prince Alex had yet another light o'love to embellish. Not in his usual style, this one, Mrs. Mvaky observed rapidly through shrewdly assessing eyes.

No customary Junoesque female here; instead almost a child. Certainly unprepossessing, frightened almost (hers not to question the fear nonetheless; none of her business the bizarre proclivities of this gilded youth), certainly a decided change from the haughty pretentions of some of the aristocratic sluts he usually preferred.

An aura of innocence about the young thing? Certainly the look of it, but in the company of one of Russia's most thoroughly disreputable rakes, clearly impossible, and from the looks of it stark naked underneath, with bare feet peeking out from the blue silk.

These swift musings were cut short and her speculations put to rest as the prince swept the silken comforter from the nervous girl and, much as a proud Pygmalion might show off his masterpiece, left the young woman uncomfortably nude in the center of the antique carpet. The most prominent modiste in Moscow heroically concealed her inadvertent gasp. She had been right: not a stitch on. Alex's eyes gleamed in appreciation. His lordship's attention seemed to have wandered, but at a discreet cough from the modiste he brought his gaze from contemplation of Zena's ripe beauty and, looking directly at the dressmaker, said urbanely, "A complete wardrobe, Mrs. Mvaky, everything. I trust you brought some dresses out as my man requested."

Gathering her composure, for naked women were not even in the prince's usual unorthodox repertoire, Mrs. Mvaky quickly brought out a navy silk morning costume. Without so much as a blink of the eye to indicate her consternation, she avoided the embarrassed gaze of the young auburn-tressed female and threw the full skirt over the head of the girl. Some seconds later, securing the buttons and hooks down the back while the prince stood critically assessing the fitting, she conversed in businesslike accents, "With the exception of the bodice the entire frock is too large. Everything will have to be taken in."

"Navy is much too severe for the lady. (The word "lady" increased the dressmaker's curiosity.) But we'll have this altered until more suitable gowns can be made," the prince broke in curtly.

"What else did you bring with you?" Alex was oblivious to Zena's embarrassment and strictly enjoined himself to remember that this time he was outfitting a respectable female. He studied the suitability of all the dresses Mrs. Mvaky had with her and, ignoring the pointed looks and pained glances of the young
mademoiselle,
further ordered a magnificent wardrobe with a practiced expertise that did not go unnoticed by Zena.

Short of making a scene in front of this intimidating woman, Zena had no choice but to submit to the ordeal, while Alex promised himself that once Mrs. Mvaky left he would bend his every effort to cajole and coax Zena into accepting both his gift of a wardrobe and, more significantly, the incontrovertibility of her future position with him.

Having women to bear him company at his
dacha,
buying gowns for them, living life with a bohemian disregard for conventions, dealing pleasurably in the lighthearted game of amour, all were eminently natural in the elegant, aristocratic class to which he belonged. He couldn't expect the girl to understand the careless, pleasant world he lived in, but he must do his captivating best to give her delight in this unfamiliar milieu into which she was thrust. She was obviously startled after the quite different world from which she had come—one, no doubt, in which a man must live with one wife to whom he is lawfully wed—a world in which a girl should be innocent, a woman virtuous, a man stalwart and steady; in short, all the foolishness he chose to ignore and ridicule as his youthful, pleasure-loving instincts flitted delightfully from amusement to amusement.

With an abrupt flick of his wrist he dismissed the dressmaker.

Then taking both of Zena's little hands in his, he raised them to his lips and pressed a light kiss into the palms as he glanced down at her from under his lashes. "You look delightfully beautiful in this cream lace tea gown, little one," Alex said with his brightest smile. "Relax, child. I promise Mrs. Mvaky is discretion personified. She won't breathe a word about you," he dissembled to set the chit at ease. He knew before the day was out all the polite world of Moscow would know of Zena's arrival, as if it mattered. No one dared censure his liaisons. In any case, he didn't give a damn for the opinion of any member of the
haut monde
from the tsar down.

"If it bothers you to take clothes from me, consider it a loan that can be repaid at a later date." He kissed the tips of her fingers as he still held her hands in his, and gazing at her over her clasped hands with just the suitable degree of penitent apology, begged forgiveness with his devastating eyes.

"My grandfather could pay you back," Zena hesitatingly suggested.

"Of course, if you wish," the prince readily acceded.

Zena broke into a relaxed, merry smile, for once the dilemma of payment was reconciled in her confused mind, what woman could resist the magnificent wardrobe the prince had ordered. She had to own it would be pleasant to see Sasha's admiration when she was clothed in her new gowns.

Alex, heartened by the warm smile of the pretty woman, tranquilly noted that another minor crisis had been averted.

Crushing her in a bear hug, he nibbled one soft pink ear. Zena melted against his body, the confounded, warring jumble of perplexing emotions overwhelmed by the dominating presence of this bewitching man.

She knew what she was doing wasn't right. She knew modesty and virtue were respected qualities in a woman, but when Sasha (she warmed her heart with the intimate name) held her and kissed her, all staid resolutions flew away, and all she wanted was to be near him. Luckily, for the peace of her already uneasy mind, she didn't know that Prince Alex had this same devastating effect on all the women in his vast acquaintance.

"Let's turn on the Gramophone in my study and dance to the new waltz records sent from Vienna. That lace gown makes you look so good I may have to take it off soon."

As Zena blushed, Alex burst into gay laughter, kissed her on both cheeks, and twirled her out the door and down the hall to his study.

Prince Alex's very pleasant holiday had begun.

^{Love’s Idyll}

In
the ensuing weeks the young chit was just where Alex wanted her, near him or in his arms or under him. She was more enchanting and diverting and sensuous than his most vivid imagination could have depicted or expected. The pretty maid learned the game of love with a facility and captivating celerity that piqued the jaded appetites of this surfeited young rake. She was sensitive, sensuous, responsive, tender, spirited, and impassioned; the full gamut of her vivacious personality never ceased to
amaze
him. He even listened politely to her vehement monologues on women's rights, feeling it only courteous
quid pro quo
for all the delectable, incomparable sensuality she offered him.

A charming domestic routine was established at Podolsk. The days were spent in joyful companionship together and in company with Bobby: skating, skiing, going for sleigh rides, building snowmen, playing indoor games in the nursery; in short, amusing themselves in childish youthful pleasures. Zena had sorely missed such youthful pleasures in the cold atmosphere of her aunt's establishment. For Alex these pleasures were simply his usual indulgence to sybaritic whims. It pleased him to please her. Her childlike joy was intoxicating to watch, and at night she intoxicated him in countless other ways, offering him Venus's delights in earthly form. The weeks flew by as in some blissful Elysium. The prince never thought beyond gratifying his fancies; only rarely had the need arisen in his

pampered existence. Zena dared not think at all. The prince was satisfied with the course of events. Zena repressed the uncomfortable manifestations of right and wrong, duty, and virtue. When they surfaced, she surrendered to the exquisite joy and affection Alex offered her and did not think of the future or even of tomorrow. The past three years of her life had been a living hell and she now had, by the merest snatch at fate, avoided a forced, hateful marriage to a dreadful old man and had entered a paradise on earth. She chastised herself occasionally for having no moral strength to resist the audaciously charming prince. But was there a woman born who would have been able to resist once the elegant, notorious Archer set his mind on conquest?

No matter that Alex had intended to keep her for his normal eight or ten days. It was quite impossible for him to forego her company at the moment. Never mind that it was wholly unprecedented behavior on his part. Well, damn it, he thought mutinously, must one become rigid in one's actions? She was just too damn good in bed to give up so soon, he told himself with what he considered grave practically.

Six halcyon weeks blissfully passed at the
dacha
near Podolsk. It seemed a magic world to Zena. Alex catered to her every caprice, remembering each like and dislike. He listened to her intently as she talked in her soft, indolent voice of the confusing threads of her life. He was devoted, tender, and perfect in his lovemaking. Zena was captivated, indeed as she was intended to be. Her subconscious would surface occasionally, eliciting nagging doubts that she was losing her hold on the strong, level-headed pragmatism that had always served her so well. She was becoming enslaved by this irresistible man who fulfilled her every desire and longing. Heaven help me, she thought; like a green, lovesick girl she was head over heels in love with this cavalier libertine.

One bright, sunny morning in early March Alex announced at the breakfast table that business obliged him to ride into Moscow that morning.

"I won't invite you along,
ma petite,
since this damnable meeting could take some time." He had, in fact, received a curt summons from his father, who requesred his presence at their apartments in Moscow that afternoon.

Zena's face reflected her desolation.

"I really dislike going at all, my dear." The brusque tone of the note from Nikki boded ill. Alex had been racking his brain for hours trying to fathom which of his numerous scandals had surfaced to once again offend his parents.

He rose from his chair, walked over to Zena, and dropped a light kiss on her cheek, "I'll be back late this afternoon. Smile, child, I won't be long."

Zena looked up at the tall, handsome man dressed in morning tweeds and buckskins and forced a smile she was far from feeling. Much as she tried to deny her enslavement to this elegant youth, the truth was that she was happy only when he was with her. Compelling herself to act with some degree of rationality, she politely wished Sasha a pleasant journey.