Love Storm (16 page)

Turning to Zena he smoothly commenced introductions. "Zena, I'd like you to meet one of my oldest friends, Yuri Petrovich Bolotnikov."

"A most exquisite pleasure to make your acquaintance." Yuri smiled winningly into Zena's eyes as he bowed elegantly over her hand. Yuri was a tall, handsome, blue-eyed, blond of Slavic splendor. His warm manner was redolent with friendliness and boundless cheer. Zena couldn't help but respond to the warmth of his personality.

"Good morning, Yuri Petrovitch," she said, bestowing a glowing, half-shy smile upon the towering blond man. "Alex talks about you with the highest regard."

"What a perfectly lovely
intime
domestic," a sultry feminine voice cooed archly from the open doorway. Amalie stood dramatically poised, the epitome of elegance and womanly loveliness in a lavender velvet traveling gown bordered with ermine. There was no missing the dazzling effect of the countess's entrance: the lavender gown set off her magnificent body to perfection as well as reflecting the

sparkle in her luminous, lavender eyes; her ivory skin was flushed delicately from the cold; the glorious face and golden hair were framed becomingly by her fur hood.

The vision immediately induced an apprehensive twinge of discomfort in Zena, while Alex repressed the start her appearance caused him and damned Yuri inwardly for his crudeness. Alex quickly recovered himself; he was seldom disconcerted and never for long. Amalie glided toward Alex with feline grace. Fobbing off her attempt to embrace him by taking both kid-gloved hands in his, he gazed at her with a cool arrogance.

"What are you doing here, Amalie?" the prince said with a conspicuous lack of gallantry.

The countess opened her exquisite lavender eyes very wide. "Why, I've missed you, darling," she murmured soulfully.

Alex was unmoved. "Come off it, Amalie," he calmly replied, and then proceeded to make the necessary introductions with a careless politeness.

As the women were greeting each other, Amalie sweetly malicious and Zena uncertain and uncomfortable, Alex cast a scowling, questioning glance over their heads to Yuri, who shrugged his shoulders apologetically in response.

"Brandy, Yuri?" Alex inquired and jerked his head in the direction of the window where a cellarette of decanters stood on a small table. Crossing to the mahogany table, scarcely out of hearing distance from the women, Alex snarled, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

As Alex poured two generous measures, Yuri quickly explained
sotto voce,
"Lord, don't think I planned this. Last night at the Demidoffs' I inadvertently mentioned I was dropping by here this morning, and Amalie insisted on coming along. You know how demanding Amalie can be."

"Don't I know," Alex replied with disgust and lifted his eyes heavenward.

"Sorry," Yuri apologized.

Alex exhaled slowly, releasing his frustration, then drained his glass of brandy. "It's not your fault," Alex said gently. "Forget it." Amalie's brittle, spiteful laugh resounded from across the room. Alex sighed resignedly, "We'd better go and save Zena from Amalie's gilded claws. The young chit's no match for the bitch. She'll be verbally savaged within minutes. Come, Yuri, a little help to hold the tigress Benckendorff from my lamb's jugular."

The men sauntered back just as Amalie was tweaking a retreating, abashed Bobby under the chin and sweetly cooing, "And whose little boy are you?" Bobby stared at this strange, intense face that was much too close, pressed himself timidly into the back of his chair, and clung to the padded arms with an anxious intensity.

"You're frightening the poor boy, Amalie. Desist," Alex said softly, bent down, and swept Bobby up into his arms.

"Papa!" Bobby cried in relief and buried his head in Alex's shoulder.

Yuri's eyebrows rose into his hairline while Amalie audibly gasped. Zena raised panic-stricken eyes to Alex. Alex grinned benignly at her, disclaiming mildly to Yuri and Amalie, "Merely an affectionate childish expression, I assure you."

Amalie turned on Zena immediately, even spurious polite courtesy discarded. "The child is
yours
then,
mademoiselle?'

"No,
madame,"
Zena stammered somewhat faintly. "Bobby is
...
he's . . ."

"He's her young brother, my dear, curious Amalie." Alex smoothly finished Zena's faltering sentence. Still holding Bobby snugly in his arm, Alex placed his free hand on Zena's shoulder, a gesture both protective and possessive. Looking coolly into Amalie's dubious eyes, Alex drawled gently, "Zena and Bobby are old friends of the family merely resting here briefly on their journey south. Now, Amalie, does that sufficiently satisfy your avid inquisitiveness?" Considering the explanation more than Amalie deserved, he turned abruptly. "How about a game of billiards, Yuri? We were finished with breakfast."

Zena's head swiveled up toward Alex, her large blue eyes filled with stark appeal.

Interpreting the plea accurately, Alex amended smoothly, "Ladies, do join us. Amalie, you've played often enough with us." The double entendre was not intended, and Alex was immediately sorry it had occurred, for Amalie preened glowingly.

Yuri stepped in to bridge the faux pas diplomatically, explaining to Zena that Amalie was quite an expert billiards player. "Alex and I have a devil of a time winning," he attested.

Bobby went off with Mariana while the two couples retired to the billiard room. As Alex broke to begin the game, Amalie seated herself next to Zena on the high-backed, cane-seated billiard chairs.

"Now my dear," Amalie simpered with artificial amiability. "Tell me where you come from." Gossip had insinuated that Alex's houseguest this time was not the usual ballet dancer or young matron but a woman from the streets. One glance at Zena's delicate, refined features and one sentence uttered in her mellifluous, perfectly accented French disclaimed the gossip. The question was, Whose daughter was she? Obviously she was an innocent of the first rank, judging from the uncertainty and blushes.

Zena blanched at the direct inquiry, unused to dissembling with ease. An inarticulate murmur and tightly clenched hands were Amalie's only response.

Overhearing the bluntly worded question, Alex looked up from the three-cushion double rail shot he had just scored and decided this was no time for finesse. It would be wasted on the feline countess. Alex gave the countess a most quelling look, his drawl very pronounced. "You talk too much, Amalie. Enough of the prying questions, my dear. Is anyone asking you where your husband is or where he thinks you are? Now, we all could put inquiries to you which you wouldn't care to discuss, such as: What in the world did you tell Boris when he found you on the terrace late one night last fall with only a velvet cloak to cover your nakedness, hmm? Or perhaps you'd care to answer how you can stand to be married to the fat pig in the first place. You will, I'm sure, understand what I'm saying." Smiling faintly, Alex serenely accomplished a difficult two-corner billiard, oblivious to the cold-eyed countess who flashed him a seething glare of anger.

The prince looked up. "Agreed, then Amalie?" he asked blandly, a marked degree of sarcasm evident in the drawling voice. "You don't ask any questions and we won't ask any questions." The words fell into a small pool of silence, and for a long moment there was a complete and unnerving hush. Yuri was staring into the distance, his eyes cool and remote.

Alex stood there for a full thirty seconds, holding the countess's blazing eyes in a mild glance as he lazily chalked his cue, a glance nevertheless that held more than a hint of steel. Quickly Amalie realized it would serve no good purpose to further antagonize Alex. She'd find out about the little bit of fluff in other ways.

Amalie's eyes flashed a warm compliance. An amused laugh broke from between flawless white teeth and full rose lips.
"Touché,
Sasha. No more questions."

The prince sighed gently and set down the chalk. "Very astute, my dear," he murmured.

At which point Amalie abandoned any further pretense of friendship with Zena and spent the next hour doing what she did best. She flirted and enticed with both face and figure. She brushed against Alex as she moved to her next shot. She touched him familiarly as she bantered and reminisced about old times and mutual acquaintances.

Yuri, between turns, gallantly attempted to explain to Zena that this was Amalie's usual behavior and not singular to these circumstances. He could see Zena was uncomfortable, struggling bravely to ignore the honeyed coquetry enacted before her. Yuri's attempts to allay Zena's intense discomfort were deeply appreciated by the young woman.

This was a rare charmer Alex had found, Yuri thought, uncommonly pretty with fine, dark blue eyes that had a disconcertingly direct gaze. It was a pleasant change from the usual limpid blue. Her eyes could twinkle, though in a most disturbing manner. This little
mademoiselle
was a singular combination of the most matter-of-fact common sense and the most winsome, delicious folly. It was readily apparent why Alex's interest had persisted beyond his usual fortnight, as it was equally apparent that the little
mademoiselle
adored her seducer. Like a moth to the flame, Yuri mused uneasily, and he couldn't help pitying her. He banished the thought as disloyal, for both he and Alex had always freely sought their pleasure without undo concern for the consequences. But this fragile beauty was too obviously vulnerable, and the thought of her hopeless future with Alex kept returning. Sasha was not the person to bring happiness and requited love to the young miss.

Alex was casually indifferent to Amalie's posturing. He had never cared for her personality in any case. Only her bedroom activities had interested him, for she was beyond the common in her amorous proclivities and knew just how to drive a man to desperation. But now he had found in Zena a rare combination of sweet tenderness and sensuous delights that fascinated him beyond the abilities of Amalie's technical proficiency.

As the game progressed, Alex began to notice Yuri was spending altogether too much time amusing Zena as she sat on the sidelines watching the play. Rapidly concluding the contest by running out the game, finishing with a very difficult
force-masse
that he executed effortlessly, Alex racked up his cue and shrugging depreciatingly, rather discourteously said, "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us now. Zena and I've made plans for this afternoon."

Striding over to Zena, Alex offered his hand to help her from the chair. Startled but grateful for the lie (they never made plans to do anything, but rather let their whims decide their activities), Zena placed her small hand in his and smiled appreciatively into the dark, handsome face.

Alex bowed briefly to Yuri. "Thank you for driving out. I trust you will have a pleasant journey back. Good afternoon, Amalie." With an abrupt nod in her direction, Alex escorted Zena out of the room.

"Well," Amalie exploded. "Discourteous boor! What's come over Alex?"

"I fear we're intruding on an idyllic love nest, my sweet. Sasha doesn't want company at the moment, and you know as well as I do that polite civilities aren't in Sasha's repertoire.

"Come, we'll drink a couple of bottles of champagne on the way back. Then I'll be better able to face the boredom and insipidity of the evening round of
soirées,
and you'll be better able to face the boredom and insipidity of your husband's company."

"He wants her now," Amalie jibed, "but it won't last. They never do for Sasha."

"I'm sure you're right." Yuri had to agree, having observed Alex's pattern of amorous sport these many years.

The two proceeded to their covered sledge, a perfectly matched couple, like a pair of bookends—both tall, classically proportioned, their heavy, golden hair the color of cornsilk in the sun, their eyes as blue as the sky on a clear summer day, their Ukrainian heritage evident in every feature.

As they adjusted the fur rugs, Yuri mocked playfully, "We could pass the time under the fur rugs, Amalie, instead of drinking. Think what our child would look like— another pure, classic Slav."

Amalie hurled Yuri a contemptuous glance and exclaimed, "Good Lord, Yuri, are you insane? What would I do with a child?"

Yuri reflected briefly as he wrenched the cork from a bottle of champagne. "True, Amalie," he observed facilely, "what would you do indeed?"

"Really, Yuri," the countess sighed. "Sometimes I don't know why I put up with you."

"You put up with me, Amalie darling, because we grew up together. Don't forget all that adolescent groping and lovemaking," he laughed, "and also because," he paused to direct a quelling look at her, "you can get close to Alex through me."

The countess stared him straight in the eye and, because of their old friendship, made no attempt to dissemble or evade. "Oh, Yuri," she sniffed, tossing her pale, silken mane. "Sometimes you're impossible."