Love Storm (19 page)

Alex bit his lip to hide his smile and chuckled to himself while Zena fumed helplessly. She expressed her displeasure by a cold silence through the brandy and excused herself with a headache shortly after.

Alex drank his way leisurely through the rest of the bottle while pondering these frequent and volatile outbursts of Zena's. Although he was well content with her, such a combination of sensuality and spirit had, to date, eluded him in his previous congress with women, and she pleased him mightily; yet the tantrums were more numerous. The quiet, gently complacent child was being displaced. As well, he thought, with a wry understanding; ennui would be arrested that much longer. The tedium of cloying women was all too familiar.

Midway through the second bottle Alex decided he missed the warmth of his companion. Doors opened noiselessly as he progressed from study to bedchamber. Hovering servants shadowed his passage upstairs, although it was well past midnight. Upon entering the bedchamber he turned the latch on the door. With the silent click the crowd of muzhiks melted away. Several lamps were burning low in the large room. Pouring himself another brandy from the bedside decanter, he sauntered slowly around the room and extinguished most of the lamps. Seated by the porcelain stove, he drained several more glasses and undressed leisurely in the quiet room. Zena was sleeping restlessly, moving from side to side on the large bed.

Alex decided she wasn't sleeping so deeply that it would matter if he woke her. He slipped into bed and bent to kiss her lips. All he received for his gentle caress was a kick in the shins and a hissed. "Don't touch me."

"Ouch," he exclaimed, querulously rubbing his leg. "Good Lord, woman. What's come over you?" he inquired in slightly inebriated astonishment. He searched the furious face of the woman beside him. "You're all claws and fangs and threatening abuse lately."

"That's how much I care what you think," Zena hissed unforgivably and snapped her fingers under his nose.

Alex stiffened. His eyes narrowed contemplatively at the affront, and he baited her then for her audacity. "You would do well," he said smoothly, "to cultivate some womanly wiles."

He was retaliating in frustration, for in truth, her utter candor was a delightful and pleasant change from years of viewing all the womanly wiles regularly paraded for his benefit.

"I've never felt the least desire to stoop to such disgusting measures, as you very well know. I'm here precisely because I chose not to debase myself with that pig Scobloff," the cold, haughty, belligerent woman shot back, her chin jutting, her blue-black eyes blazing.

"I see. A man beds you, it appears, at his own risk," Alex drawled ominously.

"If you want a soft and yielding woman," Zena snapped, "there's always that hussy Amalie."

Alex signed. Zena was right, of course. But he didn't want Amalie. He wanted her. "Give me a few minutes,
mademoiselle,
and I can make you soft and yielding as well," his voice came out assured and arrogant.

"Oh!" choked Zena. "You odious, overbearing . . . Never!"

"Never?" His black brows shot up. "Care to place a small wager on the duration of 'never,' my pet?" drawled his husky voice as he studied her thoughtfully. Zena's eyes were like agates. His golden eyes swept the beautiful, raging figure from head to foot. Zena lay exquisite, defiant, her long auburn hair tumbling in waves about her soft, white shoulders. Her heaving bosom was half exposed above the
appliquéd
lace, low-cut
décolletage
of the ivory satin nightgown.

Alex's eyes diminished to glittering slits as the scowl on his fine brow deepened, and he braced his body against the expected onslaught. Rolling over the infuriated woman, he looked down at the flashing eyes and softly breathed through his teeth, "Make ready, my dear. 'Never' has arrived."

Mademoiselle
Turku slapped his face. Alex laughed and caught her more firmly in his arms. His mouth found hers in a bruising, ruthless kiss that lasted until all rational considerations were driven from her head. When he finished, Alex stayed scarce a moment in her, rolled over, and soon after was asleep, content, and sated, sleeping off the two bottles of brandy he had consumed.

Zena lay wide awake and troubled, having regained her disordered senses, angry with herself for succumbing once again so easily.

The next morning Alex was all apology and cheerful bantering, holding her close, calling her his own
dushka,
teasing an answering smile from her. "I'll be a paragon of civility. Just watch. No more raging masculine ego. Friends?" he asked contritely as he kissed her palm.

"Friends," she whispered softly and forgave him all.

She could never describe exactly why she was so drawn to him. He was a mixture of impressions like cynical, mocking, moody, or quizzical and yet teasing, laughing, tender, insouciantly gay. He never posed. He was always himself, quite simple but uncommon in his style. He was learned, too, although he laughed away pretense of any kind. What would he be like if he ever cared about anything intensely, if anything in life really mattered to him?

Two days later in the early afternoon they were interrupted while relaxing in Alex's study.

"Guests, Your Excellency," Trevor announced.

Zena gave a start.

Alex cast her a stern look as she opened her mouth to protest. "My turn this time. You stay, no pouting upstairs."

Zena was about to retort heatedly when Alex broke into his winning smile. "It's only fair, isn't it?" he demanded. "I sent them away for you last time." And he had only a week ago given in to Zena's pouting tantrum and turned Amalie and Princess Baskirseff away when they came to visit. "You be pleasant to them for me this time?"

It was only fair and Zena knew it. "Of course, Sasha," she smiled back ruefully, "you're right." She had every good intention of being pleasant and friendly, but as the afternoon wore on into evening, even her best efforts couldn't withstand Amalie's persistent sweet malice as the hours stretched tediously one into another. No one, thought Zena while viciously studying Amalie's fair face, has the right to be so flawlessly perfect.

Yuri and Amalie had come this time in company with two other friends, Captains
Loris
Grudtsyn and Peotr Diebitsch. The drinking was deep and heavy. Zena declined spirits since they upset her lately, while Amalie sipped delicately on champagne. The visitors had all been

Alex's friends since childhood, and Zena listened bleakly as the conversation fell into reminiscing.

"Remember, Sasha," said Amalie at her sweetest, "when we all used to swim on those hot summer days in the river. For fourteen-year-old boys you were all quite childishly silly, swinging from ropes and pretending to be Viking pirates."

"Speaking of childish,"
Loris
Grudtsyn interpolated, "who was the one who slipped frogs into everyone's bed at night?" and he cast an amused glance at Amalie.

She blushed prettily. "We were all young then."

"Yuri had one of the chambermaids in bed with him," Sasha explained to Zena, grinning boyishly, "and she let out a shriek heard halfway to Moscow when her foot touched that slimy little creature. Did you ever calm her down, Yuri?" Alex asked innocently.

"I managed to think of a way," Yuri smirked, his pale blue eyes narrowed in pensive memory.

"What about the time the dancers you had brought down from St. Petersburg were dancing nude in your private theater with all of us drunkenly enjoying the spectacle, when your mother and her friend stopped by unexpectedly?" Peotr Diebitsch asked facetiously. "You got hell for that embarrassment, I'll bet."

"Oh,
Maman
can always be talked around," Alex drawled languidly. "She's always been a most indulgent parent. After having put up with Papa, I think nothing shocks her any longer."

Moving to the drawing room after dinner, Amalie insinuated herself with casual familiarity between Alex and Yuri on the embroidered settee. Brushing Alex's cheek with her fingertips, she breathed intimately, "Sasha, dear, could I have more champagne?"

He rose to do her bidding, remarking cheerfully, "Amalie, you did always have a hollow leg when it comes to champagne. Let's put a bottle here," and he slapped it on a nearby table, "so I don't have to keep getting up."

"Thank you, Sasha," Amalie murmured softly as she kissed him in gratitude for his courtesy.

Good God, Yuri thought. What was Alex doing? Here he had Zena, as entrancing woman as anyone could wish, and he was openly flirting with Amalie. Vividly he recalled Zena's stricken look of a moment ago when Alex had so ardently kissed Amalie. Yuri had half a mind to importune Zena for himself and teach the callous bastard a lesson. She was astonishingly lovely and had an unmitigated mischievous sparkle in her eye at times that spoke of a spirited, irreverent nature. Zena would make any man a splendid, vivacious companion, and if Alex so rudely disregarded her feelings, Yuri would be more than happy to offer her solace.

Alex was half drunk by now, and the intimate presence of Amalie seemed familiar and natural.

"Sasha, play for us," Peotr interjected, humming a few bars of a mournful gypsy air.

"Oh, do, Sasha," Amalie pleaded, standing up to pull Alex to his feet. "Play 'Islamey,' please, Sasha, please," she cajoled.

Zena saw Amalie give Alex a long, lingering look of such naked sensuality that she looked away in embarrassment. Alex returned her smoldering glance with a faint smile of understanding.

Giving in to his friends' demands, Alex sat before the keyboard of the huge grand piano, Amalie seated at his side, her arm thrown over his shoulder.

"Remember 'Selim's Song,' Sasha. Play 'Selim' first."

Despite the hours of drinking, Alex's fingers glided surely over the keys, eliciting a compelling melody, redolent of tragic love and melancholy surrender. Everyone sang the poignant lyrics in voices raw with liquor and emotion.

Zena could no longer stand the sight of Amalie draped over Alex. It was obvious they had been lovers; even their acerbic remarks indicated intimacy. They had past memories to share, common bonds of friendship and family, and Zena felt isolated and saw how tenuous and fragile her hold on Alex was. And now they were laughing, the beautiful couple, two superb creatures, ideal foils for each other, blond head against raven tresses.

She had a sudden savage longing to kill Amalie. Zena quietly slipped from the room as the five voices rose once again in swelling harmony on the last chorus. She had tried; she had really tried to be courteous and friendly, but Alex asked too much if he wanted her to stay and watch him playfully wooing Amalie. Zena began to cry, giving in to the misery she had been holding in check for hours.

As the chorus ended in a crashing chord, Alex looked around for Zena. "Where's Zena?" he inquired offhand.

"She just left," Yuri replied. "She's tired, I think."

"Damn it. I want her here," Alex insisted arrogantly.

"Let her go," Amalie petulently declared. "Really, Sasha, she looks barely out of the schoolroom."

With a drunken brutality Alex replied, "As you should well know, my dear lady, age is of little consequence when it comes to passion. How old were you, my sweet, when you first spread your legs?"

A flush illuminated Amalie's face.

"Sasha, that's enough," Yuri interposed hurriedly. "Play us another song—a gay one this time."

Alex allowed himself to be persuaded, and soon everyone was raucously singing the rollicking chorus to "The Shepherd
Loi."
As the group broke into the second chorus, Yuri quietly slipped out of the room.

He strode upstairs and down the long hall to Alex's apartment. Knocking on the door he called out softly, "It's Yuri."

After a lengthy interval during which he was unsure his voice had been heard, the door opened and Zena's tear-stained face greeted him.

Gathering the woebegone woman in his arms, Yuri kicked the door shut with his boot and gently guided her over to the settee in front of the fire, where they both sat down. Passing a practiced arm around her drooping shoulders, he drew her to him.

"I'm sorry, Zena. Sasha can be a brute when he's drinking." Yuri had been watching Alex's casual treatment of Zena for weeks and felt a genuine concern for her wounded feelings. She had a poignant vulnerability noticeably lacking in the society hussies with whom he associated. If she would have accepted his affection as consolation, he would have offered it gladly, but her adoration of Sasha was too patently obvious for him to engage her feelings. He could be a friend to her, at least, but when she turned those deep blue eyes on him, he was a lost man.