Seized by Love (15 page)

“Desist in the cataloguing if you please,” he broke in rudely, and in a dangerously cold voice murmured, “Let us not cavil over trifles. You’re staying with me.” Alisa involuntarily quailed before the stark, open challenge in his eyes, and her heart sank in a most unpleasant way.

“So my life is a trifle?” she whispered, trembling with a quiet inner violence.

“You misunderstand, my dear,” the even voice explained with just a touch of impatience. “It’s simply that I don’t intend to enter into any senseless wrangles or debates over your attributes and the direction in which your favors are to be bestowed. Madame, you’re to remain my mistress.” His lips smiled faintly but his tawny gaze was chill.

Alisa closed her eyes momentarily as she reached the final point of renunciation of all the ideals of her youth. Then, lifting her chin resolutely, she said sarcastically, “In that case, I suppose I must thank you for your generous hospitality.”

“Not at all,” Nikki coolly replied. “I expect my generosity to be amply repaid.”

Rakeli and Katelina returned at that moment to cut short the sharp retort Alisa was about to utter. They gaily jabbered on about the swans and flowers and statues as Nikki turned to speak to Alisa.

“We’ll stop at Madame Vevay’s next. She isn’t Worth, but since your wardrobe must be replenished immediately, we’ll settle for a local modiste,” Nikki said, giving the coachman a signal to leave.

The first of her commands, Alisa resentfully thought, in her role as mistress.

“Does that require an answer, Lord Prince,” she insolently
inquired. “You must help me acquire the proper conduct for one of my class.”

“I look forward to the tuition,” he quietly replied, his voice not carrying beyond her ears. “Somehow I feel you have a natural talent for at least a portion of the requirements,” he finished, amusement rife in his tone.

Alisa coldly sat next to Nikki, her ankles crossed neatly, her hands folded together in her lap, and lapsed into an outraged, vengeful silence, answering only in curt monosyllables when he addressed her directly. After several rebuffs to his conversational sallies, Nikki leaned over and whispered teasingly into her ear, “Maybe Forseus wasn’t crazy after all when he beat you. You’re singularly provoking and impertinent for a woman.”

She shot him a look of black fury and hissed, “You have yet to see my full impertinence, sir.”

“In that case, I look forward to the future with pleasant anticipation,” Nikki retorted, and a level gaze of challenge issued from under half-lowered lids.

Rakeli and Katelina were so engrossed in their sightseeing that they were oblivious of the sotto-voce
contre-dit
going on across from them.

Within minutes they were alighting before the fashionable façade of Madame Vevay. Nikki, in an agreeable mood, as he always was when he had his own way, was all courtesy and easy manners as he escorted them into the gilded establishment of the haute couturière of Petersburg, the interior in flattering emulation of Worth’s in Paris, all green silk, gold, and mahogany.

Seeing the elegant equipage depositing its passengers, Madame Vevay came sweeping toward the door with a finely controlled hauteur and was momentarily arrested in mid-glide when Prince Nikolai Kuzan stepped through her delicately grilled plate-glass doors, escorting a ravishing beauty, but most startling, and the object of Madame
Vevay’s rapt amazement, pulling a young child in tow. The sight was enough to stagger the most rigid demeanor, but Madame Vevay, ever resourceful, rapidly regained her composure and, holding out both hands, warmly greeted the Prince and his party.

“Prince Kuzan!” she gushed with an extremely deferential familiarity. “So lovely to see you!”

“A pleasant morning to you, Madame Vevay. May I present my”—he paused delicately, and smiled faintly—“my—ah—cousin, unfortunately recently widowed, and her charming daughter.” A suitably grieved expression accompanied his malapert lie concerning Alisa’s “dead” husband.

Alisa flushed brightly pink to her ears and Katelina bobbed a correct little bow as Nikki grinned broadly. He was paying Alisa back for her challenge to his authority and for her rudeness on the ride to the dress shop. Nikki was making certain her possibilities for finding work as a governess were abruptly dashed. Everyone would know within hours of their leaving Madame Vevay’s that Alisa was Nikki’s newest mistress. That delicate pause had peremptorily put her in her place. Alisa realized this too. He is daring me, she thought, to contradict the implication, and what’s more, he’s quite prepared to be even more explicit if I dare. Her courage melted away at such public disgrace.

Madame Vevay was delighted at the prospect of dressing such a vivid beauty, a beauty enhanced by the fresh innocence Alisa wore without pretense. Maybe it was her tender youthfulness that appealed to Prince Kuzan’s jaded palate. This mistress was scarcely more than a child herself. Her slender voluptuousness would set off Madame Vevay’s most recherché creations, and this “cousin’s” status didn’t confine her to prim, demure fashions. Madame Vevay could
already envision a use for that Byzantine tussah in her warehouse.

“I have a magnificent fabric that requires just such a striking beauty to do it justice,” she cooed, and just such a munificent benefactor to absorb the staggering cost of the rare fabric she reflected silently. What a delightful combination in these two splendid young creatures.

Katelina was tugging insistently at Nikki’s hand, totally unconcerned with matters of fashion.

“Nikki, Nikki, when can I get my train? You promised!” she wailed, jumping up and down. Prince Kuzan, in a totally uncharacteristic move calculated to raise eyebrows and drop open the mouth of anyone privy to the scene, bent over kindly to the tugging and pleading little girl and in a soothing Finnish dialect quieted her tantrum.

Searching in his pocket, Nikki handed Katelina several silver roubles, stood upright, and deposited a packet of roubles in Rakeli’s hand.

“Now are you happy?” he asked the beaming young child. Then he gave instructions to Rakeli and explained. “If you’re finished at the toy store early, just have Feodor wait outside until we complete our purchases. Now have a good time. Feodor knows exactly where to go. Give your mother a kiss good-bye, little brown eyes,” he ordered softly.

The bouncing child threw her arms around her mother’s waist and lifted her face for a kiss. Alisa smiled at her happy young daughter and bent to kiss her.

“Say thank you to Prince Kuzan,” she admonished gently.

“
Thank you
, Uncle Nikki!” Katelina cried as she dashed toward the door, Rakeli in hot pursuit.

Uncle
Nikki? That designation raised even Madame Vevay’s unflappable eyebrows. Prince Kuzan had never publicly recognized any of his natural children. He was
generous and thoughtful concerning their support, but didn’t acknowledge them, except monetarily, in any fashion whatsoever. His life-style, to this point, hadn’t embraced the world of children. He simply moved in circles in which children were never seen or discussed.

His wasn’t a malicious disregard but rather a selfish indifference. Everyone in town was aware of the trust he had funded for Countess Souvanieff’s last child. Bank clerks and servants were notorious gossips, and no bit of scandal passed unnoticed below stairs.

So, to see the cold reserve, the unrufflable hauteur of Prince Kuzan yielding to a dynamo of enthusiasm was unprecedented. And he spoke Finnish to the little tyke in public; he had never even deigned to speak Russian outside the barracks before, French being the exclusive language of society. Surely this fresh, young, dazzling matron at his side must have some powerful attraction. Madame Vevay was consumed with curiosity.

“If Madame will follow me, please,” Madame Vevay said graciously to Alisa, this obviously clever woman who had managed to induce Nikolai Kuzan to abandon the habits of a lifetime and actually appear solicitous in public to nothing less than a pert child. Madame Vevay gestured toward an open doorway into a private fitting salon.

But the imperturbable Prince showed no indication of politely accepting a dismissal from anyone. Instead, he followed the two women at a leisurely pace into the salon, seated himself comfortably in a gilded brocade fauteuil which creaked indignantly under the impact of his weight, stretched his long legs out before him, impeccably clad in the biscuit-colored trousers, and leaned back at ease. He looked thoroughly at home in this elegant green and gold showroom, as if he were frequently a visitor to the inner sanctums of fashionable modistes, when, in fact, Nikki normally waited with impatient indifference outside in the
anteroom while his mistresses selected their dresses, showing not the slightest inclination to concern himself with their purchases.

Madame Vevay, disconcerted at Prince Kuzan’s presence in the room, stammered in confusion, but quickly recovered and inquired inquisitively, “Monsieur is interested in selecting the fabric and designs?”

“But of course,” Nikki replied blandly, as though this, too, were a perfectly normal practice of his. In a pleasant tone he explained, “My cousin and I don’t believe unduly in the old-fashioned tradition of mourning, so I don’t want any somber black or gray crepes. Some vivid, bright colors, I think,” he said consideringly, flicking a leisurely glance up and down Alisa’s body as she stood flushing angrily before him. With a bold crudeness he added quietly, “While the thought occurs to me, we’ll order two dozen silk negligees, an assortment of colors, and the usual lace and ribbon froufrous.”

“Very good, Monsieur, two dozen it will be. If you will excuse me one moment, I’ll gather my designs and perhaps one or two dresses for Madame to try on for size.”

Alisa, furiously embarrassed at Nikki’s presence, after Madame Vevay left the room, snarled, “I hope this charade is amusing you, Prince Kuzan!”

“You always amuse me, darling, in countless and delightful ways,” he replied, looking at her insolently from under half-lowered lids, his superb self-confidence evident in every word.

Madame Vevay bustled back into the room, her arms full of sketches, fabrics, and dresses, and set about her business.

Nikki watched appreciatively as Alisa’s blouse and skirt were removed; soon she stood blushing in corset, chemise, and petticoats, the delectably lovely swell of her breasts rising above the tightly laced stays.

Madame Vevay was astonished to see multiple bruises
lightly visible on the ivory purity of Alisa’s flesh, and considered silently. Does Prince Kuzan beat her? He had a reputation for profligacies as well as a taste for the bizarre, but she’d never heard rumors of perversions. Nevertheless, this woman had been badly beaten and not too long ago. A new quirk of his? she pondered, her curiosity about this relationship further roused.

Slipping a white beaded silk creation over Alisa’s head, Madame Vevay made a few tucks and adjustments after buttoning up the back securely. The gown was of white silk, the skirt entirely covered with white bugles. The tunic was, like the skirt, of white silk and was edged with a rich trimming of colored silk embroidery worked by hand on the fabric itself. The sash at the back was embroidered to match, and the whole length of sash was surrounded by a deep white fringe of bugles. Vivid violet velvet ribbon outlined the flounces and ruffles terminating in bouffant bows at shoulders, décolletage, and hip.

“Come closer, dear,” Nikki demanded. “You look very lovely in white.”

Alisa reluctantly drew closer but remained outside his reach.

“Come
here
, love,” Nikki firmly said, holding his hand out to touch her as she unwillingly stepped a few paces nearer.

Was the young woman that afraid of him? Madame Vevay conjectured, although she realized it was safer to stop speculating about the private lives of reckless patricians like Nikolai Kuzan. He was much too rich and well connected to antagonize.

Nikki clasped Alisa’s hand, straightened his posture somewhat, and pulled her between his legs.

“Turn around now so I can see the dress from all sides,” he murmured softly, and twirled her slowly. The silken skirts brushed against his legs. Under his careful scrutiny
Alisa turned, her slender form exquisitely shown off in the revealing gown, cut daringly low in the bodice.

“I like it,” the Prince declared emphatically. “We’ll take this one, Madame Vevay.”

“It’s much too extravagant!” Alisa whispered, Nikki’s presence unnerving her. “Where can I possibly ever wear something like this?”

“Why not at dinner tonight with me?” he softly said. “You’ll quite improve my appreciation of dining en famille and I might decide to stay home this evening. Even the entertainment of the Yacht Club’s gambling rooms can’t hope to match your allure.”

Shame overcame her at his unequivocal description of her role. And then anger at his casual appropriation as though she existed only for his amusement.

“You can’t force me to dine with you and serve as your ‘entertainment!’ ” Alisa retorted, looking mutinous. “I’m not going to!”

“Aren’t you, by God?” Nikki responded, and, to Alisa’s distinct chagrin, a smile of the most unalloyed amusement appeared on his face. “We shall no doubt see. Now, try on that other dress,” he said authoritatively, and pushed Alisa gently out into the center of the salon. In a louder voice, intended for the modiste’s ears, he said, “The second dress, Madame Vevay.”

Nikki’s eager gaze surveyed the slender body slipping into a dark green silk-twill morning dress trimmed in green velvet, and he smiled lazily at her as she bent to straighten the skirt and spilled provocatively out of her corset. It was one of his favorite aesthetic diversions, watching women dress. With a succulent, luxurious beauty like that she should wear sables, the natural ones with the golden vaguely foxy tint to complement her hair, he mused. He would wrap her in sables this winter.

Madame Vevay was clucking and fussing, keeping up a steady inane chatter.

Meeting Nikki’s gaze, Alisa quickly dropped her seductively lashed violet eyes before that unmistakable long, burning glance.

Damn her, the lure was overpowering, he thought as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could just
look
at her and forget everything else.