Seized by Love (18 page)

“You’ll be seeing a great deal of us in the near future. It seems I must take a hand in my son’s affairs.” Prince Mikhail grinned familiarly at Sergei.

“We do what we can—eh, Monsieur?” Sergei responded, and winked.

•  •  •

Upon arriving home at his usual hour, Nikki was astonished to receive the sharp message from his father. Questioning Sergei accomplished little except to warn Nikki that his father had met Alisa. Nikki entered the library slightly annoyed at the peremptory order.

His father was seated behind the polished expanse of an André-Charles Boulle desk veneered in marquetry of tortoiseshell, natural colored woods, engraved pewter, brass, and ivory.

Father’s eyes met son’s. Both were cool and aloof, except the father’s held a touch of disdain as well.

With a resigned sigh and a casual gesture of his hand, Prince Mikhail offered a chair to Nikki.

Nikki ignored the courtesy and obstinately remained standing, leaning negligently against the Palladian window jamb, looking rebellious, angered at the curt summons from his father, resentful at being made to feel like a young cub about to be upbraided for some defiance of parental authority. However, because of the deep respect in which he held his father, Nikki was attempting to suppress his normally ungovernable temper. He set his teeth.

Silently, with maddening deliberation, Prince Mikhail regarded the tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed figure of his only child. Under this scrutiny Nikki’s eyes lifted, met his father’s, and held for an instant before a lazy flicker turned his expression suddenly remote, but not before his father noted the sullen stubbornness and the barely concealed anger.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit? It’s been three years since you were last in the city.”

Nikki didn’t really expect an answer to this flippancy, and he wasn’t disappointed. With the exception of one ironically raised eyebrow, Prince Mikhail ignored the remark, his attention more significantly engaged in adjusting
the ruffle on his shirt cuff. The ruffle suitably disposed, he once more lifted his eyes.

Prince Mikhail Kuzan enunciated evenly, the words clear and precise in the hushed stillness of the vast library.

“I have indulged you in every way, have I not, Nikki?”

“Yes, Father,” Nikki responded shortly, watching his father warily.

“Have I ever said you nay, or gainsaid you in any of your desires?”

“No, Father.” The words rapped out, sharp and decisive.

“I have overlooked all your numerous peccadilloes and reckless escapades these many years past, never interfered except to intercede when extenuating circumstances of your—ah—affairs have occasioned the need of a mollifying or palliating presence.”

Nikki stiffened at the reproach.

“I believe I have rather adequately conducted my own affairs, if you please,” he replied curtly. “I don’t recollect having had any need for your assistance.”

“You will allow me to point out your error, my boy. An example. Perhaps you recall the dark-haired child born to Countess Souvanieff last fall. Since she and her husband are both exceedingly fair and their other three children towheaded and blue-eyed, the conspicuous coloring of the last boy child did not go unremarked. Furthermore, if you remember, your pursuit of that fair lady was not in any way discreet. With your usual bland blindness to reason and prudence, your coach and lackeys were left waiting outside her door until dawn, time without number. That Adelaide blue brougham ornamented with silver, which you bought from the Duke of Devonshire after his state visit here, is one of a kind and elicits considerable attention, while your red and blue sledge is equally conspicuous with the golden bells and gilded, tasseled harness you affect.

“Even though I’m rarely in town, my sources of gossip
are speedy and reliable. I expected, daily, to hear of yet another duel, and you know how those last few contests of honor (although how the term
honor
comes into a fight over some woman’s favors, I fail to discern) terrified your mother. I
do not
like to see your mother disturbed and unhappy,” Prince Mikhail intoned ominously.

After a deliberarte pause, he continued softly. “Since Count Souvanieff was out of the country so often, it’s conceivable that he was ignorant of his wife’s affair, or perhaps your notorious reputation as a duelist may have dictated his caution. In any event, Count Souvanieff is not altogether a fool and was outraged at being cuckolded. Since you have a string of women constantly in your wake, he thought it ungenerous of you to turn your eye appreciatively on
his
wife. In this instance you incurred the indignant displeasure of a minister not without influence and power. You were remarkably close to being summarily cashiered out of the Chevaliers Gardes for that unheeding disregard for appearances.”

The old Prince heaved a small sigh.

“Fortunately my wealth and position bear some little consequence as well, and even while infrequently in town, my substantial connections prevail undiminished. In deference to our old and close friendship, the Emperor was persuaded there was no conclusive proof the child was yours.”

“It appears your—er—connections are to be commended. I owe you my belated thanks,” Nikki’s equable voice drawled as he gave a stiff bow in his father’s direction.

Prince Mikhail met his insolent glance squarely.

“Quite so. Now, enough of this sparring. What do you intend to do with Alisa?”

“Do? What am I expected to do?” Nikki inquired sardonically. “I’m well satisfied with the relationship. I find Alisa delightful and charming in spite of being overeducated for
a woman. As you know, I have never been overly fond of clever women.”

“
That
fact has always been fairly obvious,” his father replied dryly. “I am informed that Alisa is carrying your child.”

“My compliments, sir, on the efficacy of your sources. I was informed but yesterday myself of the impending blessed event. May I make so bold as to inquire whether you’ve discovered if it’s to be a boy or a girl?”

“Very amusing, I’m sure,” said the old Prince with a slight lift of the brows. Prince Mikhail went on gelidly, his gray eyes snapping with contained fury at Nikki’s impudent disrespect. “
Is
the child yours?”

“Apparently.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’ve no reason to doubt her word. Rest assured, she shall be well taken care of,” Nikki continued, icily polite. “I’ll buy her a house and set up a suitable establishment in which to rear a child of mine. Alisa and her two children will have every comfort. As her protector, I can offer her a safe, secure, and luxurious refuge.”

“Is a protector enough?” his father gently inquired, frustration smoldering beneath the quiet rebuke.

“Surely I’m not to consider a mesalliance?” Nikki protested righteously.

“Remember, my boy, your mother is a Tzigane,” the low voice dangerously remined him.
⁶

“Forgive me, sir,” Nikki hastily apologized, an embarrassed flush coloring his neck. “Of course, I didn’t mean Mother. You know she’s very dear to me.”

“If you will recall, my pompous young cub, before your haughty airs carry you too far, our princely title is due to our ancestor Platon’s prowess in Catherine the Great’s bedchamber. When our noble family dispatched their fine young scion, then a mere count, to court in hope of advancing
the family interests, don’t think for a minute they weren’t reasonably certain his strapping good looks would attract the insatiable eye of the Empress. The Kuzan family acquired numerous properties and additional titles thanks to the good offices and vigorous stamina of young Platon. And no doubt, if we were to search far enough back in our ‘illustrious’ family tree, we would discover the first ‘noble’ Kuzan was probably nothing more than a highly successful brigand on the caravan route east.

“Scrutinize any old prominent family in Russia and you will find, at base, a mercenary, a powerful warlord, a chieftain more shrewd or ruthless than his fellows. On such a base as that, the rank and fortunes of the first families rest, so do not speak to me of mesalliance.

“The honorable course of action would be to marry Alisa,” his father admonished sternly.

“Honorable?” Nikki laughed derisively. “I’m to mend the nonexistent honor of some petty merchant’s wife at the altar?” he sneered arrogantly. “Since when have either you or I been unduly concerned with a fine sense of proprieties? I find it ironic in the extreme that you should be trading little homilies with me about propriety and honor. You know yourself, most of our recent, illustrious progenitors were loose-living, self-indulgent wastrels whose chief diversion was irregular relations with a variety of women of every class and nationality. And with the scapegrace way you racketed around society for so many years, as rumor asserts, you’ll forgive me if I find your present posture singularly out of character. In any case, it’s out of the question, since Alisa is already married,” Nikki finished with an easy, smug smile.

“That insignificant detail can be readily remedied,” his father said curtly. “Money and influence buy most anything, as you have no doubt noted,” he continued with unmistakable cynicism, “since you have had a stable of
tarts both highborn and low for your convenience these many years; And damn! I like the chit!”

“Then it’s a pity you’re already married”—Nikki smiled genially as he once again relaxed comfortably against the window jamb and crossed his arms lazily across his chest—“for you could do the honorable thing by Alisa since you seem to revere her so highly. I am not the marrying kind, and if and when I do reach the stage when I’m inclined to settle down and set up my nursery, rest assured, I will select some suitably docile young girl just out of the schoolroom who will be biddable and content to spend her time in the country, raising my heirs. I certainly will not choose to ally myself with someone who has shown on more than one occasion a most unsettling stubbornness of character. I would be guilty of the greatest inane rashness, it seems to me, to burden myself with a self-willed woman. Nevertheless, I do feel a certain obligation to Alisa, since I figured rather largely in the loss of her former life.”

“This ‘obligation’ does not extend to marriage, however,” his father jibed.

“Hardly. If I were
obliged
to marry every female who bore my children, I would have been married long ago to that lovely moujik girl you so considerately put in my way when I was fourteen,” Nikki serenely remarked.

“Enough!” Prince Mikhail rose swiftly, hitting the desk with his fist as he thundered his command. He stood regally upright, his tall, spare frame still vigorous at sixty-eight, the strong aquiline features haughty, his cold gaze piercingly set on his recalcitrant, insolent heir.

“I have reached a decision!” the old Prince stated with a majestic unequivocality, flagrantly disregarding all Nikki’s protestations. “You
will
marry Alisa! She’s not one of your brazen sluts to be used and cast aside. I’ve waited long enough for a legitimate grandson to carry on the name. You are thirty-three years old and so far have demonstrated a
marked reluctance to allow yourself to be persuaded to select a wife, although every tabby in town has been on the scramble for you for her daughter.

“With the spirit of folly in which you conduct your affairs, the odds for you living a long life are exceedingly slim, and I want a grandson to inherit. You have, by some fortuitous miracle, finally coupled yourself with a fine, young, well-bred woman instead of the usual loose women you are wont to favor, and I have a fancy to have Alisa as the mother of my grandson. Heaven knows what she sees in you, but if she wants you, she shall have you!”

“Just like that?” Nikki was no longer casually lazing against the window but standing rigidly upright, his face pale with dismay. “You command me to marry Alisa?” he asked, incredulous. Nikki’s eyes narrowed as he tried to hold his growing anger in check. “What if I refuse?” he inquired softly through clenched teeth.

“Let us simply say you shall be extremely unhappy in exile on my estate in Siberia with my Finnish lukashee guarding you and no women available for your comfort. You’ve never felt the full force of my displeasure. Be warned. I can and will coerce you to see things my way. In this instance I will not be opposed.” Each word of the last sentence was enunciated precisely, in a carefully modulated murmur as frigid as the Arctic permafrost.

In his entire life Nikki had never experienced the unconditional fury of his father’s temper. For him, the wrath had always been allayed, repressed, controlled. Fate had chosen to relentlessly deprive Prince Mikhail and Princess Kaisa-leena of their other four children, each in the early stages of infancy. Nikki was, in fact, the only one to reach the age of twelve months. The small graves neatly lined one side of the east wall of the mausoleum at Le Repose, the dates pitiful evidence of the frailty of infants when pitted against the dread childhood diseases. The firstborn,
robust, sturdy Nikki had then become the sum total of all his parents’ love, hopes, and expectations. His utterly devastating charm, even as a child, endeared him to his parents even had he not been the sole survivor and only heir to the immense and centuries-old Kuzan fortune.

“You will escort Alisa to the Golchoffs’ birthday dance this evening,” his father stated flatly.

“Is that a command?” Nikki asked bitterly, a black scowl darkening his brow.

“Yes, it is. That will be all.” Satisfied that he’d settled the matter, Prince Mikhail curtly dismissed his son.

The interview was over.

Nikki left the library dazed by the unfamiliar anger of his father, but equally overwhelmed by a frustration and resentment far more dangerous. To have an indulgent parent manifest a violent volte-face was devastatingly humiliating to a grown man addicted to having things his own way.

It was not to be tolerated! Nikki seethed inwardly. To be ordered about like a minion! And now the two strong, determined temperaments of father and son presaged a clash of indomitable wills. Nikki had the disadvantage of years and a reckless brashness not yet tempered by prudence, but he had an optimistic conceit that a way would be found to circumvent the autocratic dictates of his father.