Seized by Love (21 page)

"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.

The far more experienced
old Prince had a knowledge culled from an acute and cynical perception of the
world and human foibles during sixty-eight years of keenly observing the
machinations of society. He knew that he would have his way and
that was
that.

Nikki left the house in a
high pitch of anger and spent the rest of the day at the Yacht Club rather
moodily gambling.

Earlier that afternoon
Prince Mikhail's wife had arrived and, after seeing to her unpacking, had
waited in the east drawing room for Alisa to present herself. Prince Mikhail
had alerted his wife that this was not Nikki's usual choice of paramour, and
thus she was prepared to like and accept Alisa before even meeting her.

The ladies spent a
delightful hour together—talking of their homelands, exclaiming over Alisa's
forthcoming child. When Alisa begged to be excused to rest for dinner, Princess
Kaisa-leena went in search of her husband to tell him she, too, approved of
Nikki's choice.

That evening Prince Mikhail
entertained both his wife and Alisa at dinner and explained to them that Nikki
would join them for the Golchoffs' party. Prince Mikhail received a note just
as they were finishing the meal.

have been unavoidably
detained. Please accept my apologies. I shall join you at die Golchoffs'. N.

The note was a direct
challenge. Nikki's father smiled faintly. The boy had spirit—that he had known
for years and was not naive enough to anticipate a compliant, dutiful son.
Nevertheless, he could afford to play a waiting game for the moment. One must
not press one's authority with foolhardy zeal. No doubt Nikki's regard for his
parents, or at least his consideration for Alisa, would overcome this initial
resistance. Prince Mikhail felt sure Nikki would appear later in the evening.

"Nikki is detained and
will join us later," he noncom-mittally explained. "Ladies, allow me
the pleasure of escorting two such charming beauties. We have time for a hand
of cards before we leave."

At ten-thirty the trio
walked out of the drawing room into the hall and through the double doors swept
instantly open by two footmen in Kuzan liveries. The tall, stately Prince in
black evening dress, its severity relieved solely by the prestigious Order of
St. Andrew suspended from its pale blue ribbon, was flanked on either side by a
slender woman, each beautifully garbed in rustling silk, their dainty stature
further enhanced by the majestic size of their escort.

The small
"intimate" birthday celebration consisted of a crush of three hundred
guests. Alisa, presented as a relative of the Prince, was accepted graciously
by their host and hostess, ever ready to accommodate any of the whims of Prince
Mikhail.

Gossip had, of course,
preceded Alisa's introduction into the restricted exclusivity of the creme of
Russian society, and some disapproving glances were cast at the exquisite
red-haired beauty, but no one dared cross swords with Prince Kuzan or his
equally arrogant son. Their credit guaranteed every door would open to their
protege, and she was now surrounded by a veritable, if spurious, fog of
respectability.

"A formidable
assemblage of support, I'd say," one guest sniffed. "Prince Mikhail
hasn't breathed the city air these three years past."

As Alisa was being
introduced to one rather erect, forbidding matron arrayed brilliantly, if not
garishly, in purple silk and plumes, she had a taste of the old Prince's
commanding power. When the intimidating purple-clad female cast a baleful eye
on this "cousin" and offered a frigid greeting, Prince Mikhail said
very suavely, "I do not in the least understand, Anna Feodorovna, how you
can afford to stand there, risking my displeasure with your censorious
expression when you know as well as I do that not so much as one arshin of the
seventy-thousand tons of steel rails just ordered from the Creuzot works will
be laid in the area of your husband's wheat fields without the approval of the
Minister of the Interior, who is a very old and dear friend of mine. Now,
curtsey prettily and bid a pleasant evening to our cousin." He smiled
thinly.

The grande dame acceded to
his wishes. Alisa received a rather strained good evening.

"You are excused,
Anna," Prince Mikhail murmured. As the woman's stiff back receded, the old
Prince observed. "Damn hen-witted female. She was never a woman of
intuition—eh, Kaisa-leena?" He peered down at his petite, dark-haired wife
and grinned widely.

"I think you have enlightened
her somewhat, Misha." She smiled back at him.

"Come now, Alisa, who
else haven't you met?" And then abruptly changing his mind he grumbled,
"Bah! I'm not going to introduce you to any more old hags. Let's see who
we have here otherwise," he murmured, surveying the room.

Many of the women watched
this new beauty with undisguised, malicious envy, noting each detail of Alisa's
appearance, but they prudently held their tongues, while the men took full
advantage of Alisa's first essay into public free of Nikki's jealous presence.
Everyone did agree, though, this newest mistress was in Nikki's usual style:
beautiful, provocative, sensual. Alisa was immediately surrounded by a phalanx
of charming, solicitous men, each attempting to flatter, praise, and please
her. She danced endlessly, thoroughly relishing the party and the attention of
admirers, although she quietly and regularly searched the crowd for a sign of
Nikki. He'd not given her any explanation of his absence that afternoon.

Alisa was seated facing the
door, looking delicately beautiful in a ball gown of two shades of lilac silk,
patiently waiting for the six gallants who had rushed off to satisfy her
request for a glass of champagne, when she saw the tall, unmistakable figure of
Nikki. Unhurriedly he strolled across the vast expanse of the room, quite as if
he were not four hours late to act as her escort. Alisa was unable to check a
rising resentment at his bold impudence.

He seemed oblivious of the
hundreds of eyes swiveling to regard the encounter between Nikolai Kuzan and
the new

"cousin" with
whom he was consorting, who now, with the imperious audacity only old Prince
Kuzan was capable of, had been taken under the wing of the family. To have
Nikki appear at a ball would have been a rarity enough to occasion their
stares, but this gesture for the obvious sake of his newest inamorata was not
to be missed, for Nikki Kuzan never did anything to oblige anyone.

No one believed for a
minute that Alisa was a cousin, but in society one soon learned the necessity
of never "noticing" in public. The Kuzans, as one of the oldest and
most powerful families in Russia, predating the Romanovs by several centuries,
were above the normal conventions; hadn't the old Prince married a young Gypsy
girl eighteen years his junior with total aplomb during the reign of Nicholas
I, and forced society to accept her? And even if one would have liked to demur,
one did not dare aggravate Prince Mikhail's obstreperous temper which had been
famous throughout Russia for fifty years.

Nikki's languid stride
slowly brought him face-to-face with Alisa, seated on a brocaded Louis XV
settee. The brittle glitter of considerable drink shone from his golden eyes.

"You have deigned to
make an appearance," Alisa mockingly stated.

"As you see,
Madame"—he bowed elaborately with his usual self-composed air that made
her want to strike him— "I have a distinct feeling that not only my
father, but these hundreds of curious, gaping people, will be supremely
dismayed if I do not take a turn with you, so please," he continued in a
lazy drawl, "do me the honor."

He reached out for her hand
in a graceful gesture.

Alisa burned with annoyance
and declined the obviously acid invitation. "I'm sorry… Major Khreptovich
and Count Soltikoff and several others have gone off to bring me champagne and…
will be back directly." To her vexation, she felt herself blushing under
the intense scrutiny of his glittering, inebriated eyes.

Nikki in one swift movement
grasped her hand in an iron grip and spat through tight lips, "They can
wait my convenience."

Pulled unceremoniously to
her feet, she felt a muscular arm around her waist and her right hand clasped
in a strong hold that offered no opportunity for further resistance. She was
swept forcibly off onto the floor and, gliding into a waltz, found herself
dancing with quite the most adept partner she had ever had. He danced superbly,
as he did all things, but with his usual bored elegance.

After avoiding his eyes
with deliberate coolness and concentrating instead on the third button of his
collar, her silence was interrupted by Nikki remarking rather grimly,
"Well? Mrs. Forseus? What are your plans?"

Alisa's eyes rose in
response to the icy tone and met his cool stare. She lifted her chin
belligerently as the uncivil inquiry raised her fighting spirit. "What are
my
plans? What a monumentally censorious tone, Monsieur, as if the
responsibility is exclusively mine. Without your damnable wager I should never
have had the misfortune to make your acquaintance, and had you not so
assiduously 'wooed' me once again in Petersburg, I would not now find myself in
the unenviable position of carrying your child!"

"As I perceive,
Madame, you would hardly be classified as an innocent after having lived with
that perverted lecher Forseus, and don't forget, my dear, that my attentions
were rarely repulsive to you. Why, as recently as last night, your response
was, shall we say—er—selfishly demanding?" he finished with silky malice,
one eyebrow raised sardonically while a parody of a smile creased his lean
cheek.

Alisa's indignation rose at
the ignominious truth of his statement, for she was mortified at the ready
response

Nikki's bold and passionate
advances invariably drew from her. She always succumbed to his consummate skill
and experience, her senses betrayed by the exquisite torture of his touch.

The creamy skin of her
cheeks glowed rose at the direct cut, and she endeavored to pull away from his
grasp and leave the floor. Dropping her hand from Nikki's shoulder, she twisted
her fingers from his grip. Undeterred, Nikki only tightened his hold on her
slender waist and quickly regained her right hand, this time in a viselike grip
so ruthless that tears of pain sprang into her eyes. He pressed her closely
against his tall frame and calmly continued twirling expertly down the long
ballroom, scarcely having missed a step in the smoothly flowing rhythm of the
waltz.

"That's better,"
Nikki said approvingly. "Really, my love, aren't we offering enough of a
spectacle already without resorting to childish tantrums? For me to be on a
ballroom floor should keep the matrons' tongues wagging for quite some time. It
must be some four or five years since I have graced a polite social function.
Consider yourself quite the belle of the ball to have captured my attention in
such an unusual public display of my regard."