Kuzan 02 - Lovestorm

by Susan Johnson

  Zena, allowing herself the blissful extravagance of having someone take care of her, sank deeper into the luxurious warmth of the fur robes. She and the prince were veritable strangers, she knew, despite the incredible events of the previous night; yet she had an uncommon feeling of closeness to him. (The intimacy of bedfellows did expedite the usual protracted maturation of an acquaintanceship, she mused drolly.) She knew she had no right to be so happy, considering the "unacceptable" situation she found herself in, but she was. Flashing a sidelong glance at Alex out of dancing eyes, she said gaily, "Isn't the morning just marvelous?"

  Having drunk a prodigious quantity of liquor over the past twenty-four hours, Alex could not view the morning with quite the same degree of exuberance as the mademoiselle; but, discrediting the slight headache that pounded in his temple, he did have to essentially agree. "Perfectly marvelous, my pet." (When I have talked you into my bed once again, perfection indeed, he thought smugly.) Not wishing to alter this childishly bright mood the young chit was in, but deeming it as good a time as any, Alex entreated her politely to please tell him her name once again.

  Zena's eyes opened wide in surprise, she being still naïve and romantic enough to presume that one should at least remember the name of the individual with whom one has just shared such extraordinary intimacies.

  Alex immediately dissembled, presenting the most outrageously woeful countenance. "Now, Bobby's name I know," he said, having heard it spoken several times that morning, "but I fear I was greatly in my cups last evening when you introduced yourself and hesitate to admit I've forgotten what you said. You see, I'm quite neglectfully poor with names. I've a memory like a sieve. Forgive me."

  "Oh! Of ... of course, lord. My name's Zena—Zena Turku."

  " 'Zena'? Lovely and rare—extremely appropriate." Alex turned his eyes too quickly as he glanced toward his companion, and winced in pain. Damnable head was getting worse. He leaned back against the velvet squabs, shutting his eyes against the too-brilliant rays of the harsh winter sun. Sweet Jesus, he was tired. The peaceful country dacha would be welcoming indeed.

  "The headache, my lord?" Zena questioned, having the past three years seen her father similarly distressed mornings without number. "Lemonade with honey used to work prodigious well for my father," she offered solicitously.

  Alex mumbled something unintelligible in reply, speculating that lemonade may have relieved her father, but his cure tended .toward a somewhat more potent remedy with alcohol as the base. Damn chit was amazing, though, he considered indulgently: no hysteria, no simpering. He was somewhat surprised. How many young mademoiselles would be so amiable to the rogue who had seduced them the night before? She was remarkable to have adjusted so complacently. Then an uneasy feeling stole into his brain. Was she three steps ahead of him, having planned this encounter? She had appeared at an extremely unlikely place at a damnably convenient time. He raised one eyelid fractionally and shot a suspicious peek at the fetching young thing next to him. Her charmingly naïve appearance immediately cast aside these misgivings. She had been a virgin, after all—at least that much he remembered quite vividly in the somewhat hazy recollections of last night. And good God, at the very worst what could she demand? Money? They all cost money. She couldn't be any more expensive than the rest. All in all, the next few weeks should be most entertaining. A young virgin to tutor in the intricacies of love was quite a change of pace from the usual style of female sharing his leisure.

  Since the mumbled reply from the prince did not seem to encourage conversation, Zena lapsed into silence as the horses flew over the snow-covered road winding through quiet birch forests. Her thoughts were equally of her companion, but somewhat more confused and disarrayed then the practical considerations of the prince, who disregarded the finer delicacies of emotion and sentiment in favor of the tangible considerations of how best to have this young woman serve his purposes.

  Zena knew she should be feeling very wicked and contrite for being seduced in such a cavalier manner. No apologies or polite disclaimers had passed the prince's lips. He was shockingly casual about the entire episode (Zena wished he'd been sober enough to remember her name), and she suspected she should be cold, abrupt, and frightfully offended by his arrogant treatment of her. The canons of social usage demanded it. But illogically Zena remembered only his burning touch on her flesh, the passion of her response, and the unutterable delight Alex had roused in her, rendering it quite difficult to simulate the required fervor of hateful, raging contempt. It was her first experience of joy in passion, and memories of last night swept a warmth and sweetness over her.

  Could she be so immature and gullible that the prince's arrestingly handsome face and tall, muscular physique could turn her head? Was she so depraved to all the finer sensibilities that the tumultuous climax to their lovemak-ing could temper her opinion of the man? Was it dreadfully wrong to feel happiness at being in company with this charming, elegant prince instead of fending off the crude obscenities of General Scobloff? Somehow she was unable the summon the smallest shred of sobriety, and Zena's mouth curved into a sunny smile despite every mindful stricture of society.

  Zena was free from the cruel treatment of her aunt, her young brother safely with her, and her first taste of passion pleasantly savored. Could there be any other conceivable response except the youthful exuberance she was now experiencing?

  The remainder of the journey passed in silence; the prince dozed despite the swaying of the sleigh, Bobby slept comfortably, but Zena was much too ebullient to think of rest. After an hour of swift passage through pine and birch forests, Ivan halted the troika on the crest of a hill overlooking a large valley intersected by a meandering river.

  As Alex's eyes opened slowly, he surveyed the familiar scene. "Ah, here at last. It's a good feeling, eh, Ivan?"

  AH time spent in the city was wasted, in Ivan's opinion. The froth of society had no attraction for him, and he had been waiting weeks with an iron patience for the word that would send them south. "The best place on earth, Sasha," Ivan replied familiarly, for he was more than a servant, having been a devoted friend from childhood. The ritual never changed. This was Ivan's home, and he knew it was his master's favorite retreat. They always paused at the top of the hill and exchanged the identical phrases—a cherished secular rubric upon returning home.

  A tranquillity lay over the vast estate buried deep in the forests, removed from the bustle of Moscow by a two-hour drive. Every time he returned, he wondered why he had been such a fool to leave. This was the only place in the world where he really felt at peace.

  While the ceremonial exchange passed between Alex and Ivan, Zena could only stare in open-eyed wonder. A magnificent estate lay beneath her gaze. An imposing neo-baroque palace sprawled majestically across acres of cleared land, surrounded by parterres, now only visible as geometric areas beneath the covering of snow. A complicated evergreen maze looked like a child's toy from this distance, and a fairy tale village of painted cottages decorated in peasant carving was set around a wooden church. "My God," breathed Zena quietly. "It's splendid! I can see why you love it here. The heroic proportions! It's colossal!" she exclaimed.

  "Great-grandfather never quite understood the notion of intimacy. Great-grandpapa's conception of rustic charm approximated the royal. His idea of bucolic repose, you see, was a staff of two hundred servants and a occasional wolf hunt or stag chase to break the monotony. Except when the entire family's down, I prefer to set up housekeeping in a small dacha a few miles down the river road. If you'd prefer, of course," and he swept his hand toward the arresting display before them.

  "Oh, no—no," Zena stammered, "your choice is entirely suitable—by all means, the dacha"

  Zena's family home had been sufficiently grand, so a country estate of the ordinary type would not have rendered her so completely speechless. But arrayed beneath them in the shallow valley was a rather faithful rendition of Stupinigi with all its attendant garden landscaping. The regal panorama
elicited visions of vast, extravagant royal hunt parties of an era long past and suggested a worldly existence of princely proportions.

  "Well, Ivan, in that case, on to the dacha" Alex murmured.

  Shortly they were driving up to an exquisite jewel of craftsman expertise. A large wooden mansion, intricately decorated in the baroque exuberance of peasant wood carving, greeted them at the end of a long driveway lined with towering pines. The windows alight, the front door thrown open, a multitude of servant muzhiks poured out to help with the arrival. Zena, somewhat overwhelmed, watched quietly as Alex jumped out to hug and kiss several of the beaming and chattering servants. He returned to help Zena and Bobby out of the troika and, holding the slightly awake young child in his arms, introduced Zena to all the cordial, amicable servants.

  "This is Bobby," he then explained with a warm smile, "who was extremely ill last night and needs some rest and care." A sympathetic murmur of concern rose from the crowd.

  A tall, dignified butler detached himself from the crush, stepped forward, and his sober face broke into a smile as he solemnly stated, "May I express our pleasure, my lord, at having you back."

  "It's good to be back, Trevor, I assure you," Alex exhaled happily in return. The prodigal son, Zena thought, feeling very much alone amid the happy crowd, but then Alex turned his warm smile on her and washed away the loneliness. "Come, Zena, I'll show you around."

  Alex proudly exhibited the rustic charms of his twenty-room dacha, each room aglow with polished wood, handcrafted furniture, embroidered lace, and tapestries. Hothouse flowers from the greenhouses at the main estate adorned every room so that one forgot for a moment that it was January, their pungent perfumes sweetly wafting through the warm firelit rooms. Fur rugs scattered atop and beside museum-quality oriental rugs on the highly polished wooden floors vied in opulence with jeweled and enamaled icons twinkling in the subdued winter light. To further add to the powerful sense of phenomenal, luxurious affluence, Zena beheld servants at every turn; each whim was anticipated, every desire fulfilled. One need never open a door nor pull aside a curtain; if one dropped one's handkerchief, three devoted, beaming muzhiks jumped to retrieve it.

  The short tour sufficed, allowing Zena a general understanding of the direction of most rooms. She and Bobby would be installed in adjoining rooms on the second floor. The prince's suite was situated next to hers with a connecting door. The prince offered no explanation concerning this arrangement and Zena demurred comment, not wishing to appear difficult and ungrateful. She could always lock the door between the rooms, she thought, if Prince Alex was inclined to disregard his promise to honor her reputation.

  "Now, first we must eat, and by then the doctor should be here. I left word in Moscow to have Dr. Anechev drive out immediately to examine Bobby. He should be here within the hour."

  "Thank you very much," Zena responded gratefully.

  "Think nothing of it, my dear," Alex shrugged off the thanks with a cheerful smile.

  Bobby had been surveying Alex with quiet, wide-eyed attention during the house tour. The three-year-old still in his arms, Alex inquired, "What's your favorite food? Tell me and we'll have cook make it."

  "Ice cream," the little voice piped up without hesitation.

  "Ice cream—very good choice. It's one of my favorites as well. Since that might take a bit of time to prepare, let's have a second choice. What else do you like?"

  "Black cake," with the high-pitched, emphatic reply.

  "He means chocolate cake," Zena interpreted.

  "That's available, I'm sure. Come, Bobby, I'll find you a chair and we'll eat black cake."

  As Alex settled Bobby at the table in a chair piled high with cushions, a maid was given the command to produce some chocolate cake as soon as possible. "And tell Valentina we'd like a light luncheon, too. Maybe we could squeeze some more nourishing food into Bobby between bites of ice cream and black cake, if we're lucky," Alex teased Zena softly. Then, in a more serious tone, he added, "You look tired. Please sit down." Alex offered Zena a chair and patted her shoulder avuncularly as she sank into the softness of the down cushions.

  "Thank you so very much," Zena expressed once again. She was so appreciative of his taking responsibility, however briefly. For several years now she had had to be strong, responsible, and sensible, both mother and father to Bobby. She hadn't realized how strenuous and demanding the task was until the present, when this short respite from duty was offered, and the taxing strain was lightened by the kind solicitude of Prince Alex. It was dangerous, no doubt, to become indebted to this charming prince, she thought, but she was so weary and young to have shouldered so many obligations for so long. She'd cast pragmatic considerations aside just for the moment and allow herself the luxury of being taken care of.

  "Please don't keep saying thank you. It unnerves the hell out of me." Alex smiled with disarming grace. "It's the simplest thing to offer you the hospitality of my dacha until Bobby is well," he assured Zena smoothly.

  The most dishonorable intentions underlay his easy hospitality, but he had plenty of time to move into the young chit's bed. The prince contented himself with putting Zena at ease for the moment. For a green virgin she had been a damnable hot piece. Before long he'd be enjoying her again, he told himself. Alex's self-assurance had been amply reinforced over the years by a plentitude of amorous females in hot pursuit. The unlimited Kuzan fortune alone would have been enough to insure a steady stream of eager women. When combined with the devastating Kuzan looks and charm, his lean, powerful physique, and— perhaps most indispensible and democratically revered by all females—a reputation for stamina in bed, Alex had always enjoyed a profligate's pick from the beauties of his day. Surely one could understand how Alex had acquired a taste for having things his own way.

  The black cake arrived promptly, followed by a sumptuous luncheon that everyone enjoyed, including Bobby. The ice cream appeared within the hour, piled in a silver bowl cushioned with crushed ice. The food eased Alex's painfully drumming temples slightly, but what he really needed was some sleep.

  "Could I suggest a short nap? I'm hellishly tired. Didn't get much sleep last night." Too late he caught his tongue as Zena's face flushed a rosy hue. Further commentary would only serve to exacerbate the embarrassing slip, so he continued unabashed, "Please feel free to ask the servants for anything you wish. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to rest."

  The flush had diminished somewhat on Zena's fair complexion as she determinedly adapted to Alex's casual attitude, and she resolved with ingenuous pluck to present a mien equally nonchalant.

  "I think Bobby and I'll nap soon. We'll wait for the doctor first."

  "I'd forgotten about him. Sounds sensible. Until this evening, then." Alex wearily pushed his chair from the table, offered Zena a brief smile, rose and grabbed a bottle of brandy from the sideboard as he passed from the dining room He reflected whimsically on the possibility that if mademoiselle would care to keep him company during his nap; he might be able to muster the necessary energy to…

  6

  The doctor soon appeared and prescribed rest, warm broths, and steaming for Bobby's chest. Having nursed this same malady numerous times in the past two years since Bobby had been diagnosed as having "weak lungs," Zena was familiar with the regimen for the convalescence, and considerably relieved to be assured that the inflammation had not progressed to the stage of pneumonia.

  Bobby and Zena both fell asleep after the doctor left, waking in late afternoon. Several hours later when Alex rose from his rest, he found Zena and Bobby in the young boy's room. Zena was relaxing in a comfortable chair and smiling delightfully at the chubby, dark-haired, rosy-cheeked three-year-old. Bobby was seated in the middle of the floor, happily surrounded by a vast number and variety of toys that Mariana had fetched from the nursery.

  "I see Mariana has found the toys," Alex remarked as he entered the doorway. Zena turned to see her host leaning casually against the doorjamb, arms crossed on his chest. He was
attired in elegantly tailored, pearl gray slacks and an immaculately white, open-neck shirt that partially displayed a muscular, dark-haired chest. The prince was undeniably virile, Zena noted with a small leap of her heart. It was impossible to remain impartial to his good looks.

  "Yes, Mariana's been very helpful. Bobby hasn't ever seen so many toys," Zena replied quickly, attempting to

  assume a civil equanimity in the presence of her boldly handsome seducer.

  Whose toys were these? Zena pondered uneasily, recalling the prince's remark in which he acknowledged having children. Could his offspring be here at the dacha, Zena speculated uncomfortably, or perhaps he brought them out on visits? For some unexplicable reason, these musings evoked a sharp twinge of jealousy. Shaking herself mentally, Zena reminded herself pointedly that their acquaintance was of less than twenty-four hours. She was a silly fool to react in any way to Prince Alex's mode of life.

  "I see my little sister's toys are once more of some use. Bobby seems to be enjoying himself," Alex said amiably. He pushed away from the doorjamb, moved into the room, sank down on the floor next to Bobby, and began assembling an intricate ferris wheel.

  Inexplicably and despite her sober attempt to maintain an unruffled mental calm, Zena's disposition altered irresistibly to a most piquant cheerfulness. "You have a young sister?" she inquired with incisive interest.

  "Yes, a younger sister and also two brothers and an older sister," the prince replied without looking up. Alex had captured Bobby's interest with the sizable ferris wheel and was guiding two chubby hands in manipulation of a small, wooden cross brace. "Perfect, Bobby," he encouraged as the brace finally slipped into place.

  " 'Nother one, Papa. Bobby do 'nother one!" the excited young boy crowed in delight.