Kuzan 02 - Lovestorm

by Susan Johnson

  The earl made it a habit after that first meeting to frequent the park at the same times Zena did, and over the ensuing weeks they had become friends. He played childish games with Bobby and then chatted or strolled with Zena when Bobby was preoccupied with his own activities. Oddly enough, Zena noted Bobby had never taken to calling the earl "Papa," as he had done immediately with Sasha.

  The earl was kindness itself to them both, bringing small gifts for Bobby occasionally or presenting Zena with a dainty bouquet of violets or primroses, often leaving a book he recommended. After a fortnight of such pleasant attentions, Zena invited him for tea one afternoon, and the invitation was reciprocated several days later as Zena and Bobby took tea with the earl in his little villa two streets away. The earl, it turned out, was a childless widower, his wife of ten years having died of consumption two years before after a lengthy illness. He came to Nice in the off season, preferring the relative peacefulness to the tremendous crowds of late winter. He was gentlemanly in every way, observing the proprieties of courtesy and politeness in his association with Zena. Alistair Prescott had fair skin and light brown silky hair combed back from a fine, aristocratic forehead. Pale blue eyes looked out serenely from under straight dark brows. A refined, high-bridged nose attested to centuries of good breeding, while his straight slash of a mouth was capable of the most disarming smiles. He carried his height gracefully on a slim, muscular frame tanned from the suns of thirty-nine years. He was everything Sasha was not: placid, serene, polite, understanding, deprecatingly modest, and compassionately kind to both Zena and Bobby. Zena couldn't help but be drawn to the tender comfort he offered in her world of tumultuous memories and tortured, painful emotions. He was like a strong, steady rock of solace and consolation in a world that had in the past few months been tempestuously, violently agitated by the stormy upheavals of love and passion.

  Zena's sad, poignant beauty had drawn the earl, the lure of such delicate loveliness more than his usual discretion could withstand. Quite unaccountably he had approached her as a perfect stranger, decidedly outré behavior for the civil, refined earl. Despite her obvious pregnancy, or perhaps because of it, the childless earl had viewed the fair, comely woman as a pensive, modern madonna. Sometimes her deep blue eyes expressed a pain so pure, so pitiful and tragic, that it left him yearning to remedy her heartache. Over the weeks he had often seen the sadness dispelled from those cobalt eyes and a warm friendliness shine out toward him. He had kissed her once briefly as he stood near her, devouring the stunning quality of her beauty, but she had trembled so in anxious fear that he had resolved to restrain himself in the future until such time as she could perhaps return his feelings.

  The earl had been her compassionate friend now for more than six weeks, spending much time in amiable companionship. Zena cherished the serene comfort of Alistair's affection. She chastised herself at times for accepting his solace, when she knew she could never return his love, but she was so dreadfully alone that she selfishly allowed herself to succumb to his consolation. Being alone was so devastating after one had known the violent pleasure roused by Sasha's presence. She needed someone, no matter how different, to fill some of the terrible void. Alistair had been pressing her for two weeks to consider marrying him. She hadn't revealed that she was still married, but if she decided to accept his offer, a divorce could be obtained. Alex would never contest it. In fact, he would probably be extremely grateful if she freed him from his matrimonial bonds. So the germ of acceptance began to grow. She had had her brief fling of madness and passion. It had been a sweet glimpse of paradise, but it was over, and common sense required she set aside childishly silly, romantic dreams of eternal love and settle down to a life that could be very pleasant and serene. The jewelry she had sold since leaving Moscow had met her expenses adequately, but it wouldn't last indefinitely. With two children soon to support, perhaps she should begin to consider Alistair's kind offer. He loved her very much, he declared, and although Zena couldn't return his love, she could be kind to him. Having been a participant in a one-sided love affair, she was very aware that it could work. If Sasha had simply returned her passionate love with a kind affection, she could have survived. But his casual indifference was too bitter to bear. She vowed if she decided to accept Alistair's marriage proposal, she would never forget to show her affectionate devotion to his very great kindness in befriending her.

  PART V

  Paradise Regained

  1

  Alex existed in a vortex of clubbism and social intercourse, each day becoming more depressingly frustrating and melancholy due to the thwarted efforts to locate Zena. He was drinking more than usual and surly to a dangerous degree, but then no one could be expected to know how much alcohol it took to drown out the echo of his voice telling Zena he didn't care for her and that she need never suffer from his touch again.

  Everyone concurred that apparently marriage had not agreed with young Prince Alex. He was exceeding even his previous unsurpassed wildness. If anyone had dared, he would have been called out a dozen times in the past few weeks.

  Zena lived her routine life in Nice, missing Sasha with a daily remorse that showed no obvious signs of decline despite the passing weeks. As she lived unobtrusively in the warm, temperate climate of the seaside town, she began to consider the necessity of remarriage.

  The second week in September Alex was out for the evening as usual. It was still early, and he and Yuri were beginning the night at the Acheevs' before moving on to more abandoned entertainment. Wolf had chosen not to join them tonight, muttering something about needing his rest. Yuri had shot a cynical look at Alex but refrained from immediate comment. Later, as they strolled down the

  marble steps of the Neva palace, Yuri remarked sardonically, "Into Katelina's bed, finally, it appears."

  "Apparently," Alex replied. "They've had the most doleful, serious look about them lately. Can't think of any other reason Wolf would be going to bed at home at ten o'clock."

  "It's about time Katelina began enjoying herself. She must be the only married beauty in St. Petersburg who has been chaste, and with a husband like hers. Ridiculous!"

  "That's what I've been trying to tell her," Alex said. "But she's always said she finds promiscuity a bore." He paused for a moment. "She might have something there." He had come up to St. Petersburg weeks ago to be amused, but somehow the old pleasures had lost their piquancy and he was bored. "Been damned dull, lately. Must be getting old," he said with a grimace of disgust. At four and twenty, the prince could scarcely be deemed old; his problem was that he simply had had the world at his feet too long.

  "You'd be even more damned bored celibate," Yuri snorted derisively.

  "True, true," Alex grinned. "Common sense like that is not to be controverted. Well, my partner in vice, shall we try again tonight to press back the ennui. Where do we start?"

  "We meet Kasimir at Acheev's. He wants a chance to recoup his losses of last night. We promised him an hour or two of baccarat. Then maybe on to Amalie's; she guarantees some new dance troupe she's picked up is worth seeing. After that I don't care—perhaps the Countesses Golgorky. Care for an orgy with the Golgorky twins? Those two nymphomaniacs always ensure an enlivening evening," Yuri said with a wide grin.

  "You know the classic line, Yuri," Alex drawled impudently. "You could call the Golgorky twins nymphomaniacs if you could slow them down a little." He shrugged and grimaced ruefully. "Frankly, I don't know if I'm up to the performance tonight. It's been a heavy schedule of late. Let's see how we feel in a few hours," he said abruptly, thinking to himself that he'd run through the whole gamut of amusements St. Petersburg had to offer, and he was weary to the soul.

  At the Acheevs' Yuri wandered into the cardroom while Alex followed a footman carrying a tray of champagne glasses into the ballroom. Taking one in each hand, he quickly downed them both and set the glasses on the nearest table. Catching sight of Kasimir, he strolled over to him. They casually eyed the flesh on display as silken-c
lad ladies adorned with sparkling jewels flitted before them.

  Even in the midst of the gaiety, rustling silks, light laughter, brilliant bejeweled nobles, and merry music, Alex's thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes unfocusing, unguarded, brooding. A disreputable comment of Kasimir's, concerning the acrobatic expertise of a certain young matron dancing by, served to return Alex to the present. He forcibly cast aside his bitter musing. As they were discussing the merits of the various females, in the bantering crudeness so typically male, Kasimir's wife detached herself from a group across the floor and made her way toward the two tall men in black evening dress. Her eyes dwelt on the handsome, arrogant figure of the prince.

  She cast a sidelong glance at Alex from under long, black lashes before turning to her husband, who was busy helping himself to more champagne from a passing footman.

  "Kasimir, will you be in the cardroom long? The mazurkas begin soon," she pouted prettily.

  "Mazurkas?" the baron harrumphed, clearing his throat. "Egad, woman, find some courtly ladies' man to dance attendance on you, my dear. You know I abhor dancing."

  That was exactly the answer the lady expected, allowing her to pursue the actual dancing partner she had in mind.

  Flashing Alex a seductive look, she swayed toward him just sufficiently to allow an apparently unstudied brush of her magnificent bosom against his arm. Alex glanced at her cleavage, and his eyes widened in surprise. This startled look did not go unnoticed by the Baroness Demidoff, and she preened coyly, attributing the prince's keen stare to admiration of her luscious, white breasts.

  "Do you dance the mazurka, Prince Alexander?" the. baroness breathed intimately.

  Alex raised his stunned eyes to the pretty but vacant face and smiled warmly to erase the lie. "Perhaps later, my dear baroness, but for the moment I've promised Kasimir and Yuri a chance for revenge after my inordinate luck at their expense last night. I'm desolate to have to refuse such a charming partner," and he bowed over her hand, acknowledging the pressure of her fingertips by a suitably grateful expression. She tittered and glided away.

  Baroness Demidoff had been in hot pursuit for several weeks now, but Alex had eluded with an expert grace. She was not in his style, although God knows, he was realistic enough to expect a minimum of intellect in the society belles; Baroness Demidoff, however, was so featherheaded as to dismay the most hardened cynic. He had had the misfortune to occasionally bed her type and knew, for a fact, he quite definitely abhorred giggles in the boudoir.

  The baroness would have been chagrined had she known it wasn't her expanse of pale bosom that had agitated Alex's astonished eyes. What had caught his eye, prompting his reaction of surprise, was the sight of the Falize necklace—Zena's necklace, one of a kind that he had purchased for her at Alexandre's—resting on the baroness's opulent breasts.

  In one of the last weeks they were together, Alex had presented Zena with the emerald, diamond, and cloisonné Aexis Falize necklace, composed of Tudor rose pendants of cloisonné enamels set in gold and suspended from a sinuous chain of gold, emeralds, and diamonds. This was given in the hopes of lightening her melancholy moods that were appearing with more frequency. He had known she was unhappy at times, but he had brushed aside his misgivings and allowed himself to banish these qualms with extravagant gifts.

  The necklace was a rare piece executed by Alexis Falize and his son Lucien in 1867. They had the distinction of being the first to employ the Japanese technique of cloisonné enamels in jewelry. The necklace had originally been purchased in Paris in 1867 by Henry Makin for his wife and had reappeared on the market when Alex purchased it. There wasn't another necklace like it in the world.

  Zena had very little money when she left. It was to be expected the jewelry would be sold.

  "Kasimir," Alex said with a nonchalance he was far from feeling, "your wife's necklace was extremely fetching. Did you buy it for her?"

  "Me? God, no! What do I know about women's fripperies. Come, let's find Yuri; I want a chance to recoup my losses, you damnable devil."

  Not wishing to expose himself to any embarrassing questions, yet driven to find out where the necklace was purchased, Alex allowed himself to be propelled into the cardroom. As Kasimir caught sight of their friend and proceeded across the crowded room to Yuri's table, Alex tried again. "That necklace was so unusual I'd like to buy one for my mother. Do you know where your wife bought it?"

  Kasimir snorted. "Don't come on too brown with me, Alex. Your mother, indeed! Some tart or society hussy, more like! Damned if I can remember, though. Probably Nice or Monte Carlo or Biarritz, one of those places, I'm sure. Vickie insisted on dragging me to Florence last summer. Can you imagine Florence in the summer? Must have gone soft in the head to consent, but then Vickie can be persuasive." He raised an eyebrow and winked wickedly at Alex. "Poor empty-headed chit had some damnable notion about seeing some frescoes that one of those bluestocking females had told her about. I said wait until winter when it's respectable to go to Florence, my pet, but she insisted. Said the frescoes were crumbling from the damp or something and would soon be gone. Anyway, to make up for those dismal damp underground chapels with peeling frescoes I was forced to endure, I demanded we swing through the gambling spas, although in the sweltering heat of July only the natives remain.

  "Nice, that's it, my boy. Nice, I remember now. Hello, Yuri, feel lucky tonight?" Kasimir cheerfully queried as he dropped his frame into a gold bamboo chair beside the table.

  Nice! Zena had been in Nice! Alex didn't betray himself with so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

  "Cut, man," Kasimir directed Yuri as he waved Alex into another chair. "I feel primed tonight, I warn you, Sasha. Even your phenomenal luck won't be enough the way I feel."

  "What about Nice, Kasimir?" Alex persisted quietly, years of self-control keeping him urbanely cool when his heart was tripping like a giant sledgehammer.

  "Nice, that's where Vickie bought the necklace. I remember distinctly. Talking about that damnable heat reminded me. Hell of a good day despite the temperature, I'll say," and he chuckled warmly to himself. "Reason I remember," he continued with a wide grin, "is that I didn't mind that Vickie spent a hundred thousand francs for that necklace, because it took her all afternoon to shop for it and gave me the opportunity to engage in one of the more memorable events of that odious trip to view fading frescoes."

  "Find some good cunt, did you?" Yuri inquired casually as he dealt out the cards.

  "Two cunts, as a matter of fact," Kasimir grinned, "two hot, juicy quims. Damn, I could use them now!"

  "Don't keep us in suspense," Yuri drawled. "The lurid details, my friend."

  "Well," Kasimir related, his smile deepening as his memories of that afternoon returned, "I had intended to nap, as it was too beastly hot to even move around. Went into my bedroom at the Negresco to lie down and what do I find but two pretty chambermaids putting clean linen on the bed. One was saucy and pert as you please, looking me over quite boldly.

  " 'Not gambling, Baron?' she says as she bends over the bed to adjust the sheet, and shows me her nice, fat boobies.

  " 'Too hot,' I says, 'going to take a nap,' and I begin to take off my jacket.

  " 'Here, let me help,' she says, and next thing you know I don't have much on, and she's rubbing against me hot as a cat in heat. Let me tell you, it didn't take me long to have her bare and on her back in bed. I'm all set to really go at her, and I look around and damned if that other little mouse of a maid isn't standing there, gawking big as you please.

  " 'What're we going to do with her?' I whisper to this hot bitch beneath me, and she says, impudent as a jade, 'Let her watch. It'll do her good. She might as well make herself useful,' and she sings out to this little thing standing there with eyes big as saucers, 'Bring a fan over here and keep us cool!'

  "I wasn't in the mood for any more delays, so I lay into the cunt, and she gives me a ride that blasts my head off. When we're both finally coherent enough to breathe normally again, I fe
el this cool breeze on my back, and damned if that little chambermaid ain't still there. She looks delightfully fresh and innocent, and what the hell, I thought, she can't be too abashed at this all if she's still here after what she saw. So I reach my hand out and slip it up her skirt and run my fingers over the wettest little slit you ever did feel. I shoved my fingers in a little way and pulled her onto the bed. She didn't say a word, but she didn't protest either, so I undressed her while my first pert piece keeps up a running narrative of the charms I'm unveiling, and my cock is coming up to the mark quick as a wink with that quivering, tiny slit only inches away.

  "To make a long story short, those two pussies took turns fanning and servicing me until I couldn't get the old boy up again no matter what they tried. Paid the sweet beauties off, and damned if it wasn't worth every franc; best afternoon nap I've ever enjoyed.

  "When Vickie came back later with that ridiculously expensive necklace and another odd dragonfly pendant, too, all set to be seductively pleasing to me so that I wouldn't get angry at her, I just patted her hand fondly and pleaded a headache. Couldn't have got my cock up for Venus herself just then. So Nice it was, Sasha, my boy, although what the hell difference it makes escapes me, since you can simply have Fabergé copy Vickie's if you want a necklace like that. It's not necessary to go to Nice."

  During this entire recital Alex was responding with the requisite interest and attention, giving the appearance of his normal cool insouciance, playing the game with his usual expressionless indifference, shuffling cards with apparently effortless ease when his hands could barely conceal their tremor. Icy nerves served to suppress a raw, tumultuous excitement that threatened to explode, and he lost deliberately, graciously, and rapidly so that he could get the hell out of this confining, boring, excruciating, and painfully trivial atmosphere.