Alisa had already snatched the heavy envelope embossed with the golden seal of Kuzan from Maria’s hand before the old servant was finished with her explanation.
She tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Swiftly her eyes scanned the heavy, careless scrawl.
“If you don’t meet me at the meadow in forty minutes, I shall ride over to see you.”
The note was simply signed “N.”
Oh, mon Dieu! It must have taken the coachman twenty minutes to drive over here on the circuitous roads. This left her a bare twenty minutes to dress, talk to the driver, and cover the distance to the meadow, or else Nikki would be at her door.
“Maria, quickly find a dress for me. After I’ve gone, if any servants question you, tell them I went to bring blankets and clothes for Mrs. Niemi’s new baby. Put those baby clothes you made in a basket and I’ll stop at the Niemis’ cottage on my way back. Hurry, quickly now, I don’t have much time!”
Within five minutes Alisa was dressed and dashing down the main stairway. The door closed quietly behind her just as the household servants began stirring.
Alisa ran down the driveway to the bend where, thankfully, the carriage and coachman were still waiting. Gasping for breath, she addressed the man severely. “You must return to Prince Kuzan.”
“I can’t, ma’am. I have my orders. I’m supposed to deliver these to Mrs. Forseus.”
Alisa looked in wonder at the glistening open landau, the Kuzan signet initialed on the door, the highly polished green lacquerwork and green velvet upholstery an ideal foil for the stunning display of enormous, resplendent yellow and lavender orchids, orchids in baskets, orchids spilling out of shallow basins, orchids carpeting the floor, interspersed with a prodigious number of wicker baskets containing perfect red hothouse strawberries.
“I am Mrs. Forseus, and am on my way to see Prince Kuzan now. If you don’t return to his lodge immediately, I promise you he’ll be angry.”
“I don’t know, ma’am. Prince Kuzan was quite explicit about my instructions,” the man uncomfortably equivocated.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to change his mind. Please, please, go back!” Alisa implored frantically.
You might be able to at that, the coachman reflected admiringly as he looked at the beautiful, breathless young woman before him. He knew Prince Kuzan’s susceptibility to beautiful women and had spent many a nocturnal vigil wrapped in fur robes in carriage or troika, waiting for the Prince to reappear from some lady’s boudoir.
“Very well, ma’am,” he agreed, but added carefully, “if you promise to explain to Prince Kuzan.”
“Oh, I will, I will!” Alisa finished in a rush of grateful relief. “Thank you.” She waved and disappeared into the forest.
With a quiet cluck of his teeth and a pull on the reins, he turned the landau around and retraced its journey.
Alisa ran through the woods, afraid she’d be too late; would he really come to the house to find her? Horror! Please, please, make him wait, she prayed silently.
Her heart gave a leap of pure happiness. She would see Nikki again!
If you had an ounce of pride, she told herself. Well, she didn’t when it came to Nikki. She wanted to see him with all her heart.
Alisa broke from the shelter of the birches into the meadow, the dew lacy and sparkling on the grass, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the glistening meadow. Suddenly she saw the tall figure of Nikki leaning against a tree, restless, impatient, fitfully slapping gloves to thigh as he moodily contemplated the toes of his boots. Alisa stopped abruptly, confused emotions coursing through her.
Looking up at the slight sound, Nikki beheld Alisa hesitantly arrested at the edge of the grove, her gold-red hair tousled, loose tendrils falling around rosy, flushed cheeks, her breasts heaving with the exertion of the headlong rush through the woods, her yellow flower-printed linen dress damply clinging at the hemline from the dew’s wetness.
Their glances met.
In his eyes she saw some strange emotion. Was it relief? The transient expression vanished in an instant. Nikki smiled and started forward, opening his arms wide in welcome. Alisa hesitated, then dropped her basket and ran flying into his open arms. Nikki enfolded her in a crushing embrace.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured against her hair in an odd voice. “Forgive me,” he quietly added as he clasped her tightly, burying his face in her hair, taking in the smell of her, the scent and feel of clean, silken hair and sweet young flesh, the exquisite sensation of her body against his.
As Alisa clung to him, tears of joy ran freely down her cheeks. She was lost to the world in his arms, oblivious of right or wrong, or duty or conscience, aware only of a thrilling happiness.
For them the world held promise once again.
“I can’t stay long,” Alisa whispered nervously.
“I know. May I see you this afternoon?” Nikki asked with a husky urgency.
“Yes,” she answered, surrendering heedlessly, renouncing with a giddy delirium any thought of propriety.
“At one, then, I’ll meet you here. Hours to wait. That will be hell,” he groaned softly against her ear.
“I must go!” she fearfully murmured.
“I’ll walk you back,” he insisted quietly, still not releasing her from his strong arms, not wanting her to leave.
“No! You mustn’t. Please! If someone should see you,” she pleaded, lifting her lids to gaze into Nikki’s warm, golden eyes, already kindling with an insistent passion. “I’ll be here at one,” she promised.
Rising on tiptoe, Alisa brushed Nikki’s mouth softly with trembling lips, turned, pulled free from his grasp, and fled, picking up the basket that had been abandoned at the edge of the meadow. She still had her errand to complete.
Chapter Five
THE BLISSFUL INTERLUDE
Nikki was waiting long before one, thinking only of holding Alisa again, of feeling the warmth of her body against his.
When she came and saw him, her face lit up as he knew it would, no coquetry, no pretensions, just a guileless, naïve happiness, her marvelous violet eyes shining with pleasure, her gaze disconcertingly direct.
Nikki took both her hands in his and, surveying the smiling face, bent his head and tenderly kissed the tip of her nose.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked gaily. “This is our first day together. Come to my lodge. I’ve sent everyone away but the servants. My home, my servants, my estate, and I are at your disposal.” His warm smile caressed her. “Anything you want you shall have, anything you want to do, I will do,” he offered with a joyous expansiveness.
Alisa looked up into his handsome face and shamefully blushed.
“Well, if you insist, we shall do that first,” he teased.
The music room, Nikki’s favorite, immediately caught Alisa’s fancy. Alcoves strewn with embroidered pillows fronted each large gothic framed window; the walls and vaulted ceiling were entirely mosaicked in glittering lapis lazuli, gold and ultramarine green tiles, portraying sinuous, entwined vines, flowers, and birds. The effect was breathtaking.
When they walked into Nikki’s sitting room, a large portrait gazed down on them—his mother painted by Winterhalter. She was small, dark, beautiful, seated in a gilded chair with Nikki at eight years, sturdily erect, angelic, childishly handsome at her side, his toys scattered on the rug before them. A great tenderness flooded through Alisa when viewing the child that he had once been.
“Your mother is very lovely,” Alisa said as she looked at the young woman depicted many years before.
“Yes, she is,” Nikki agreed. “You must meet her sometime soon,” he continued with a marvelous, open assurance.
“Oh, no! I couldn’t,” Alisa protested in embarrassment.
“Nonsense. Maman is a Tzigane and has a very realistic outlook on life. She’ll adore you, just as I do. Come here now,” he said impatiently, “enough talking and sight-seeing. Let me hold you.” He
pulled her through the doorway into his bedroom, transformed since the return of the landau into a bower of orchids.
• • •
Thus began the first day of a week of afternoons they were able to spend together; a carpe diem existence, two mutually obsessed creatures making love through the warm springtime hours, both avoiding thoughts of the future. Particularly for Alisa, this decision to disregard the future was absolutely essential to her present happiness. Nothing must spoil these few days with Nikki.
For them there was only the wonderful, passionate, extravagant present. Young lovers lost to the world, conscious only of each other’s presence. They drew every sensation from every transient hour, from every exquisite touch, look, caress. Their sexual pleasures were of the simplest, old-fashioned, natural, a unique bond of affection enhancing the rapture as they satisfied their lusts in a simple variety.
As an accomplished aficionado of Eros, Nikki had long ago learned the pleasure of afternoon amours. One was refreshed from having but recently risen from one’s night’s sleep and eaten a light lunch. The mind and body were fresh, vital, vigorous, not staled by hours of drinking or gaming, as was the case with a midnight rendezvous. Not that he was adverse to late-night assignations, but he knew that he performed more ardently, more zealously, more resiliently in the gentle hours of afternoon.
The second afternoon Alisa timidly inquired as she lay in Nikki’s tender embrace, “Do you think perhaps—that is to say—do you think you should use some precautions?”
Nikki opened his eyes, lifted his head a scant inch off the pillow, and said drowsily, “French letters? Condoms? They spoil the pleasure; I never use them.” He reached out to touch her hair. “You wouldn’t like them, my love.” His eyelids fell and he dozed off, still holding her tightly to his rugged form.
Alisa knew she should force the issue for her own safety and protection, but she didn’t want to spoil their little remaining time together.
Nikki hugged her closer and they both slept.
Instinct told Nikki, when he was alone and away from Alisa’s tempestuous excitement, that he was getting in too deep this time, that this wasn’t another light flirtation or trivial affair, but regardless of this premonition, he plunged boldly in. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for months—more—years. It was a time of deepest content.
Alisa, too, lived in the bewitching, sensual present, grasping at the opportunity to postpone the end of these halcyon days. If time could just stand still.
She resolutely refused to consider the future. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, yet she cried inwardly when conscience raised its unwanted head above her repression. She deserved some gaiety, some brief taste of love, she told herself, and for the most part, Alisa was blissfully happy. Since living in “durance vile” for six years, who could blame her for ignoring the admonitions of her conscience, the call of duty?—when charming, handsome Nikki was bathing her senses in rapture and extravagantly indulging her caprices.
No such irresolution or discordant meditation preyed on Nikki’s mind, for he’d long eschewed regrets as both useless and fatiguing. He had quite simply decided that he would bring Alisa back to Petersburg when he returned and install her in a comfortable house on the Quai des Anglais. If the neighborhood was good enough for the Emperor’s mistress, it was good enough for his.4
Nikki never pondered over or curbed his selfish wishes. He had never had to. Alisa was delightful, lovely, vivacious, intelligent (the latter quality hitherto avoided in Nikki’s amorous adventures). But her overwhelming quality, the major attraction, the most fascinating enticement in this week of tumultuous pleasure, was purely sensual. This woman roused him, teased him, fired his jaded senses to new, exquisite limits. Her spontaneous response as he instructed her in the delights of the flesh, her first tentative, then more assured forays into the game of love, her guilelessly greedy appetite for pleasure, stimulated and whetted Nikki’s weary spirit.
Surely he would be a fool to walk away from the pleasures Alisa offered him. She was the fetching, enchanting antidote to the ennui that had threatened to engulf him.
Over the years Nikki had, with caution and skepticism, scrupulously avoided any permanence in his relationships with women, preferring married women of his class, already lawfully tied, or else expensive tarts and actresses easily satisfied with lavish gifts and generous purses of gold. He avoided the obligation to provide an establishment for any one woman for even the transitory duration implied in those arrangements. Nikki’s fierce independence had survived all attempts to ensnare, and clinging women had always been anathema to him. He turned quite cold and remote when pressed by the importunities of an ardent female. But now Nikki was quite willing to make the necessary adjustments to his normal, selfish regimen. To have Alisa comfortably settled convenient to his town palace would offer him the most pleasant recreation.
One afternoon, as Alisa lay nestled snugly in Nikki’s arms, drifting back from the idyllic depths of pleasure, he quietly said, “Today must be our last day at the lodge. I received a message this morning that necessitates my attendance with the Chevaliers Gardes at the Emperor’s review Sunday. You must come with me. Pack what you need tonight; I’ll send my carriage round for you in the morning.”
Alisa wished she’d misunderstood, but knew she hadn’t. Nikki had simply said, “Come with me” as if it were the most natural thing in the world, nothing more, no promises, no assurances; she was to him merely another woman of a certain class.
Happiness that he wanted her was overlaid with shock and dismay. But the thing that shocked her most—the daughter of landed gentry, well-bred and gently reared, was that she wished with all her heart she could disregard her conscience, her parents’ ideals, and answer simply—I will come.
If she hadn’t a daughter who must have opportunity for a normal life, she might have been even more tempted to say I will.
Sighing unhappily, Alisa reminded herself that she’d known this all must end when Mr. Forseus returned home. This “pleasant interlude” (what a deceptively benign term for these tumultuous stirrings of her heart) had merely ended a few days earlier than expected.
“I can’t,” Alisa softly replied.
Nikki’s complacency was abruptly shattered.
“Why not?” he questioned in faint irritation, unused to negative replies.
“I have a daughter to consider” was her straightforward answer.
Nikki hesitated momentarily. Of course, he should have remembered—what was the child’s name? It escaped him. A girl, she had said. After a short pause Nikki replied decisively, “Bring her along.”
“No, I can’t,” Alisa repeated.
Now fully awake, Nikki asked with a sort of baffled impatience, “Why ever not? You shall have as large a house as you wish. I’ll hire a niania and a governess—an English one, everyone seems to prefer English ones. There, that’s taken care of,” he said with satisfaction.
God, why couldn’t she just say yes. Nikki was so good to her, and God knows she deserved some happiness after all those miserable years. Why couldn’t she say yes? Even when Nikki tired of her, Alisa knew his generosity wouldn’t allow her to become destitute. With all her heart she wanted him. The precepts of a lifetime held firm, however.
“No, Nikki. It wouldn’t do,” Alisa retorted with a quiet sadness.
Nikki’s irascible temper was rising. Was she like all the rest after all? Holding out for a larger prize, for more remuneration, jewelry perhaps, maybe a more sumptuous house, the right kind of horses and carriage? Had he been deceived by the artless sincerity and air of innocence? He thought not, but apparently he had.
He’d pay her price if it wasn’t too high. He wanted her and, hell, he gambled vast fortunes at a single throw. Certainly he could afford whatever her asking price was.
“Tell me what more you want, then,” he drawled coolly, determined to outbid her demands.
“I don’t want anything from you, Nikki,” Alisa’s unhappy voice
replied. “You’ve given me one week of blissful happiness, and I knew it would have to end when Mr. Forseus returned from Helsinki. I’m sorry. I must think of my daughter.”
“You told me yourself you won’t stay much longer with that sadistic lecher.” Nikki spoke accusingly, for Alisa had in the course of the last week, to her own immense surprise, confided to Nikki the whole wretched story of her marriage when he had questioned the vestiges of bruises on her tender flesh. (That first afternoon in the meadow, events had moved too rapidly for him to be certain, but the following encounter, the next afternoon, in his bedroom at the lodge, when time and the lack of spectators permitted a leisurely appraisal of Alisa’s beautiful body, the faint discolorations were apparent.) Alisa had, at first reluctantly and then more volubly, as the pressure of six years’ enforced silence were lifted, described her coerced marriage at fifteen, Forseus’s bizarre aberrations and cravings for a nubile young girl-woman to rekindle his flagging desires, his abrupt rejection of her for several years after the birth of their daughter, and his renewed sadistic demands that he had forced on her twice lately.
Alisa’s ungainly body during pregnancy had repulsed Forseus, and after Katelina’s birth he’d fearfully shunned the baby as an incarnation of the devil’s child. Forseus’s religious fanaticism (often mutually complementary to sexual deviation) had convinced him that a birthmark on Katelina’s leg was the devil’s sign. He’d been appalled by the pale pink birthmark in the shape of a half moon and from the day of her birth had refused to have any contact with the child.
Nikki was enraged at her story. That old man was the man who possessed Alisa, owned her, slept with her, touched her, caressed her, abused her. God, how could she, he thought angrily. And, damn him, Forseus was a savage monster even by the none-too-exacting standards of humanity afforded contemporary husbands.
“I know I said I would leave him someday, but I must first find some employment,” Alisa explained patiently.
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