Seized by Love

by Susan Johnson

  “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.

  The far more experienced old Prince had a knowledge culled from an acute and cynical perception of the world and human foibles during sixty-eig
ht 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.

  I have been unavoidably detained. Please accept my apologies. I shall join you at the 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 naïve 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 noncommittally 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 crème 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 protégé, 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.