Seized by Love

by Susan Johnson

  Precisely at two each night Yukko would appear at his side, the cards would be discarded regardless of the hand, irrespective of his gains or losses; Nikki would rise slowly, offer polite excuses to his partners, and stroll out of the club, followed by Yukko.

  Each night, in turn, curious, watchful eyebrows were raised as Prince Kuzan’s late appearance was duly noted at the parties, routs, or festivities graced by his beautiful “cousin.”

  Invariably, he would sullenly lean against one of the walls, drink in hand, nursing his anger, and follow with glowering eyes the slender figure of Alisa as she whirled past in a waltz or flirted brightly with the young officers.

  One evening an old tabby approached Nikki and remarked injudiciously with a jolly little titter, “It appears your cousin is quite surrounded by admirers, and just when it had been rumored that you had developed a tendre for the poor creature.” (The “poor creature” in this instance was laughing gaily at some sally from young Count Berzlov. She was arrayed in a sumptuous creation of green gauze and diamond brilliants decorated with sprays of silk apple blossoms tied in place with green velvet bows, her ripe, luscious bosom a foil for the magnificent emeralds.) Nikki watched her and seethed.

  “It seems you are most alarmingly hindered by rivals. For one must admit your cousin is beautiful as sin.”

  “Countess,” Nikki replied as calmly as his inebriated mind was capable, “my ‘cousin’ ”—he purred the word maliciously—“occasionally lacks discrimination in her friendships. But let me suggest, Madame, that in the future perhaps I shall remedy her shortcoming,” he finished acerbically, bowed insolently, and walked away.

  Since being locked out from Alisa’s bedroom, Nikki’s temper hadn’t been improved by his unaccustomed celibacy. Emilie was untouchable, had he even felt the inclination, which he didn’t. There was little challenge in such a simpering child, and little pleasure, too, he imagined. The four incidents with dancers hardly counted; merely a perfunctory performance briefly engaged and as rapidly forgotten. Other women simply didn’t look interesting anymore. Damn Alisa’s alluring ways! He couldn’t shake from his thoughts the beauty and sensuality of this unique, infuriating minx.

  It had been a long, frustrating, exceptionally irritating two weeks. With a palpable but losing effort he was attempting to maintain some semblance of control over his growing irritation.

  They met quite by accident one evening, two nights later.

  Alisa, having been left by her partners, who went solicitously to fetch her an ice, heard a familiar chuckle and whirled around. Nikki was standing almost directly behind her, lounging against a pillar.

  For over a fortnight he’d treated her with coolness when they met at a social affair or in the rooms of the Kuzan palace. The golden eyes that stared into hers were both insolent and admiring.

  “Merde, you look demure. A creditable feat for a whore clothed in that gown. Are you displaying your wares for the highest bidder? The gauze of your bodice almost reveals more than it covers.” The sarcasm coiled around her, silky smooth and faintly menacing as he approached.

  “At least, should I choose to accept one of the bidders, I can offer him warmth in bed, which is more than you’ll get from that pale confection of a mechanical doll you have been squiring around. How is she in bed, by the way?” Alisa retorted angrily.

  “Not much good,” he lied. “But one can always find someone else to warm my flesh, my dear, should I tire of the giggling,” he coldly declared as his eyes lingered on her pretty breasts which were almost completely exposed. “May I compliment you on the effectiveness of your ensemble. Never have I seen wantonness so beautifully unclothed. One’s imagination quite runs apace. You fairly invite ravishment dressed in such a fashion,” he bluntly went on as his bold glance swept Alisa’s form in the blue silk ball gown draped with a tunic of tulle trimmed with cut-outs of lace appliqué. “We’re all waiting breathlessly to see if your gown will contain those luscious breasts so precariously balanced above these wisps of tulle,” his sneering voice intoned as his long, lean index finger insolently flicked the offending blue tulle ruffles.

  “Don’t touch me,” Alisa whispered hoarsely.

  “They’re probably taking bets in the card room right now as to whether you stay in or out of your dress tonight. May I offer my services in helping you out of it?” Nikki leered. “Although, no doubt, every man in this room will be equally eager to offer you the same assistance.”

  A red flush rose up Alisa’s slender neck and flamed on her cheeks.

  “Blushing, my love? Outfitted in this gown that leaves so little to the imagination? I would have conjectured you were beyond maidenly blushes and soon into a new bed.”

  “And thanks to your excellent tutoring, Prince Kuzan, my new bed partners won’t be disappointed in my accomplishments,” she spitefully cooed.

  “Did I remember to teach you everything?” Nikki paused in mocking thoughtfulness. “In any event, I’m sure your resourcefulness will prevail, but just a word of warning. Although your lovers, no doubt, won’t be disappointed, you might be.” He grinned.

  It was too much. Alisa turned and walked away in a furious rage, damning his insufferable arrogance.

  The next several of Alisa’s partners were nervously disconcerted to find their waltzing even more carefully followed by the coldly watchful eyes of Prince Kuzan, who was now holding up another pillar and refreshing himself rather regularly as the footmen went by with champagne. One might almost think he was trying to get drunk as he tossed down a glass, reached for another and repeated the action.

  Lt. Bobrinski in the deep throes of infatuation made the mistake of waltzing Alisa through the large arcade into the conservatory. Nikki with apparent calm drained his champagne glass and followed. Alisa and the lieutenant were seated on a delicate iron bench under the brilliant display of a blossoming gardenia tree. Lieutenant Bobrinski was ardently pouring out his love to an embarrassed Alisa, offering her his hand, his heart, his rather considerable wealth.

  With a baleful eye and a temper goaded beyond civility, Nikki surveyed this tender scene and then walked boldly up to the couple, interrupting Alisa in the midst of her confused acknowledgment of the deep honor she felt in having Pavlov regard her with so much affection.

  Nikki’s imperturbable voice finished Alisa’s flustered statement by drawling, “Tempting as your offer is, Pavlov, my friend, I’m afraid Mrs. Forseus rather counts on having me for a husband.”

  The Lieutenant began protesting.

  Quite pleasantly Nikki told him to be quiet, then continued. “If you will excuse us, Pavlov,” Nikki said coolly, fixing him with a look of such cold malevolence that the young Lieutenant stammered his adieus and hastily retreated.

  “Must you always interfere?” Alisa flashed angrily.

  “You wouldn’t really consider marrying the pup, would you, my dear?” Nikki drawled.

  “A lot more than I would ever consider marrying you,” she retorted rudely.

  “Ah, may I disagree with you, my love? But then, as the saying goes, since nobody asked you,” he murmured dampingly, “I fear we shall never know. And then, darling, think what a shock Pavlov would have if you were to give birth to a child before you had time to marry or shortly after the ceremony. Now, if the child were Pavlov’s, there would be no problem, even if it was born six months prematurely. As he well knows, being a direct descendant of Catherine the Great and Orloff, there is no stigma attached to illegitimacy if one’s rank in society is lofty enough. But his family might frown on unanticipated progeny.”

  “Pavlov knows me as a widow just recently bereaved. A posthumous child is not without precedent,” she spat out irritably at Nikki’s smug countenance.

  “Not, however, when the child is born bearing my stamp,” he quellingly retorted. “These black, wolfish features have an embarrassing inclination to reproduce,” he softly murmured. “So you see, a posthumous child in my image might require a bit of explaining. Am I not right?�
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  Refusing to answer his insolence, she said instead, wishing to wound as deeply as possible, “Maybe I should just not bring this pregnancy to term and put a stop to all these senseless arguments.”

  “Do not,” he said in an awful voice, “even consider it.” His tawny eyes smoldered. “It’s too damned dangerous. Illyich’s little actress bled to death last year because of a botched abortion. Let me assure you, it wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  His words had the desired effect as Alisa paled visibly.

  “At least these men treat me with respect and courtesy,” Alisa retorted, annoyed at Nikki’s cheeking her riposte, allowing the obvious comparison to hang in the air.

  “Everyone has their own approach to the citadel, my love,” Nikki returned brutally. “Don’t delude yourself, chérie, they all have their tongues hanging out for the same thing, but some cloak their desires in a soothingly deceitful address.”

  “May I disagree with your coarse intimations of my suitors’ intentions. I’ve received several proposals of marriage. This isn’t the first. Is that a fine enough indication of my beaus’ regard for the proprieties?” Alisa smiled smugly.

  Nikki’s eyes were cold as he met her mocking gaze.

  “Other marriage proposals? You have? Married? Married?” he repeated. “If you were to be so foolish, I would make you a widow soon enough, by God!” He swore softly and long. “Married? By Christ, we’ll see about that!”

  She was his, by God; he’d wakened her to womanhood, had drawn the female from her shell of naïveté. She wasn’t fair game for every drooling, callow youth, every lustful eye, every practiced man-about-town. Wasn’t his mark on her, wasn’t she carrying his child? How dare they address marriage proposals to her, he thought with the unmitigated audacity of a Kuzan born and raised. He would tolerate this charade no longer! Locked out of her bed, her person guarded by his parents like an unblemished virgin, an untouchable holy relic. He would have her again, he decided, his anger dangerously roused.

  “I’ve watched you flirt and entice and coyly cast out lures for the last two weeks. My acquiescent temperament has reached its limit. You will flirt no more!” he quietly growled.

  “Acquiescent!” she snorted. “Sooner try to convince me that the world is flat or that the sun rises in the west, you arrogant bastard!”

  “Acquiescent,” he whispered through clenched teeth, and meant it, for what else had curtailed his rising fury these past weeks if not that sterling trait. He wasn’t unfeeling and could understand the angry motives that prompted Alisa’s light amorous bantering these several days, but when marriage proposals resulted, he drew the line. Nikki’s altruism never stretched so far as to sharing his mistress.

  To hell with them all! He’d take Alisa away tonight to Mon Plaisir, his estate north of Lake Ladoga. Remote, sequestered, irrevocably off the beaten path, the thought of a summer with Alisa in that distant fastness of forest and kallio brought his blood up.

  “You’ve permitted every whoremaster here tonight to ogle your bounteous charms. I think it’s my turn,” Nikki said, his face contorted in fury, his breathing deep and heavy.

  “Come now, dear, we go. Your flirtatious days in society are over. I’ve put up with all the interference from Father I’ll tolerate. My independence from his control began years ago.”

  “He’ll stop you!” Alisa warned, a rising note of hysteria in her voice as Nikki took her arm and began forcing her toward the door.

  “I wish him luck in that endeavor,” he coldly replied, and then unexpectedly broke into a warm chuckle. An exhilaration raced through him. The inaction and restraint, the stifling protocol of society he’d labored under for weeks, were cast aside. He was his own man again! His old mad recklessness invigorated him. One could be prudent only so long and then must break away.

  Taking Alisa’s hand in a vicious grip, Nikki pulled her protesting through the conservatory, thankfully empty of people at the moment. He slammed through double French doors, dashing them aside with a powerful sweep of his arm, causing them to shudder indignantly on their metal frames. Oblivious of the shocked stares of partygoers on the terrace, he tossed up the kicking, screaming Alisa and flung her over his shoulder. In this embarrassing position her pummeling fists uselessly bombarded Nikki’s strong back while he held her feet firmly in his left hand, concerned with protecting his manhood from her kicking toes.

  “Put me down, you monster, you brute!” Alisa screamed, beating ineffectually against the broad back, cursing him furiously.

  Blandly ignoring her screams of outrage, he didn’t even break stride as his long legs carried him and his rambunctious burden across the sweeping lawn toward his waiting carriage.

  Walking purposefully down the long row of carriages, Nikki found his equipage, opened the door, and unceremoniously dumped Alisa onto the floor. Climbing in behind her, he curtly directed Feodor to drive back to the palace and slammed the door shut with a crack.

  Immediately he was set upon by a scratching, clawing, screaming wildcat. For days now, he’d been forced to contain his fury, his resentment, his frustration. There was a limit. Diable, there was a limit! his mind thundered.

  The horses had hardly begun to move, when Nikki seized Alisa in one sweeping motion and shook her viciously by the shoulders, leaving bruises on her flesh.

  “I will not tolerate having you trifled with by other men!” he roared, the suppressed vexation of watching Alisa flirt and laugh and dance and posture before other men’s frankly lustful gaze finally released.

  “You’re mine!” he thundered. “No man will trespass on my property! Do you understand?” He gripped her tighter and, struggling to regain his composure, spoke in a low, hard voice. “Do you understand?”

  Alisa’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils distended in anger. He shook her again.

  “Answer!” he roared, the brief moment of control snapped.

  Alisa spat on him and laughed at his discomfiture.

  “Christ’s blood,” he growled, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I’ll have the taming of you yet.”

  Grabbing a handful of her copper curls, he pulled her head back until her eyes were wide with fear. Then he stuffed his silk handkerchief into her mouth, muffling her whimpering to a whisper, and tied his neckcloth around her head as a gag. Her wild eyes watched him rip the blue ruffles from the hem of her gown and truss her hands and feet together.

  When the carriage reached the pink marble palace, he grimly alighted from the carriage, closed the door, and issued orders rapidly to Feodor.

  “Mrs. Forseus fell asleep, please don’t disturb her. Make ready a second carriage, bring along another coachman and four grooms; two outriders on mounts are also needed. Have everything ready in fifteen minutes.”

  Being neither deaf nor blind, Feodor didn’t believe for a minute that Mrs. Forseus was sleeping, but, inured to the idiocies of his young master, he only presented an impassive face and an affirmative response to his orders.

  Nikki sprang up the stairs to the front door, eager to be packed and off before his parents discovered Alisa’s absence from the party. The startled butler was the recipient of numerous and curtly barked orders. Footmen were to carry down the luggage to the waiting carriages outside, maids were to be sent upstairs to help with the packing. Get Ivan his secretary immediately, he needed money and a letter sent to his regimental commander, requesting leave. Have the chef pack some food, vodka, and brandy, everything to be accomplished in no more than fifteen minutes. Understood? Sergei quailed before the dangerous look in Prince Nikolai’s eyes.

  Nikki bounded up the stairs to waken Katelina and whisper to her that they were going to the country. She was, always to him, a vivid recollection of the bright freedom and wonder of youth. Katelina, ever amiable to her favorite Nikki, had already tumbled out of bed and was collecting her toys.

  “Uncle Nikki, will you teach me to ride a horse as you promised and take me hunting like you said?”

  “I certainly will
, lapsikulta,” he pronounced solemnly, for he treated her with the courtesy of an equal, never condescending to patronize her childish delights. “I’ll let you ride a horse, take you hunting with me, and even teach you to drive your own pony cart.”

  “Uncle Nikki! What fun! I’ll dress very quickly,” she promised.

  Nikki gave her a kiss and a quick hug, imparted instructions to Rakeli and Maria to have Alisa’s and Katelina’s clothes packed in ten minutes, and walked to his room to settle affairs with Ivan and select some of his favorite old clothes for hunting.

  Within an incredible twenty minutes, the small caravan was on its way, Katelina, Rakeli, and Maria settled comfortably in the second carriage, Arni riding guard outside, Nikki and Alisa traveling in the first carriage with two outriders in the vanguard.

  As the carriages left the outskirts of the city behind, Nikki silently untied Alisa and removed her gag, neither gentle nor repentant.

  Alisa closed her eyes as the gag was taken from her mouth. Slowly she breathed deeply, trying to gain some semblance of composure for what she was about to say, as they eyed each other coolly.

  Finally she spoke, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly, having, in the angry solitude of her wait, discarded numerous and varied epithets and invectives.

  “I am not your baggage to be trussed and ordered about,” she said with a cold fury.

  “You are now,” he said grimly and unequivocally, not a flicker of tenderness in his tawny eyes. “At Mon Plaisir I am lord and master. Everyone obeys my bidding,” he continued icily, emphasizing the pronouns. “And now we’ll have our first lesson in obedience, my lovely baggage.”

  He felt himself harden with lust.

  “You will not flirt with Lieutenant Bobrinski or any other man again, will you?” He reached for Alisa and pulled her resisting body to his.

  “I will if I choose,” she spat out, still defiant.