Love Storm (14 page)

"I hope your business meeting isn't too tedious," she continued in deference to the required social amenities.

"Tedium I can live with," Alex cryptically remarked. Zena cast him a puzzled glance. Alex, however, chose not to explain his retort. Reaching for a decanter of brandy on the sideboard, he poured himself a healthy bumper and drained it in one swallow.

Yes, he heartily hoped tedium would be the worst of his problems. Unfortunately, he thought, as the brandy burned a warm path down his throat, the coldly civil summons presaged a grim inquisition. Damn it, though, try as he could he wasn't able to come up with a single excess or debauch he'd been a party to lately. It was disconcerting.

Usually he knew vaguely what disreputable peccadillo he was being upbraided for. But this time he was at a loss. What the hell were his parents doing in Moscow?

"Au revoir,
love. I'll bring you back some bauble. What do you prefer? Rubies, pearls, emeralds, diamonds?" He paused as he reached the door to the hallway and turned inquiring eyes on Zena. My heavens! He was serious, Zena thought. Asking about jewels worth a fortune as carelessly as requesting whether she preferred caramels or fondant creams.

"Don't be silly. I don't need any jewels," Zena remonstrated quickly.

"Don't need jewels?" Alex repeated with amiable perplexity. "Of course you need jewels. Every woman needs jewels," he said flatly. "Maybe pearls for you, my dove, to enhance that irresistible innocence of yours."

He waved casually and left. "Maybe pearls and emeralds," he was muttering to himself as he strode down the hall. She would look exquisite with emeralds in her hair, he mused as he shrugged into his sable topcoat. It had materialized silently in the hands of a footman as if by magic when he entered the entrance hall. Then again, black pearls and diamonds would be an exotic combination resting on those luscious, creamy breasts of hers, he contemplated as he settled himself comfortably in the troika. He was oblivious to the numerous servants hovering around him adjusting the fur robes and warm bricks. Something perhaps by
Fabergés
Kostrioukoff. Maybe lapis and gold.

With the characteristic facility of youth Alex was capable of banishing the worrisome thoughts of his ensuing interview, and the ride into Moscow passed quite pleasantly while he envisioned various types of jewelry displayed on various parts of Zena's exquisitely proportioned body.

Arriving in Moscow, Alex decided to first fortify himself at the Nobles Club with a bottle of brandy to brace himself for the coming ordeal. After being greeted cheerfully by the doorman and steward, who enjoyed the democratic friendship of the Kuzans' eldest sprig, Alex proceeded up the grand mahogany staircase to the gaming rooms. Alex ordered a botrle of brandy, began to empty it without benefit of a glass, and sauntered into the smaller adjacent rooms in search of a comfortable chair. "Sasha!"

Alex turned toward the sound and saw his friend Yuri walking over from the roulette table.

"Where the hell have you been? I heard you were in the neighborhood, but no one's seen you for weeks. Unlike you, Sasha." Yuri eyed him suspiciously, "to miss the gambling here at the Club."

"I've been busy," Alex said shortly.

"Rumor has it you had a female with you on the train. It's amazing how accurate gossip can be. Is she what's keeping you busy?"

"Maybe," the vague reply equivocated. It was obvious the prince was not to be drawn.

"Christ, she can't be a whore, or we'd have been invited out to sample the goods. Can't be Amalie, as I saw her at Golitzin's last night." Yuri's eyes opened wide as the process of elimination left him to speculate on the only kind

of female Alex would care to keep in seclusion. "A respectable girl?" he whispered.

"Not anymore."

'"Not anymore? A virgin?"

"Formerly," Alex retorted dryly.

"I don't believe it! You've always railed against them, said they were useless in bed."

"Well, actually, it was a bit of a mistake, and then it was . . . er . . . too late to stop."

"You raped the poor thing?" Yuri exclaimed.

"Of course not," Alex answered, deeply offended. "Pray consider my reputation," he entreated.

"Are we going to hear wedding bells?"

Alex laughed.

"Does she have an irate family?" asked Yuri. "No, thank God. But it doesn't signify. There isn't a man born who could force me into marriage." "Is she blonde or brunette?"

"None of your damn business." A vague chivalry stirred, prompting Alex to shield the
mademoiselles
reputation.

"Christ, you're guarding her jealousy. She must be damnably good in bed. Is she a hot piece?"

Alex's eyebrows went up a fraction. "Leave off, Yuri." The prince smiled amiably as he strolled toward a row of leather chairs near the windows.

"Come on, details, details," Yuri coaxed playfully, following his unusually reticent friend.

"Go to hell," Alex murmured pleasantly.

Alex apparently wished to avoid the subject. Sasha was showing a new and very dull regard for the proprieties, Yuri thought. His refinement in protecting the
mademoiselles
respectability was quite out of character. Undeterred by such uncustomary gentility, Yuri called out across the thronged clubroom, "Kiril! You know who Archer has
..."

"Auburn," Alex interjected hastily in a low voice, "and yes, damn hot."

"Forget it, Kiril," Yuri waved cheerily. "Tall or short?"

Alex sighed resignedly. "Up to here." He indicated his shoulder.

"Plump or thin?"

"Thin."

"You've never liked then thin."

"She's not exactly thin everywhere."

"Where and how isn't she thin?" Yuri leered.

"Christ Almighty!" Alex gave up good-naturedly. His virtuous attempt at concealing the
mademoiselles
identity and reputation was dismissed when pitted against such friendly persistence. "You might as well come out and see for yourself."

"My good fellow," exposrulated Yuri, grinning, "I thought you'd never ask!"

As a renowned womanizer himself, Yuri had a healthy regard for Alex's notorious reputation and suspected only the finest prime piece could elicit such a protection response. Curiosity and connoisseurship demanded he view this extraordinary female for himself.

As the two friends sprawled comfortable in black leather chairs, Alex said morosely, "Have an interview with
mon père
this afternoon."

Yuri whistled softly. "That don't sound good. What's up?'"

"Damned if I know. Can you think of anything I've done out of the ordinary lately? Been exceedingly quiet and well behaved, if you ask me."

"I really hate to sound so absurdly conventional, Sasha," Yuri sighed sardonically, "but perhaps the respectable virgin you seduced and spirited away to your
dacha
could, just could, mind you, have something to do with it."

"Good Lord! Do you think so?" Alex sat upright. "She said that first night she hadn't any family, so I didn't give the possibility of vengeful relatives another thought. Do you suppose she was lying?"

Yuri snorted derisively. "Don't all females lie, you damn fool! From anyone else I could excuse such
naïveté,
but really, Sasha,
naïveté
ain't your usual style."

"Merck!"
Alex exploded. "If some son of a bitch thinks he can put a gun to my head, he's going to be unpleasantly surprised."

"You could marry her and ease your troubled conscience," Yuri teased.

"Like hell!" Alex exclaimed indignantly. Marriage had never occurred to him as a possibility. A wife and family were, in his eyes, alien and repugnant and the most witless folly. Alex's love affairs had always been outside society, where
danseuses
and actresses knew the boundaries of intimacy, or within society with acceptable, adulterous ladies of rank, who also knew how to play the game by the rules. For the first time in his life he was intimate with a sweet, innocent girl of his class, and he felt the charm of innocence juxtaposing inescapably with the coarse opulence and decadence of his previous amours. Although he never said anything to Zena that he wouldn't have said to any other woman, he felt she was becoming more and more dependent on him, and inexplicably, for a man who had always cursed clinging women, he found the more attached she became, the more he liked it. This particular role of seducing an innocent miss and then courting her tenderly with no intention of marriage was not unique in the annals of magnificent young men such as he. But it was new to him, this innocence. It seemed he had found an unusual and tantalizing pleasure, and he was enjoying his discovery.

It never occurred to Alex that there was any harm in his relationship with Zena. After all, she was free to leave if she wished, he reasoned heedlessly, disregarding the circumstances which left her without funds or friends in a thoughtless, indifferent world. If someone had told him that he was making her unhappy, he would have been bewildered and wouldn't have believed it. How could the exquisite and enchanting pleasure they enjoyed be wrong? He was in no doubt that Zena enjoyed it too.

"Like hell!" he repeated. "We're getting along marvel-ously. Why ruin a good thing?" he mocked playfully.

Checking his watch, Alex took a last swig from the bottle and rose from the chair. "Off to the parental rebuke," he drawled. "I just have to remember to be properly contrite and say
yes sir
and
no
Maman
at suitable intervals."

"Good luck, Sasha. Wouldn't be in your shoes for a million," his friend sympathized. "I'll be out to see your hot piece soon, thought." Yuri leered roguishly.

"Just so long as you only look, my friend," Alex said, "don't touch. This little puss is exclusively mine."

Alex was shown to the drawing room, determined as he leisurely mounted the shallow stairs to remain polite and courteous. But, it rankled, damned if it didn't, both the tone of the summons and the speculation concerning the probable topic of discussion. Damn it, he was twenty-four years old, and he'd bed whomever he pleased. It was scarcely a subject that required a family conference, he thought crossly.

Breathing deeply to control his rising ire as he entered the room, Alex greeted his
maman
with a kiss on the cheek and acknowledged his father with a polite bow. Alisa smiled up at her son fondly as she sat on a brocaded settee, presiding over a tea service. Nikki, as was his custom, preferred his tea time to take a more alcoholic form. He was doing justice to a large brandy.

Swiftly appraising Alex with a stern scowl and glittering, tawny eyes, Nikki snapped, "I trust you're still in good health."

Taken aback by the brusque greeting, Alex's well
intentioned considerations of conciliation evaporated abruptly.

"Of course. Is there some reason I shouldn't be?" he inquired rudely. Over his mother's head Sasha met his father's cold eyes.

"Taking up with streetwalkers has been known to be detrimental to one's health," Nikki sardonically drawled.

Alex's thin lips curled. "Sermon, father?" he said testily.

Alisa looked anxiously from the face of her incensed husband to the equally annoyed visage of her oldest son. The explosive Kuzan temper was going to cause trouble again. If she could calm them down, maybe this problem could be dealt with quietly and rationally. She loved them both and didn't want this meeting to deteriorate into a bitter brawl.

"Nikki, dear," she began placatingly, "I'm sure Sasha has a reasonable explanation, if you'll only give him the chance. Sasha, sweetheart, would you like a brandy or tea?"

Alex looked at his mother distractedly, wrath forcing an ominous glint in his golden eyes and a distinctly tense atmosphere about her person. Compelling himself to respond to the civilities, he abstractedly answered, "Ah, brandy wuld be find,
Maman."

Alisa poured several inches into a glass and handed it to her handsome son. "Now, Nikki, really, love, give the boy an opportunity to catch his breath," she interceded tranquilly, reaching up to pat Alex's hand affectionately.

Nikki took a long draught from his glass and continued scowling at his son but refrained from immediate comment.

Alex looked down at his mother's concerned expression and gently said, "Really,
Maman,
my health is excellent."