Seized by Love (29 page)

Their relationship, at one time so turbulent and violent, was in these days without flaw. Late one evening, after putting Katelina to bed, Nikki and Alisa were sitting in the library; Nikki was drinking his way to sleep as was his
custom, but slowly now and with none of the reckless intemperance of the past. The Prince was happy, not the usual frenzied exhilaration that had often passed for enjoyment or the satisfied lust that offered a certain consolation, but truly a deep, contented happiness. He watched Alisa from under lowered lashes as she sat across the Turkish carpet on a small settee, engrossed in Winckelmann’s
Excavations at Pompeii
. Her peaceful beauty reached out and struck him afresh. She was his, proud now to be his, and she was to have his child. A strange sense of fulfillment soothed his mind. He actually looked forward to the event. He wasn’t just happy because she was happy, but happy within himself.

Could he have stopped the passage of time, he would have then. He was content. In the past, he’d always lived for the uncertain future, hoping to find tomorrow an assuagement of his restless ennui. But now he wished for neither past nor future. He was experiencing a happiness that had eluded him for twenty years and he wanted to halt the progress of time.

Unknown to the participants of the sunny, contented household at Mon Plaisir, Nikki’s father had been informed by his servants of the dangerous abduction attempt by Valdemar Forseus.

Prince Mikhail was in a fine choler, storming and cursing as he paced around his study in Petersburg one warm summer morning. Damn, insolent pup! He’d wait no longer for Nikki to come to his senses. Alisa could have been killed by that insane lunatic Forseus.

I’ve waited long enough, biding my time while he thinks only of his amusements, the old prince muttered impatiently. I even
explained
to him my firm desire for a legitimate
grandson, he fumed. I don’t have to request. He will obey, he furiously raged.

Prince Mikhail stalked from his study, bawling for his barrister, his secretary, his Finnish trackers; he raved and fumed.

“I want an audience with Alexander II as soon as possible,” he commanded his secretary curtly. “Alisa shall have a divorce before the next sun sets. Send for my barrister. He must inform Valdemar Forseus of the divorce and offer him a settlement to sugar the action,” he snapped briefly.

“Johanos”—he turned to the leader of his trackers—“I want Nikki back here as soon as possible. Go up to Mon Plaisir and bring him back. I don’t care how you do it. I’ll write a note informing him of my wishes while you’re saddling your mounts.”

Prince Mikhail turned and disappeared into the study, while Johanos raced out the door, crying for his cohorts. Within a few moments a group of trackers were in the saddle and hurtling out of the courtyard while Prince Mikhail stormed about the hall, raging still.

Princess Kaisa-leena came running down the stairway, roused by the noise and commotion. “What’s going on, Misha?” she inquired breathlessly as she reached his side, searching his tempestuous face for some answer.

“That damnable son of yours, that’s what’s the matter!” he roared. “He’s coming home. He’ll be less impudent soon, by God!” He gave her a terse outline of his plans, then stalked away, cursing still.

Kaisa-leena sighed resignedly. She could envision the embroiled household already. Father and son, both with indomitable tempers, at each other’s throats. She must do her best to sooth the ruffled feathers, but she wondered this time whether she had any chance of success.

Three days later, Nikki stood in the library at Mon Plaisir, holding his father’s note in his hand.

He had read with mounting horror the short, crisp missive.

Alisa’s divorce is being “accelerated”
¹⁰
by the Emperor while your marriage plans proceed. Please be so kind as to return immediately. My trackers will expedite your removal
.

I’ll bet they’ll “expedite” my removal, Nikki reflected with a ghost of a laugh. The barest civility was accorded when his father used the word “please,” but the implication of coercion was eminently plain as Nikki glanced out the window and noted the fifteen men dismounting and stretching their limbs after their three days of hard riding.

He’d never truly believed that his father would have the audacity or ruthlessness to dragoon him and had felt quite
safe and content at this remote northern retreat. But here it was—simple, direct, and certain. He was to be married.

He sighed and slumped into a soft leather chair, kneading his brow with his left hand and getting into a fine sweat at the thought of his father’s plans. Nikki had been successfully avoiding this tender trap for half his lifetime, had considered himself quite proficient at the art. Now he could see that his efforts had prospered only because of his father’s sufferance.

Lord, he had no inclination or partiality to spend the rest of his life playing checkers with the Governor of Archangel. He knew his father’s warning about a future at his estate in Siberia was no idle threat now.

So here he was on the brink of marriage; you can see what can come of an apparently harmless diversion. He’d like to wring Illyich’s neck. But he did love Alisa, he supposed, in a way that was not entirely carnal and he felt quite sure she was in love with him.

There was no point in wasting his wits and digestion ruminating over his folly, Illyich’s evil wager, or his father’s astonishing new sense of priorities.
Mon Dieu
, if his father wanted a grandson, he would happily round up any number of those, but not, unfortunately, legitimate ones, and that seemed to be the kernel of the immediate problem. Why suddenly had his father developed such a fine taste for propriety?

He was snared, not a damn thing to do about it but grin and bear it; either that or molder in Siberia for forty-odd years. A wife need be no great encumbrance if one has money, and they do have their conveniences, he thought; but all the same, it was a distressing, abominable piece of madness. He kept swearing to himself as he rose from the chair and walked upstairs to inform his mistress of her imminent change in status.

Alisa was seated at the mirror, brushing her hair, and smiled at Nikki as he walked into the bedroom.

“My father has obtained your divorce and I have been commanded to marry you, and, it appears, Madame, that we are to be married post haste,” Nikki stated, a note of grimness apparent beneath the lazy drawl.

The smile died on Alisa’s lips, and she turned to face him. Her lips trembled in anger. “Please inform your father that no one has to marry me,” she said, resentful of Nikki’s obvious reluctance. “Having endured one unsatisfactory marriage, I don’t care to venture into a second that has all the prognostications of being a disaster, with you as unwilling husband. As you well know, I don’t wish a forced marriage,” Alisa indignantly finished.

“I’m of a like mind,” Nikki declared with unfeeling candor. “And our new relationship is so agreeable lately that I scarce believe it possible,” the carefully modulated voice remarked with its old derisiveness. “But, alas, neither of us has any choice in this matter. If I refuse,” he went on in a soft restrained voice, “my future entails a dreary life on Father’s estate in Siberia, which I’m in no mind eager to pursue. He will, no doubt, treat you more tenderly for the sake of this grandchild he’s bent on having.
Certainement
, he will remove you to his dacha on the Crimea so the little tyke will have the creature comforts of sun and beach.” He paused thoughtfully. “Although, if one must be shackled to someone, I daresay you’ll suit.” Nikki flicked a bold glance over the beautiful face and form of the affronted woman standing opposite him in dishabille, a filmy morning robe but imperfectly covering her. The future child was just beginning to make his presence known; Alisa’s belly rose slightly beneath voluptuous, trembling breasts as she haughtily regarded the arrogant, lean figure confronting her.

“I’m afraid I cannot return the sentiment, for you do
not
in the
least
suit me!” she snapped, furious at his nonchalance, the underlying trace of contempt, that almost flippant incivility.

Nikki shifted his weight and advanced menacingly. Alisa involuntarily shrank back to the dressing table as the cool golden gaze stared caustically into her own mutinous eyes. Forcing her against the edge of the table, Nikki leaned forward slightly to within three inches of the flashing eyes and murmured, “I beg to differ with you, Madame, for in one area, at least, we suit to perfection, or else you are capable of the most artful pretense since Delilah gulled Samson out of his hair.”

“I won’t marry you!” she cried.

“It’s customary to wait to be asked, Madame,” he snarled, at which point he ground his teeth in exasperation and hurled the dressing table mirror through the bedroom window.

Alisa burst into hysterical tears at Nikki’s violent display of anger, their peace and contentment shattered as abruptly as the mirror. Running to the bed, she collapsed facedown, sobbing into the pillows because she wanted him, and then didn’t want him because he no longer wanted her.

Nikki stood in the center of the room, rankled and incensed, clenching and unclenching his fists as he gazed at Alisa, tumbled on the bed. Her robe had been pushed up as she fell, her beautiful white body exposed to the waist.

What a luscious roses-and-cream exterior and passionate nature underneath, he mused as his kindling sensual desire gradually inundated his temper. Walking slowly to the bed, he pulled the robe from Alisa’s shoulders. She shuddered beneath his touch. He lay down and kissed her cheek. She turned away. Nikki unbuttoned his pants and turned her toward him; she lay quivering against him for a moment, then lifted her face for a kiss. His lips came down on her parted lips, and he climbed on top of her, boots and all.

Several moments later, Alisa lifted a provocative glance and whispered seductively, “Do you find me a nuisance to have around?” and moved her bottom deliciously beneath him.

“A nuisance I’m persuaded to retain,” he groaned softly, the feel of her heavenly, his erection swelling again, and at that moment he decided marriage to Alisa had its advantages. Long moments later they were both lying exhausted and content in each other’s arms.

Lord, this passionate creature would soon be his wife. And an alarming thought crossed his mind. If she had lain so easily with him, had there been others before—or since?

A fierce jealousy possessed him. Would he be justified, he wondered, in keeping her locked in her apartments in Petersburg? Even though the civilized niceties were often paper-thin in Petersburg, such medieval techniques would cause a damnable scandal, he decided. On the other hand, would it matter to the noble Kuzan family if one more scandal were added to their long list? Perhaps the concept was antiquated in the bustling, modern capital city of the Empire. Wives weren’t locked up anymore; sent away to remote convents, perhaps, but that recourse, he very selfishly decided, would deprive him of Alisa’s companionship and warmth in bed.

Lifting himself on one elbow, he slid out from her heated warmth and fixed Alisa with a piercing scowl of censure. Her face was softly flushed, her eyes dreamily abstract.

“Listen to me,” he said evenly, and shook her gently back from the depths of her passion.

“If I ever catch you seriously flirting, I’ll shoot your gallant. And if you compromise my name, I’ll shoot you.” He had no intention of playing the cuckold; he’d have to keep an eye on her; she had tumbled easily enough for him. “Am I perfectly plain?” he inquired sharply.

“Perfectly,” she murmured complacently, and sighed,
blissfully sated. Moments later, however, when reality was more real, not entirely happy with the style of his capitulation, she said, pouting, “But you don’t love me anymore.”

“I love you, dear. There, I’ve said it again.”

But his tone was dismissive, as one would say, “Thank you for coming, the butler will show you out.” “You only desire my body,” Alisa insisted pettishly. “You command me to obedience and yet you promise nothing of yourself.”

“I won’t deny I desire your flesh, I’m a man, after all, and you a lush flower of love, and if I promise you nothing, I can’t change. I’ll give you shelter and food and the luxuries of life; I will see our child wants for nothing. He or she shall have everything money can buy. I can’t promise more. I can’t promise you I’ll love you forever when I don’t know. Don’t cry,” he soothed as tears fell from Alisa’s eyes. “We have, right now, more happiness than I’ve ever dreamed possible. But don’t ask me to give up my independence. I cannot.”

And remember for both of us, he thought to himself as he tenderly kissed her tears away, remember these blissful, unutterably happy days, these golden summer weeks; remember for both of us because I can’t promise for myself.

Nikki was able to momentarily forget the daunting prospect of marriage while involved in the throes and immediate aftermath of making love, but that evening Nikki resorted to several bottles of brandy to escape the impending demise of his bachelorhood. Such finality, it was appalling. Alisa nervously sat beside him, reading, as he gloomily drank himself into oblivion.