Seized by Love Read online

  Shame overcame her at his unequivocal description of her role. And then anger at his casual appropriation as though she existed only for his amusement.

  “You can’t force me to dine with you and serve as your ‘entertainment!’ ” Alisa retorted, looking mutinous. “I’m not going to!”

  “Aren’t you, by God?” Nikki responded, and, to Alisa’s distinct chagrin, a smile of the most unalloyed amusement appeared on his face. “We shall no doubt see. Now, try on that other dress,” he said authoritatively, and pushed Alisa gently out into the center of the salon. In a louder voice, intended for the modiste’s ears, he said, “The second dress, Madame Vevay.”

  Nikki’s eager gaze surveyed the slender body slipping into a dark green silk-twill morning dress trimmed in green velvet, and he smiled lazily at her as she bent to straighten the skirt and spilled provocatively out of her corset. It was one of his favorite aesthetic diversions, watching women dress. With a succulent, luxurious beauty like that she should wear sables, the natural ones with the golden vaguely foxy tint to complement her hair, he mused. He would wrap her in sables this winter.

  Madame Vevay was clucking and fussing, keeping up a steady inane chatter.

  Meeting Nikki’s gaze, Alisa quickly dropped her seductively lashed violet eyes before that unmistakable long, burning glance.

  Damn her, the lure was overpowering, he thought as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could just look at her and forget everything else.

  Nikki had a disturbing impulse that perhaps this amour was not going to be like all the rest, an uneasy sensation of being drawn in beyond the usual barriers he studiously maintained against emotional involvement. But he’d never turned aside because of a premonition before. Temperamentally he denied withdrawal, or retreat, or too much introspection; he lived life rashly, like a bold and bruising hell-for-leather rider, and if that was the quickest way to a broken neck—the consequences be damned!

  As a connoisseur of fine female flesh and style, Nikki was aware that Alisa was more beautiful than most, while instinctively, and temperamentally, one of the best women to give pleasure in bed. His feelings weren’t necessarily any more involved; he thought she was just a rarer jewel, a more precious bauble, and he’d be a fool not to react to these unique and delightful attributes. He began to understand Forseus’s reluctance to let Alisa out in the world.

  Raising a languid hand, he beckoned Alisa toward him. She approached slowly, wearing her most jeunesse dorée look, young, petulant, sullenly beautiful.

  “Smile, love,” Nikki drawled. “You’re supposed to bring me pleasure.”

  A fixed tight smile appeared.

  “Now,” he said equably, unperturbed by the grimace, “if you could contrive to behave as charmingly as you look, one could hardly ask for more.”

  “That’s impossible, under the circumstances!” whispered Alisa, casting a glance of contempt upon Nikki’s smiling face.

  “One can but hope,” Nikki murmured as he pulled her down on his lap. He liked to touch her, as if it gave him some kind of ownership.

  “Madame Vevay, bring your sketches. My cousin and I will select some of your designs to have made up, hopefully, very quickly.”

  “Oh, certainement, Prince. There will be no delay, I assure you.”

  “Please, Monsieur,” Alisa whispered faintly, giving Nikki a sidelong pleading glance, her position as his mistress so flagrantly exposed when he held her on his lap—for all the world to see.

  “No,” he said simply, in command of his world and hers, no explanation beyond that required for a man of his unconditional power. And he held her tightly while he peremptorily ordered a wardrobe that brought the light of avarice to Madame Vevay’s greedy eyes. Nikki noted Alisa’s distress as the procedure went on for a protracted time and he almost felt sorry for her. But not quite.

  He would have to buy her an extravagant bijou, he thought. She gave him so much pleasure, he must try to erase the distress. Perhaps he could assuage the bitterness she felt at being a kept woman. That emerald necklace he had seen last month at Fabergé’s. Such lavish gifts had always been highly successful in the past. All women were irresistibly warmed by the brilliant sparkle of emeralds and rubies.

  “That will be all, Madame Vevay. My cousin will wear this becoming morning dress and we can expect a minimum number of dresses to be delivered within two days, the rest to follow?”

  “Yes, most assuredly!” the modiste promised him. She would bring in extra seamstresses to fill this order immediately, she thought.

  “Thank you, then, Madame, we’ll see ourselves out.”

  She accepted her dismissal graciously and amid effusive thanks left-the green and gold salon.

  “I have no doubt overwhelmed you,” Nikki said teasingly, “by my generosity and superb expertise in female fashion. I trust you approve my taste and”—he paused briefly—“please accept my apologies.” He grinned suddenly. “This shameful conduct is quite common to me.”

  “Why, Nikki!?” she asked quietly. “Why all this? Why me?” Alisa questioned, looking at him with resentful liquid eyes, perhaps questioning herself as well for not hating him more. For not hating the man at all—but only his careless authority over her life.

  Because I have need for your body that drugs my mind, he thought. Because you and your charming daughter warm my spirits, he thought. “Because,” he said instead.

  Alisa, still seated on Nikki’s lap, attempted to coldly stare him entirely out of countenance, but his amiable smile continued to play on his handsome face. “I should hate you,” she softly said.

  “But you don’t,” he said as softly.

  “Still, for all that,” she quietly declared, “I won’t be your mistress.” Her statement stopped him for a moment, so opposite were their opinions—but he wished her to be happy, so he perjured himself without a qualm. “Can we be friends, then?”

  With the unpredictability of her sex, she did a complete volte-face and suddenly she smiled. “I’d very much like to be friends.”

  “And Nikki, you’re much too generous both to me and Katelina.”

  Tears abruptly welled into her beautiful large eyes. “How can I ever repay you?” A poignant smile of gratitude flickered across her mouth.

  “Nonsense. It gives me pleasure. Now, don’t cry, darling,” Nikki said in an oddly constrained voice. “You and Katelina both bring me enormous joy.” He kissed Alisa tenderly. “Come, now, no more tears, let’s go and see the child’s new train.”

  The next week flew by. Nikki did contrive to stay home every evening, and Alisa tried not to think at all; she only felt. Nikki was sorely missed at the Yacht and Nobles’ Clubs gaming tables, but when his name came up, the raised eyebrows and leering glances explained his sudden propensity for the comforts of home.

  “If I had that beauty warming my bed, no one should see me about town until I was too old to care or dead from trying,” one coarse but expressive young officer remarked.

  “Nikki deigns to show up for morning reviews,” another man noted, “and immediately leaves at noon when they’re over, and rumor has it he’s cast off Sophie.”

  Alisa and Katelina in Nikki’s morning absences had been squired around by Aleksei, who felt honored to be seen in the company of such an intriguing beauty. Alisa, on her part, enjoyed the pleasant companionship of Nikki’s youthful cousin, who generously gave up his time to escort them sight-seeing. Nikki found that sort of thing a bore, and Alisa would never see the beauties of Petersburg if she waited for him to accompany her. In the course of the next few days she and Katelina saw everything of interest. They saw the Winter Palace just down the street from Prince Kuzan’s pink marble palace. The Winter Palace, not yet completely restored since the fire in 1863, was now colored brickred by Stussov and Brullov instead of its original pale green. Aleksei conducted them not only through the Hermitage galleries with its magnificent École Russe, but through suites of rooms not accessible to the ordinary visitor. They stro
lled through the Summer Garden with its shady walks and innumerable marble statues which Peter the Great had collected from Italy, visited the very first palace occupied by Peter the Great, the Summer Palace, built on a modest and intimate scale by Trezzini in a section of the Summer Garden. They viewed the forbidding Fortress of Peter and Paul, magnificent rather than beautiful, built across the Neva. They whiled away one whole morning at the Kunstkamera, the first library and museum in Russia with its collection of curiosities ranging from Chinese manuscripts to stuffed birds but particularly noted for its stupendous collection of Scythian jewelry.

  Another morning of sight-seeing disclosed the wonders of Tsarskoe Selo with its dazzling interiors, the Amber Room,5 its walls completely paneled in amber, pale as honey, the glass-beaded room, the Malachite Room, Cameron’s Lyons Room, the walls and furniture covered in pale yellow Lyons silk woven with a pattern of branches and little birds, Catherine’s own “snuffbox,” which is what she called her private boudoir, paneled with opaline white glass and gilt appliqué ornament. The doors were framed in columns of ultramarine-colored glass.

  Another morning took them by steamer down the tideless, saltless Gulf of Finland to view Peterhof, Rastrelli’s fabulous yellow and white country residence built originally by Peter the Great to rival Versailles. On the grounds were two Imperial palaces and many little summerhouses adorned and fitted with every beauty that wealth and taste could achieve. The gardens eclipsed the finest in Europe, crowned by the magnificent cascade and gilded fountains shooting glittering spray that flowed into the sea.

  Color abounded in the city architecture and pale, delicate hues delighted the eye at every turn: The lemonyellow white of the Admiralty and Pushkin Theatre, the rich blue of the Smol’nyi Cathedral, the coral of Menshikov’s Palace. All the rococo façades stuccoed in beautiful pastels, lilac, salmon, pistachio-green served as a foil for the starkly Neo-Classic Russian Empire architecture of Alexander I and Nicholas I. Beautiful sparkling canals intersected the three main arteries that spread from Admiralty Square. Alisa was truly affected by the beauty of this Venice of the North.

  Unknown to the small party of sight-seers, each day two other attendants accompanied the group. Scrupulously remaining in the background, not a difficult task in the polyglot babble of the diverse nationalities and costumes jostling each other in the capital of the Empire. The streets contained quantities of barbaric costumes. There were Cossacks from the Don, Georgians from the Caucasus, Tatars, Persians, natives from Central Asia, Chinese, Laplanders, as well as the motley crew of Russian peasants, priests, monks, nuns.

  In this floating stream of humanity Forseus’s trackers silently stalked their quarry, persistent as a conscience. Alisa had not once ventured alone outside the marble palace, but they patiently waited, the six men changing shifts every eight hours, so one pair of men, four earnest eyes, knew Alisa’s whereabouts twenty-four hours a day, and only waited for an opportunity in which she was alone to carry her back to her husband. Forseus wasn’t so foolhardy as to come to grips publicly with such an illustrious, powerful figure as Prince Kuzan. Those persons privileged to have the Emperor recognize their family in friendship were above the law, and Forseus knew it.

  The days of sight-seeing occasionally concluded with a drive out to the Point, where the fashionable world went to see the sun set across the Gulf of Finland. It was a beautiful sight, the sky glowing crimson and gold, the bay as smooth as glass, reflecting the beds of rushes that rose here and there, one or two boats serenely gliding over the glistening water. Alisa would sometimes stay until the crimson faded into evening’s twilight. These beauties of nature, however, were wasted on the unseen eyes, steadfastly fixed on their prey.

  One morning several days later, Nikki was in his dressing room, struggling into his uniform; he was already a half hour late for formation and becoming frustrated. Finally, fully attired in white tunic with red facings and dark trousers with red stripes, he sat on a low chair, thrusting his foot into an immaculately polished riding boot, cursing softly.

  “Where the hell is that damn valet when I need him,” he muttered distractedly. Alisa, garbed in a pale aquamarine flower-embroidered silk wrapper, had been watching him from the doorway.

  “If you recall,” Alisa chided him gently, “you distinctly warned your poor valet more than ten days ago that you didn’t want to be disturbed by him in the morning until further notice.”

  “I did?” Nikki asked, raising his head and lifting one eyebrow quizzically at Alisa. Breaking into a broad grin as she flushed under his gaze, he said, “So I did, didn’t I?” He chuckled. “And now I pay for my pleasures by having to contend with dressing myself,” he teased.

  “Could I help?” Alisa offered as she moved toward his seated figure.

  “No, dear, don’t bother,” he amiably replied, sliding on his second boot. “I’m fussing for no good reason. I’m quite able to dress myself. I’m just in a damnable hurry. My late arrivals are beginning to raise comment.”

  “Nikki?” Alisa began hesitantly. “Do you have one minute to spare?”

  “Of course, love,” Nikki remarked placidly as he stood before a large cheval glass and began adjusting the silver epaulets on the tunic of his undress uniform. He was buckling on his belt, and when Alisa didn’t continue, he prompted her quietly, “What is it, my dove?”

  “Well—” she faltered, unable to find suitable words to continue.

  “Well?” Nikki rejoined, looking at Alisa intently as he noted the obvious timidity in her demeanor.

  “I’m … that is … I’m quite sure I’m pregnant,” Alisa blurted out, and nervously dropped her eyes from the piercing glance that quickly ranged the length of her body.

  “How sure?” Nikki asked conversationally, his composure unruffled by the disclosure.

  “About three weeks sure,” she answered, astonished at Nikki’s calm reaction. Alisa hadn’t known what to expect, and her nerves had been on edge the last few days, trying to bring herself to break the news. It wasn’t unheard of to be promptly sent packing upon presenting tidings like that. And she had nowhere to go.

  “Please, sweetheart, relax, you look quite anxious. I flatter myself I am as hardened a reprobate as most men, and I indulge in numerous vices,” Nikki stated with a faint smile, “but rest assured, casting pregnant females into the streets is not one of them.” He looked at Alisa closely. “One must expect such things, after all,” he continued tranquilly. “Surely you didn’t hope to escape that condition for long when one considers the diligence with which we pursue our—ah—friendship,” he drawled.

  “You’re not angry?” Alisa asked, incredulous.

  “Angry? Whatever for? Come now, dear, give me a kiss good-bye. I really must be off, for Cernov’s jests are becoming cruder every day, and I’m damned late.”

  Since she’d realized she was pregnant, Alisa had been uneasy. Anxiety was uppermost in her mind. She hadn’t hoped for another child from her marriage with Forseus and had given up such thoughts. But she also hadn’t wished to become pregnant by Prince Kuzan, especially since their relationship was so undefined. This child nurtured within her body, a living, breathing extension of herself, couldn’t be forgotten, set aside, or rejected. It had overwhelmed her thoughts the past few days, and now she was relieved to have shared her secret.

  Nikki, for his part, accepted the fact calmly as part of the order of things, a circumstance bound to happen. For Nikki, a pregnant mistress was a reasonable consequence of their irresponsible self-indulgence. He really must buy her some extravagant toy, some bauble to cheer her up, was his immediate reaction. He perceived his obligation in this as in all other responsibilities of his rank. He had affectionate feelings for Alisa, the habits of a lifetime refusing to acknowledge any more powerful emotions.

  Alisa in the time-honored tradition of keeper of the womb was compelled to accept what goodwill Nikki offered; she had no money, no home, no relatives to turn to. But she had other reasons, less prosaic rea
sons; she passionately loved this quixotic, reckless, enigmatic, oddly gentle man.

  “When I return this afternoon, we must keep your appointment at Madame Vevay’s,” Nikki casually said, picking up his gloves. “She sent me a note yesterday, informing me that several more of your dresses are ready for the final fitting.” Walking over, he clasped Alisa gently in his arms and kissed her a tender au revoir. “Until this afternoon,” he murmured.

  He blew her another kiss as he stood in the doorway. “Oh, one request, my sweet.” Apprehension gripped her. Vulnerable in her current position, she waited for that first move of detachment. “Please, for the sake of the child,” Nikki said, “would you mind not smoking cigarettes? I know it’s terribly fashionable, but I have vague apprehensions of our child being born with soot on his face. Do you mind?”

  “That’s all?” Artless, her astonishment showed.

  A brief puzzlement passed over his face. “That’s all I can think of,” he replied. “Would you, then?”

  “Of course,” she murmured, still slightly stunned by his unruffled response to her disclosure.

  “Thank you, my dear. I stand relieved. Why don’t you go back to bed and rest until I return. Aren’t enceinte women supposed to be constantly fatigued?” He grinned.

  And that was the end of that.

  Fortunately the sight-seeing trips had been curtailed, since Aleksei’s presence was now also required at his regiment, for of late, Alisa’s mornings were punctuated with spells of nausea. Perhaps she would climb back into bed; Katelina could have her lessons in the bedroom this morning.

  After a light luncheon, Nikki and Alisa arrived at Madame Vevay’s. Nikki seated himself in his usual comfortable sprawl, blue frock coat open, hands clasped across the middle of his embroidered linen waistcoat, legs clad in light gray trousers outstretched before him. He watched Madame Vevay slip dress after dress over Alisa’s head, make a variety of adjustments with pins and basting, clucking and chattering all the while.

  “Madame Forseus!” she wailed after ripping out the bastings on the sixth dress in a row. “I will never be able to finish these gowns. Every fitting requires further adjustments. Madame is putting on weight!” she chided.