Kuzan 02 - Lovestorm Page 6

  Zena turned crimson in embarrassment and rushed to explain, "Please excuse him, Prince Alex. Since our father died, he indiscriminately calls anyone in pants Papa. It's quite awkward."

  "It's perfectly all right," Alex soothed politely, reassuring Zena, who Wiw M obviously distressed by the faux pas. God, it's an age since I've seen a woman blush, he thought. And it was devilishly pretty on her. The women he'd been entertaining himself with lately were too jaded, world-wise, and too beyond embarrassment to blush. It was a refreshing change from the scenes he was all too familiar with between a man with seduction on his mind and a woman prepared to be seduced. "When one has been raised," he continued, "with four brothers and sisters, all given to outrageous behavior, one finds nothing the least bit startling—least of all a three-year-old child. I'm sure he sorely misses his father," Alex added gravely, fully conscious of how fortunate he had been to have the warmth and affection of a loving family.

  Zena's expression had become inexpressibly pensive as profound impressions of loneliness engulfed her. Both her parents were gone forever and, although he was precious to her, Bobby couldn't fill the void of companionship sometimes so achingly real.

  Alex saw the bleakness of her face and, in a considerate attempt to divert the morose direction of Zena's mood, coaxed gently, "Come, help us. We need another pair of hands to construct this God-awful, complicated apparatus. Move over, Bobby; make room for your sister."

  Bobby obliged obediently, patting the carpet next to him. "Here, Zena, here, by me. We make giant wheel," and he threw his arms wide to emphasize his statement.

  Zena flashed a warm smile at her young brother's enthusiasm, forcibly set aside her melancholy, and rose to join the assembly crew on the floor. Ten minutes later the entire wheel was complete, and small wooden passengers were enjoying a wildly reckless ride as Bobby twirled the wheel with vigor.

  Mariana interrupted this cozy scene en famille when she appeared with Bobby's supper. After laying the invalid's fare out on a low table, she cajoled Bobby into a small chair and attempted to help him with his meal.

  "Papa help, Papa help!" Bobby insisted loudly and closed his lips tightly as Mariana tried to put a spoon of porridge into his mouth. Zena winced in embarrassment again as Bobby screamed for his "Papa," but the little maid was the model of decorum as she looked hesitantly at the prince.

  "Here, give me the spoon. I'll feed Bobby, Mariana. Would you tell Trevor to bring up some champagne when you leave?" Alex seated himself on a very small chair designed to accommodate children, forcing his long legs to one side to avoid upsetting the table. "Open wide, now, Bobby," Alex enticed, a spoon of porridge poised high in the air, and the game commenced.

  Trevor brought chilled champagne, poured two glasses, and withdrew. Zena lounged on the floor, enjoying the sport at the small supper table. She chuckled silently at the incongruous sight of the enormous prince balanced on the fragile chair. Bobby giggled while Alex zoomed food into the baby mouth. The young child occasionally insisted that Alex eat some porridge, too. With infinite good nature the prince consumed several spoonfuls of porridge until the food on the tray was disposed of. Bobby returned to his toys on the floor while Alex unraveled his long legs to lounge on the floor next to Zena.

  "Porridge and champagne isn't exactly my idea of haute cuisine" he grimaced jestingly. "I must request your utter secrecy in regard to this gourmet blend, for if any of my friends get wind of it, I can envision hundreds of bowls of porridge appearing at the most awkward moments in the future. Practical joking assumes monumental proportions in my bizarre coterie of friends, as boredom plagues them so."

  "Never fear, sir, you can trust my discretion completely. Although," Zena giggled softly, "your stoic look of resignation was marvelously funny as you manfully swallowed all those spoons of porridge." The memory forced her to giggle again. Had she drunk too much champagne already, she wondered briefly, or was it just pleasurable to laugh again after so long?

  "Over the years I have quite regularly found myself in ridiculous situations, so laugh all you like, my dear; I'm absolutely immune." Alex chided in cheerful, high spirits as he refilled their glasses. In this delightfully warm proximity, Zena and Alex drank three bottles of champagne, although the prince accounted for more than two bottles himself, while Bobby entertained himself with the huge assortment of toys.

  As the third bottle was emptied, Zena tucked Bobby into bed, and she and Alex proceeded downstairs to the dining room, where a bounteous table was laid out for their meal. Alex continued drinking as he ate. Zena noted with some alarm that he was starting on his second bottle of wine since the meal began.

  Observing the anxious glance as he broached the second bottle, Alex blandly explained, "It's common gossip that I'm very reliable until my sixth bottle. Rest assured, my pet, I never become difficult," and he smiled warmly to dispense the lie, for, as any of a score of close friends would attest, Alex could become difficult on the slightest provocation, with or without alcohol. Perverse intractability had bred true through generations of Kuzans.

  As the meal progressed, Alex, in one of his most expansive moods (not necessarily the result of several bottles of wine but more pertinently related to the fact that a most ravishing, delectable young woman was seated opposite him at the small table in front of the fireplace), regaled Zena with engaging anecdotes and gossip about the St. Petersburg ton. He was witty, clever, unutterably dégagé, charming the young woman as easily as all the other women in his life. His enchanting gallantry wasn't contrived; on the contrary, Alex had from a very early age adored women, and, this frank, genuine admiration of the female species was his most effective and irresistible asset. Every woman melted before this unabashed flattery, and Alex, in turn, enjoyed women with unalloyed delight.

  This sweet young thing would be his very soon, he calculated, but he saw no need to rush her. His promise to not touch her had been offered honorably, but his intent was the reverse. If (and to his mind, the //was merely a question of time) the mademoiselle should make the first move, it behooved him as a gentleman to respond to her initiative.

  In this delicious little game of seduction Alex was simply laying the groundwork: warm proximity; amiable conversation; soothing comfort when problems such as Bobby's health arose; dazzling charm; and that most potent of weapons, the undercurrent of desire that flamed repeatedly in his tawny eyes and wrapped Zena like encroaching wisps of warm mist.

  The memories of passion shared evoked potent forces within Zena's mind, which she deliberately thrust aside, finding the images too disquieting to contemplate. In an attempt to gain some control over these dangerous, insidious impulses and the ambience of the conversation that was becoming too ardently perilous, Zena abruptly inquired "Tell me, my lord, do you agree or disagree with the notion of a duma with peasant representation."

  Alex hid a satisfied smile behind his raised wine glass, all too aware of the reason for Zena's sudden shift in conversation. With the address of a consummate stalker, unhurried and confident of the outcome, Alex eased smoothly into disinterested avuncularity, which obviously calmed the young mademoiselle. He answered seriously, "It's only a matter of time before a duma, a working duma, must be come a reality. Absolute autocracy is fast becoming an untenable anachronism as we approach the twentieth century. Since the peasantry comprise a vast majority of this country, yes, it's essential that they have representation in the duma."

  The prince cheerfully pandered to the desire of the young chit to bring the topics of conversation back onto safe, respectable ground, and a vivacious discussion of the relative merits of representative monarchy occupied the time as the prince continued to drink himself into a well-mannered, affable intoxication.

  "The emperor isn't exactly the quick-witted paragon of intellectualism one could wish for in . . ." Alex was saying in explanation of the reactionary tendencies that were hindering the formation of even a diluted form of representative government when an emphatic, slightly strident female voice
was heard very clearly from the hallway through the closed double doors of the dining room.

  "I insist on seeing him, I tell you! I insist!" the woman's voice demanded, rising dangerously near a scream.

  With only the slightest pause to indicate that he had heard the high-pitched demand, Alex continued urbanely, ". . . a monarch. The tsar is also, unfortunately, under the influence of Von Plehve, who has exceedingly reactionary notions. I could but wish that Witte had not fallen from favor. He was always a mitigating instrument against the harsh repression so prevalent at court. Do you care for Witte, my dear, or do you find him too much of a merchant?"

  Zena found the disturbance in the hall a bit difficult to ignore, but was attempting an answer to Alex's question, when the doors quickly slid open and shut and Trevor slipped into the room and hastily approached Alex. Bending low, he whispered rapidly in Alex's ear, while Zena, a mere two feet away, couldn't help but catch snatches of his brisk sentences.

  "A certain female," he said with a sniff of disdain, "wouldn't take no, my lord," and Trevor's haughty face pursued in annoyance, "very angry, I'm afraid," he explained anxiously.

  The prince acknowledged the information with the barest of nods, uttered one crisp sentence in which Zena heard the words my suite, thanked Trevor curtly, and ordered some brandy and coffee.

  As Trevor left to carry out his directions, Alex smiled apologetically. "Excuse me, my dear, a minor misunderstanding. All is reconciled. Now, where were we? Oh, yes—do tell me your opinion of Witte."

  Zena was engulfed in a violent emotional mosaic composed equally of curiosity, chagrin, and malice, but she smothered these sensations to muster a response to the prince, who obviously wasn't going to confide in her about the noisy events in the hall.

  Over brandy and coffee Alex continued the conviviality of the perfect host, explaining in detail his family's interest in the peasant villages adjacent to their estates and the function and usefulness of the peasant councils.

  Unaccountably, Zena was irritated at the thought of some woman waiting for Alex in his suite. She acknowledged purposefully that it was none of her concern how Alex spent his evenings; nevertheless, she derived an unwonted degree of pleasure from the fact that Alex evidently was in no rush to appear upstairs.

  Feminine instinct took over, producing an illusive transmutation in Zena's behavior, fostering the faintest aura of enticement. This subtle change did not go unnoticed by the prince, who was long familiar with the full gamut of feminine competitiveness. It was enchanting to see the hesitant, unsophisticated allure so tentatively offered. Alex stayed quite some time enjoying Zena's captivating company. He was, after all, fully apprised of who was upstairs in his suite, and he knew that Mrs. Askov would wait.

  Zena sipped on her coffee; after Alex consumed several glasses of brandy, he suggested they retire for the night. "Let's check on Bobby and then I'll see you to your room," Alex offered. After seeing that Bobby was peacefully sleeping. Alex walked Zena to her bedroom door, stepped close, and lifted her face, as though he might kiss her good night. He was so close she could see the pulse beating evenly against the smooth, bronzed throat. He gave her a rather searching look, but his hand fell away, and he laughed softly, "Such a temptation, my pet, but I promised not to touch. Good night, Zena," and bowing briefly he turned and walked down the hall to his room next door. It had taken all the self-control he possessed not to bend down and kiss those beautiful, trembling lips.

  Zena was left standing susceptible and bewildered, having wanted Alex to kiss her while simultaneously feeling it wasn't really right for her to feel that way. Alex reached his door and opened it; a yellow beam of light spread into the hallway, and Zena winced as she heard a breathy, inviting feminine voice cry out, "Sasha, my love!"

  "Tamara, mon ange" Alex intoned warmly, "what a pleasant surprise."

  The door closed with a tiny click, and Zena stood alone in the dimly lit hall, burning with an unspeakably black rage. Flouncing into her room, she tossed off her clothes and tumbled into the huge feather bed, but sleep eluded her; for quite some time she lay there wakeful, staring into the dark as the muted sounds from the adjacent room bombarded her reluctant ears. Mon ange was decidedly vocal in her passion, and the moans of pleasure and cries of delight assailed the senses of the furious woman lying next door. Damn slut, Zena cursed rancorously, couldn't she shut up, and, as if on cue, no sound could be heard but the rhythmic creaking of the bed. The persistent cadence hammered at her eardrums. Would it never end! she disgruntedly raged. Moans of ecstasy from female lips rose above the sound. Silence. All was quiet fractionally, then all too soon the feminine cries of rapture began again.

  Zena indignantly covered her head with two pillows, burrowing into the soft mattress, cried quiet tears of frustration, and presently worn out from the long day and manifold extremes of emotion, fell into a restless sleep.

  7

  Bobby woke her up at a respectable nine o'clock after Mariana could restrain him no longer. Zena dressed quickly in her only dress, smoothing out the wrinkles on the skirt as best she could. Then she and Bobby proceeded downstairs for breakfast.

  The morning meal was being served in a sunny little parlor at the back of the dacha. It was a gloriously beautiful January day with a brilliant sun sparkling on the snow.

  About an hour later Zena and Bobby were finishing breakfast, when a wan, slow-moving Prince Alex, dressed in buckskins and a muzhik shirt, entered the room and dropped wearily into a chair, disposing his long legs and bare feet into an extended sprawl. Trevor hovered over the prince solicitously, offering the great variety of dishes available, but Alex waved them all away and gruffly ordered hot coffee with lots of cream and a small tot of brandy. Bobby had crawled down from his chair when the prince appeared and now stood in front of Alex solemnly surveying the half-slumped form. Zena eyed the prince balefully. He was an unutterable picture of exhaustion this morning; his long, raven hair was disarranged, his face was pale though shaved, and the dark circles under his eyes were painfully obvious.

  "Papa play with Bobby!" the little boy demanded and began pulling on Alex's hand, which draped limply over one arm of the chair.

  "Leave the prince alone, Bobby," Zena snapped irritably. "He's obviously tired," she peevishly continued, unable to hide the resentment in her voice.

  Alex lifted one eyebrow quizzically in response to the patent ill humor of his guest but let the cutting remark pass, too fatigued before his coffee and brandy to enter into any verbal sparring. Little bitch, he thought with a mild testiness, if you would have tumbled for me, I would have gladly sent Tamara on her way.

  "Papa, Papa, play!" Bobby persisted, heedless of Zena's remonstrances.

  Alex pulled the little boy up into his lap and whispered in his ear. Bobby's eyes widened in excitement. Immediately the young child tumbled off Alex's lap and scurried out of the room as fast as his sturdy little legs permitted, calling for Mariana at the top of his lungs.

  "What was that all about?" Zena inquired coolly.

  "Come, sit in my lap, and I'll whisper in your ear," Alex teased provocatively, relishing the sparkling flash of anger spilling from Zena's vivid eyes.

  "I most certainly will not!" Zena tartly replied. "Don't think we're all like mon ange" she finished acerbically.

  Alex narrowed his eyes consideringly and softly murmured, "No, my pet, not like mon ange at all—you're much, much better," and his mouth lifted into a mocking smile.

  "Oh!" Zena exhaled indignantly, speechlessly infuriated at the bold crudeness, but seconds later she dropped her lashes sheepishly before the knowing leer Alex bestowed on her. The memory of her ready responses on the train from St. Petersburg made argument awkward.

  Trevor interrupted with the brandy, which he poured into coffee au lait and handed to his master. Zena bit her tongue on the angry retort she would have liked to make, while Alex seemed oblivious to her as he sipped the warm drink, eyes closed, his head resting heavily against the chair cushi
on.

  Within minutes of drinking the hot liquid, he knew his heart had begun pumping again, and Alex conceded optimistically that perhaps he wouldn't collapse this morning. Mrs. Askov was too damn demanding. He'd have to either see her more often so that she wouldn't be so ravenously insatiable, or he'd have to give up seeing her at all. In the ambivalent position she now occupied in his life, Mrs. Askov would exhaust a regiment of rapacious recruits. Lord, he was tired!

  A beaming Bobby preceded Mariana and two footmen into the room. The men carried an enormous wooden rocking horse accoutered with a diminutive saddle and silver-embellished bridle. Real horsehair flowed from the mane and tail, while the trompe l'oeil painting of the hide was meticulously accurate to the smallest vein.

  The hubbub of the small cavalcade served to lever the prince's eyelids open a scant quarter inch, but the squeals of elation from Bobby as he was lifted into place induced the eyes to open fully. A smile of unalloyed delight appeared on Alex's face as he viewed the toddler riding the horse with utterly reckless abandon. It enhances the melancholy of the world, Alex thought, smiling, to see it occasionally through the enchanted eyes of a child; he wondered whimsically whether old Pasha enjoyed being brought out of retirement.

  Zena's heart warmed to the prince for his thoughtfulness and attention to her young brother, and she forgave him marginally for having kept her awake half the night with his paramour's squeals. Sh experienced a desire to reach out and brush back the soft dark curls from Alex's forehead or to touch her fingers lightly to his ashen, fatigued face. She felt peculiarly undone by his pale vulnerability. It was really very kind of him to even appear downstairs this early after the long night he had endured. Immediately the direction of her thoughts created a strange yearning in her fledgling emotions that flustered and confounded.

  Alex played "tired Papa" with Bobby after the novelty of the rocking horse had paled. The game very simply consisted of Bobby crawling all over Alex while he lay on the floor recuperating his strength. More toys were brought downstairs, and each new addition was consideringly discussed and demonstrated by the lounging prince.