Seized by Love Page 9

  Arni’s sentence was left hanging in the air as Nikki savagely swung his horse around and charged back past the halted ranks of his troopers. He waved his sergeant to give orders to follow.

  There was no time for speculation, little enough time for thought. Alisa was in danger. No doubt because of him.

  Within seconds the troop was once again in full gallop. Nikki forced the huge black hard, pressing him furiously.

  Damn sadistic misogynist! He’d break Forseus’s neck with his bare hands! Beaten her again, had he? It would be the last beating that old reprobate would ever administer! He’d see him burn in hell!

  Arni had kept pace with Nikki. Nikki kneed Koli alongside the groom and shouted, “How long ago did you leave her?”

  “About forty minutes ago!” Arni yelled in reply.

  Nikki prayed he wasn’t too late. All his frustrated fury of the morning had a new outlet—Valdemar Forseus!

  Koli was flagging by the time Forseus’s driveway was in sight, his mouth foaming, his flanks running with sweat. Nikki kept him at a gallop up the long driveway. Nearing the main house, Nikki snatched the pistol from his saddle holster and twenty troopers followed suit. He spun Koli sideways, reining hard to ease around the east wall of the house, and rode headlong into the stable yard, glanced briefly around the outbuildings, spied the shed, and hauled his stallion to a stop in front of the building.

  Jumping down, he tossed his pistol aside, flung his huge frame against the locked door, and both hinges shattered at the violent impact. Two of his men who had dashed to his assistance lifted the door away.

  In the dim light of the empty room Nikki saw Alisa’s figure lying motionless, her tattered clothing scarcely covering her bruised and torn flesh. Rapidly divesting himself of his braided tunic, he wrapped Alisa gently in the garment and gathered her from the dirty floor into his arms.

  She was so still! My God! Had Forseus killed her this time? He carefully scanned her pale face, so close to his, and was relieved to see faint color on her cheeks. Walking outside, he carefully laid her on the ground on a blanket hastily retrieved from a haversack, covered her lightly with another blanket, and began snapping orders.

  “Find Forseus for me! I want that foul monster dragged out from wherever he is. Fetch some brandy for the lady! I want some lint and warm water! Immediately!”

  Everyone scattered to obey his commands.

  Arni was kneeling at his mistress’s side, tears of rage in his eyes. Then he peered at her more closely. “I believe she’s been drugged, Prince,” he cried.

  Nikki leaned over the slight, almost still form and felt for a pulse. Slowly he pulled her eyelids back to reveal vacant red eyes. Carefully closing the lids once more, he nodded agreement. “You’re right. We must have her away from that fiend. You were right to come for me.”

  “What can we do?” Arni asked, terrified.

  “Find her daughter and her maidservants.” Nikki was aware of Alisa’s affection for her old servants. And certainly Arni’s loyalty must be rewarded with safety from Forseus’s wrath. “Do you wish to accompany your mistress?”

  “I go where Miss Alisa goes,” Arni said gravely. “I promised her father.”

  “Very well, assemble those servants who wish to come with us, her daughter, and a change of clothing for Alisa. Take nothing more from this barbarous pig Forseus. After I’ve dealt with him, we’ll leave.”

  Maria came to Alisa within minutes with warm water to bathe her face, but the drugged woman didn’t respond and could accept no brandy.

  The troopers’ careful searching turned up no master of the house. Frightened servants explained that he and the son had ridden into Viipuri early that morning.

  “As well,” Nikki muttered grimly. His father wouldn’t have appreciated Nikki murdering a neighbor.

  Alisa was placed in Nikki’s arms once he mounted, and the cavalcade slowly retraced the route of its headlong chase. Arni held Katelina while Maria and Rakeli rode behind two sergeants. Returning within the hour to the Petersburg road, the troop continued to the first post stop, where Nikki’s luggage wagon and carriage had been left instructions to wait. The servants, Katelina, and Alisa were placed into Nikki’s beautifully sprung landau and continued the journey south.

  Aleksei greeted the strange group of guests late that afternoon when they and Nikki entered the town palace of pink Finnish and Siberian marble, situated just east of the Hermitage on Millionnaya, the most genteel street of old Petersburg. The serene classical palace facing the Neva was built between 1768 and 1785 as a present from the Empress Catherine II to her favorite Platon Kuzan.

  A doctor was immediately called to Alisa’s bedside and pronounced her out of danger. The dose of laudanum had been powerful but not fatal. For two days and nights Nikki kept servants around the clock at Alisa’s bedside to monitor her needs as she drifted between sleeping and waking. On the morning of the third day, when he checked in to see what her condition was, Alisa was reclining comfortably against numerous lace-trimmed pillows, totally awake.

  “You’re looking much better this morning.” Nikki smiled warmly in greeting. “For the past few days it’s been like having the Sleeping Beauty in our midst.”

  “I must thank you for rescuing me in such a fairy-tale fashion.” Alisa smiled gravely in return. “Maria told me everything. I’d despaired of surviving Mr. Forseus’s last tantrum.” Tears came to her eyes. Kneeling by her bedside, Nikki gently brushed them away.

  And later to Nikki’s insistent questioning Alisa related the proceedings after she’d arrived home to find Mr. Forseus there. Nikki paced the room as she told him of her beating, of finally becoming unconscious. Murderous thoughts sprang to his mind.

  “He’ll never again dare touch you, by God,” Nikki said grimly as Alisa finished her story. Then once more he went to her and took her hand. “You’re safe here with me.”

  “Oh, but I can’t accept your hospitality for long. Surely, your parents won’t like strangers in their home.”

  Not wishing to enter into that argument again, Nikki temporized placatingly, “You’re not quite yourself yet, so please accept my hospitality, at least temporarily, and as for my mother and father, they haven’t entered this threshold in over three years, much preferring the air of the country. So rest assured, you’ll not be disturbed.

  “Now, please, ask for anything you require, and I hope your health soon returns, although you’re looking remarkably fit this morning,” he added with a languid smile. “Perhaps you could join me for dinner this evening. Now I must be off briefly for regimental duties. Au revoir.”

  “Au revoir, and thank you again. I hope I’ll be able to repay you someday.”

  You shall, dear, you shall, Nikki reflected as he strode down the hall resplendent in full regimentals, the silver braid brilliant against the white superfine tunic, his dark hair still damp from his bath and curling at the nape of his neck over the stiff, silver-embellished collar. With an uncharacteristic flash of romantic sympathy he’d not only refrained from touching the beautiful, warm sleeping woman so inviting in her helpless vulnerability, but had, more remarkably, eschewed other women in the past three days. No Gypsies on the Islands, no Countess, no ballet dancers. With a curious whimsy the Prince rather fancied waiting for the sleeping lady. He hadn’t realized he had such high-minded instincts, but it wasn’t all earnest moral principles, for he’d spent a lot of time in taking cold baths and chastising himself for acting in such a ridiculous manner.

  Nikki was in charity with the world and in such superb spirits that morning that even an insistent note from his mistress, Countess Amalienborg, greeting him at breakfast didn’t deter his fine humor. Sophie had apparently heard of his house guest (gossip travels fast below stairs) and had requested his company at a small card party that evening. He scrawled a short acceptance across the bottom of her perfumed stationery and dispatched the message by footman.

  Just as well, he reflected. Countess Amalienborg had been an end
uring mistress over almost two years now, notwithstanding Nikki’s occasional short flings with an actress or Gypsy. However, he’d become faintly tired of Sophie’s proprietary airs in public lately. Tonight would be an ideal opportunity to courteously break off their longstanding friendship. A skilled lover, Sophie had served well in the past as a palliative to his boredom when he craved extraordinary acrobatics in bed. She was always successful in bringing his blood up, although he thought her the lowest kind of bitch, for she’d do anything to oblige him. But then there were other times when he didn’t care if he lived or died, and on those occasions he surpassed even Sophie’s audacity in bed.

  But lately even her practiced accomplishments were palling. A bank draft or jewels? Which would she prefer as a parting token? Out of innate laziness and indifference he decided on the money, called Ivan in, and was assured the bank draft would be on his dressing table before dinner that evening.

  “Thank you, Ivan, you’re ever efficient.”

  Deferentially, Ivan inquired of his well-disposed employer so obviously in buoyant spirits this morning, “Did you enjoy the art catalogues you requested?”

  “Immensely, Ivan, immensely! You don’t know what pleasure they brought me.” Nikki chuckled.

  Puzzled, but cheered at his master’s new interest in art, Ivan bowed himself out of the breakfast room.

  Could one wonder at the cause of Prince Kuzan’s enormous good humor? He’d had his way after all. The object of his amorous interest, but recently outside his grasp, was now ensconced in a splendid gilt bed mere feet from his suite next door, and in addition, supremely grateful for his efforts on her behalf. So very convenient.

  Nikki positively glided through the onerous, petty details of regimental paperwork necessary to his position that fine early spring morning. Within the hour he’d dispatched these trivia and had returned home only to find that Alisa was dozing once more. Not an impatient man, under the circumstances (he had all the time in the world) Nikki let Alisa sleep quite peacefully most of the day.

  Sending a note in the late afternoon, he inquired if she had any preferences for dinner and informed her he would await her company in the drawing room at seven.

  Nikki, elegantly attired in black evening dress and white satin waistcoat, relaxed before the open window on a large tapestry settee, one foot in its patent evening pump resting on the windowsill, and slowly sipped a fine Madeira. Seeing him sitting there, all well-bred grace, one lost sight of the brute power beneath the silken raiment unless one paused to note the width of the shoulder or the thickness of wrist, unless one marked the thigh muscles flexing on the leg so casually at ease on the sill.

  He turned his head at the sound of the door and automatically came to his feet, advanced across the enormous parquet floor with his customary poise, and gave Alisa an elegant bow.

  “My lady,” he said very formally while smiling down at her in a most distracting fashion from under those heavy brows, “please join me in a Madeira before we dine. The weather is quite exceptional and I’ve been enjoying the prospect of the Neva across the quay.”

  Alisa was dressed in her only ensemble.

  “I’m afraid I’m not adequately dressed for dinner,” she stammered slightly, overawed by the magnificent rococo room resplendent with gilt, putti, stuccoed reliefs, and real Bouchers and Fragonards. Awed as well by Nikki’s casual grace and the distinct overt difference between the unsophisticated, natural man she’d known in the country and this supremely dégagé courtier so at ease in this enormous palace, wearing his luxurious attire carelessly, as though being point-de-vice was as comfortable as old slippers. She felt like the proverbial country mouse.

  “You’re ever the epitome of beauty, my dear,” Nikki amiably replied in a smooth drawl. He could sense she was embarrassed at her lack of elegant dress, was himself so used to dressing for dinner, he hadn’t considered the awkwardness it might cause Alisa. He observed to himself that he would put her wardrobe to rights immediately, and then attempted to placate her embarrassment by apologizing. “Forgive me for dressing so conspicuously, but I’ve an engagement after dinner I must attend, hence this attire.” Alisa was surprised to feel a strange and uncomfortable jealousy at his remark.

  “Come sit by me and we’ll enjoy the saffron sunset. You look the picture of health once again.”

  Maria had bathed Alisa and washed her magnificent hair; the vibrant recuperative powers of youth had quickly restored her peaches-and-cream complexion, and she did indeed look refreshingly glowing.

  “Thank you, I feel very well.”

  Nikki chatted casually, never referring to anything personal, putting Alisa completely at ease, teasing and entertaining her with the trivial, innocuous gossip about town, Zacouska preceded the dinner and Nikki directed Alisa to a small anteroom, where a table was spread with caviar, cheese, rusks, sardines, oysters, olives, liqueurs, and vodka.

  “I understand zacouska is becoming quite comme il faut in France this year. We Russians have known for centuries that several glasses of liquor much improve that mauvais quart d’heure that generally precedes European dinners. Do try one small glass of chilled vodka, my dear.” Without waiting for an answer he proceeded to pour them both one.

  “To your regained health.” Nikki raised his glass in salute.

  The dinner was superb; Nikki’s French chef surpassed himself for his young master who so rarely dined in. Perhaps the new house guest would change the Prince’s normal pattern, the chef reflected with a Gallic lift of his eyebrows. He would be able to serve his delectable coq auvin, his exquisite crème bachique, his savory potage à la crevette. Ah! Vive la femme! He could display his skills again. Bah! He had become tired of only serving breakfasts at two in the afternoon.

  Nikki came home quite late from Countess Amalienborg’s card party, his brows drawn together in a lowering scowl. An evening’s entertainment of charades and a bellowing Italian soprano had preceded the cards. By God! Sophie’s amusements were banal. Needless to say, it had been quite late before he was able to affect a private conversation with Sophie. The amiable parting Nikki had envisioned had not been all that amiable. When he’d politely offered his adieus and his handsome bank draft, the Countess had bitterly and impertinently bearded him about his new mistress.

  “Installed in the room next to yours, Nikki, I hear, and drugged when she was brought in,” the Countess had said maliciously. “Losing your touch, dear? Surely between your smooth tongue and big cock, you don’t have to resort to force?”

  “Don’t be coarse, chérie,” Nikki said flatly. Damn gossiping doctor, Nikki thought irritably, the news must be all over town by now. Normally immune to gossip concerning himself, he preferred not having Alisa’s name bandied about.

  “When I lose my touch, Sophie dear, I’ll let you know,” Nikki murmured coldly. “Perhaps your husband and I will then be able to share a mutual interest in cards. Whist is all he’s good for at present. I still endeavor to amuse myself in more active ways.”

  “With your ‘active’ ways,” she sneered, “next thing you know, your little mistress will be handing you another brat.”

  “Perhaps,” he replied.

  “Perhaps? Is that all you can say? You, who are near to setting some kind of record for bastards?”

  “These things are rather inevitable,” Nikki continued, exasperated with Sophie’s spite. “Not every woman is in such an enviable position as you, dear, who can bed without restraint and never experience a qualm, thanks to your barren womb.”

  “No doubt your newest trollop is not so disposed and will soon present you with the unwelcome news of impending fatherhood yet again!” Sophie taunted.

  “Whether that comes to pass or no, I fail to see how my affairs are any concern of yours,” Nikki drawled, trying to keep his anger in check.

  Seeing she had pushed the quick-tempered Prince too far, and averse to losing such an accomplished bed partner, the worldly-wise Sophie sensibly changed her tack.

 
“Stay the night, Nikki,” she breathed softly, “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

  Glancing at his gold and champlevé enamel wristwatch, he absently toyed with the unusual alarm mechanism that upon release reminded its wearer of the hour by tapping the wrist.

  “Not tonight, Sophie,” he said politely.

  “I don’t suppose you’d say no if your newest bed warmer asked you,” Sophie snapped, her brief attempt at cajolery vanishing.

  The Prince raised his eyes from his timepiece and there was a glint in his eye. “That, my dear, is quite another matter.”

  “Rude, odious wretch!” the Countess spat out.

  He only laughed. “As you very well know from past experience, Sophie, my pet.” Bowing infinitesimally from the waist, he left the scented boudoir.

  The irritating Countess had taken some of the edge from his good spirits. Arriving home, Nikki waved off the solicitous butler, let himself into his study, and relaxed over several brandies, allowing the annoyance of Sophie’s impertinence to wash away. An hour later Nikki was comfortably soothed. The presence of Alisa in his own home was a powerful distraction. There might be problems with his malicious ex-mistress, he thought. But to hell with the problems; all he could think of was the woman upstairs; the problems could wait.

  He rose from the chair near the window and slowly walked up the wide marble staircase. A small gaslamp was burning low near Alisa’s bed. Nikki stood a long time and watched her peacefully sleeping; she was so fragile, her breasts rising and falling gently beneath her silk negligee, her long lashes resting on her soft white cheeks, one arm thrown above her head, her red-gold hair like liquid copper in the mellow light, in casual disarray on the satin pillowcase. Unbuttoning the silver buttons of his evening jacket, Nikki dropped it on the floor at his feet. He removed his clothes slowly, devouring her with his gaze. When he deliberately dropped his black patent shoe on the floor, her eyes opened instantly.

  She saw him in the soft glow cast by the lamp, and for a second glimpsed the brief bewilderment of his emotions. The look was gone in a flash and the bed dipped as his weight came down on it. His head lowered and his parted lips moved over hers gently, forcing her mouth open, slowly, languorously, teasing her senses as his hands ran over her body and lifted her gown.