Kuzan 02 - Lovestorm

by Susan Johnson

  The following morning, as Alex was leisurely riding the quiet road home in the cool serenity of a summer forenoon, a tearful young woman and a young boy were boarding the train to Warsaw. She was weary, and her heart was broken. It remained only to go away, as far away as possible from the man who had crushed her soul.

  Zena had decided on Nice as a destination. It was warm in winter, suitable for her child who would be born in October. The temperate climate would be healthy for a young baby during its early months. Nice had the further advantage of being a vast distance away from Sasha. As a third consideration the Mediterranean town had a large Russian colony, for the proximity to Monte Carlo was convenient. She wouldn't feel so homesick in exile if fellow countrymen could occasionally be seen. Zena had considered going to her grandfather, but the primitive remoteness of the area caused her apprehension. This was her first travail, and if something went wrong or if the delivery was difficult, she didn't want to be a seven-day journey from a doctor.

  Despite her grandfather's good intentions, his autocratic attitude, nurtured by decades of obeisance, was intimidating. Perhaps he would arbitrarily decide to have her divorce Sasha and marry one of his knights. He had suggested several suitors to her before her marriage. The possibility was terrifying. Sasha may not want her, it was quite obvious, since he had declined to respond to her note, but she loved him still. The thought of being forced to marry someone else was appalling. She was afraid of her grandfather. He had been a virtual dictator for fifty years. She didn't have the audacity to withstand his authority.

  As the train progressed through the gently rolling countryside, her vacant eyes stared sightlessly at the summer landscape. Over and over again painful thoughts of her unrequited passion for Sasha wove through her mind. It felt almost as though she were physically ill. She was drowning in a maelstrom of humiliation and rejection. She had been one more in a long succession of female houseguests, one who had lasted a little longer than usual and was leaving with the added burden of the prince's unwanted child. He didn't care enough even about his child to answer her note.

  At those times when her mind reflected on Sasha's lack of concern for his own child, her mood would swing suddenly to the most violent anger. She would have liked to beat him with her bare hands, hurt him with any weapon she had, scream abuse into that handsome, haughty, indifferent face that could stare so blankly right through her. If she had had it in her power at those times of bitterness, she would have made him suffer. Her love was overwhelmed by such savage hate that her breathing would quicken with the fury. She wished she could hurt him as he had so carelessly hurt her. She had been merely an amusing diversion that had suddenly ceased to be amusing, and with the most casual, bland disinterest he had let her go as effortlessly as a child lets go of a balloon string.

  She hated him, hated him, her miserable heart cried vehemently. But then she'd break out in a fresh torrent of tears, for underneath she wanted him still.

  Zena experienced a terrible, unspeakable grief, a helpless sense of loss and loneliness. The daunting prospect of spending the rest of her life without Sasha was almost too much to bear. Then fresh resolve would prevail. Stop crying and bemoaning your fate, she sternly commanded herself. He wasn't the only man in the world, and for the next year she was going to be very busy taking care of a new baby and Bobby. The daily tasks would push aside the melancholy musings, and thoughts of caring for her baby warmed her soul.

  When her thoughts would flow in that direction, she was almost cheerful again, and she twined happy dreams of herself and Bobby and the baby living peacefully in the pleasant, warm climate of Nice. They'd survive comfortably, at least for a time. She had taken all the jewelry Sasha had given her. When it was sold in Nice it would keep her comfortably for a long while.

  6

  Alex arrived at the dacha at lunchtime. Walking into the small west parlor, he expected to find Zena and Bobby eating their midday meal. Seeing no one there, he turned to inquire their direction from a servant. With faint astonishment he discovered not a muzhik was in sight. Now this circumstance was so unusual that the condition caused him the vaguest disquiet, as the French aristocrats must have felt as their servants melted away before their eyes just preliminary to their setting torch to the châteaux. Alex's mind flashed back to his greeting from Trevor at the front entrance. Very subdued, he recalled, while prior to that the groom who had taken his horse at the door seemed unusually agitated.

  "Where the hell is everyone?" the prince roared in a voice that echoed through three levels of the dacha.

  He stood in the entrance to the parlor waiting, persuaded that his household boasted a sufficiency of servants to expect some kind of response. Ivan appeared directly from his office at the back of the house.

  "Where is everyone?" Alex repeated, bewildered.

  Ivan pursed his lips briefly and then plunged in. As steward he supposed it was his responsibility to shoulder Sasha's wrath.

  "They're avoiding you," he said quietly.

  "Why?" Alex asked suspiciously. Quickly he asked, "Is

  Zena all right?" Things could go wrong during pregnancies. Jesus, was she hurt?

  "I think so. I'm not sure."

  "You think so? What do you mean?"

  "She isn't here, Sasha. She left with Bobby two days ago and said she was going to her grandfather's. Vladimir drove her to the Hotel d'Angleterre."

  "She's gone?" Alex exclaimed incredulously. All his benevolent intentions of a rational, warm marital agreement vanished. "The bitch," he exploded. "The impudent bitch!"

  Aware that his steward was still standing there, Alex curbed his wrath. "Thanks, Ivan. You're a brave soul. Tell the rest of the servants they can come out of the woodwork now. No one's head's coming off. It's not their fault she left. Have some brandy sent up to my room"

  When he entered their apartment, he carefully searched all the likely places a note may have been left. No note. It would have been decent of the little bitch to at least leave a line or two. So much for his ideas about marital agreements and harmonious living.

  Well, good riddance. Her grandfather was welcome to her. Talk about two birds of a feather, both of tempestuous dispositions. Christ, that old Tartar was a throwback to medieval times, still ruling a feudal fiefdom in the last years of the nineteenth century as though five hundred years had never elapsed.

  If Zena was going to be that childish and run off every time they had a violent argument, then damn her, let her go. She knew where he was. She could come back when she was ready.

  A soft knock on the door signaled the delivery of the brandy.

  That night the dark-haired chambermaid turned down the coverlet and again cast her provocative glances at the prince; this time they weren't cast in vain.

  Alex assessed her with half-closed eyes as he sprawled in a chair by the fire. "You're new here, aren't you?" he drawled. Crooking a finger negligently, he beckoned her near. "What's your name?"

  "Sophia, Your Excellency." She curtsied prettily.

  "Sophia," he said mildly, "why don't you take your clothes off."

  Poor Sophia had, unfortunately, only one night to demonstrate her obedience and devotion, for the prince departed the next morning for St. Petersburg.

  7

  Never one to mope unduly or in solitude, Alex decided a return to St. Petersburg was in order. Moscow was good for rusticating, for enjoying country living and country pleasures, but when it came to pure, unadulterated dissipation, Moscow quite simply didn't offer the variety.

  Early that evening he strode into the charming drawing room hung in Chinese silk in the pink marble palace on the Neva. He dropped lazily into a chair and observed his family's surprise.

  "Is the prodigal son no longer welcome?" he ventured satirically.

  His mother collected herself first and hastened over to warmly embrace her eldest son. Alisa exuded the soft scent of lilies. Alex closed his eyes briefly as she pressed her cheek to his. There was security in that fragra
nce that always denoted his mother's presence.

  "Sasha, my dear," she murmured against his cheek. "We're so pleased to see you."

  "Thank you, Maman." He lifted his eyes to hers, and she was dismayed at the intense, bitter gleam that glittered in the depths of his tawny eyes. The questions, of course, were expected.

  "Where are Zena and Bobby?" his mother inquired.

  "She and Bobby went on a visit to her grandfather's," Alex replied.

  "When she's six months pregnant?" Nikki remarked sceptically from a chair by the window.

  "Apparently she missed him," his son retorted bluntly.

  "When do you expect her back?" his sister Katelina asked. She and her two children were staying on the Neva Quay while her husband was in Europe.

  By grim effort he schooled his face to its habitual indifference. "She didn't say," was the urbane reply. Everyone's eyebrows raised infinitesimally.

  "Have I time to change before dinner?" Alex inquired, terminating the discussion of his wife's absence. Dinner had already been announced, but Sasha's moody look had to be taken into account.

  "Of course, dear," Alisa said kindly. "We'll hold dinner. Take your time."

  He left the room, and Alisa raised her hand in admonition, staying the caustic remark Nikki was about to make. "Please, Nikki, be patient with him," she said anxiously. "It isn't easy to be forced into marriage at his age."

  "You should know all about that, Papa," Katelina teased, her eyes shining in amusement.

  "Listen here now, Katelina." Nikki scowled in mock anger, for he doted on this beautiful eldest daughter of his who reminded him so poignantly of her mother twenty-five years ago.

  Katelina wasn't frightened of Nikki's counterfeit scowl any more now than she had been as a five-year-old. She knew she could twine her dear papa around her little finger and had been doing that quite successfully for twenty-five years.

  "Teasing or no," Alisa interjected, "Katelina's right, Nikki. If anyone should understand the constraints, you should. Please, dear, no chafing remarks. We'll find out soon enough what happened. You can see he's harried and tense. A tranquil supper tonight? Please, dear?"

  "Of course, love. You're right." Sasha's dangerous look had not gone unnoticed by his father, and having the advantage of a good memory, Nikki could sympathize with his son's black temper. "I'll restrain my barbed crudities. We'll talk about the weather. Observe how placidly understanding I can be."

  A half hour later, just as the first course was being served, Alex stared blankly, his soup spoon poised in midair, as he heard his father blandly say, "Don't you think the weather has been extremely pleasant lately, Sasha?"

  Since Nikki received no answer save the continuing vacant look, he went on in mild explanation, "I find the warm summer evenings perfect for strolling about."

  Alex was saved from his bewilderment by Katelina's soft gurgle of laughter and Natalie's piping voice, which declared to no one in particular, "Well, I like the long summer nights 'cuz I don't have to go to bed so early. Nurse can't tell me it's late when the sun is still up at ten-thirty."

  "Grandpapa, will you take us to the point again tonight?" Katelina's eldest son, a tall, serious, blond boy of eight, inquired.

  "Please, please," the tiny voice of his four-year-old sister added her plea.

  "All right," Grandpapa Nikki agreed readily, "but only if you promise not to throw frogs at the ladies. I can't run as fast as I used to," he grinned.

  "Are Georgi and Valentin both in Paris?" Alex inquired, as he noted the absence of his brothers.

  "Georgi went alone," Nikki explained. "Valentin is still slightly young to undertake the . . . er, education. Georgi is apparently enjoying some of your old amusements in Paris," Nikki continued dryly. "He made the acquaintance of Honore Constance's niece and can't be lured home at the moment. Perceivably the family is looking to repeat their financial coup," Nikki murmured cryptically.

  Alex shot his father a quick glance of caution, since the circumstances of his financial settlement with Honore

  Constance de la Garonne had been withheld from his mother. Alisa misunderstood the masculine practice of buying off discarded mistresses. She took offense at the callous disposal. It wasn't that she was opposed to the compensation, but only to the casualness with which males conducted their liaisons, insensitively considering money a suitable recompense for a broken heart. Such nonchalant indifference she found repugnant to her romantic soul.

  "If the niece is as affable as Honore Constance, the family fortune is assured," Alex replied blandly, and then quickly turned the subject. "Where is Valentin?"

  "He's at Mon Plaisir," Nikki replied, "with Yukko, learning to break horses. When I was up north a week ago, he was brown as a berry and decidedly reluctant to ever return to the boredom of city life. He's becoming quite an expert equestrian under Yukko's tutelage."

  "Where's Wolf?" Alex asked abruptly as he recalled his half brother's intended visit. His glance swept the table. "I thought he was staying with you."

  His mother's eyes sought Nikki's, and Katelina flushed a bright red.

  Nikki cleared his throat delicately. "He too . . . er . . . went north to Mon Plaisir for a week or so. Hasn't had a chance to see much of the pine forests. He'll be back soon."

  "When?" Alex inquired, anxious to renew his acquaintance with such an interesting brother.

  "Maybe in a day or so. Depends on his luck fishing."

  "Or when his temper cools down," Natalie interposed ingenuously. "Boy, was he mad when he left."

  Alex's brows rose. "Mad at what?" he questioned.

  Katelina was staring down at her bowl, stirring the soup aimlessly, and his mother's flustered eyes met his pleadingly.

  Nikki's quiet voice drew his eyes. "Apparently he has inherited the rather hasty Kuzan temper, Wolf wanted something he couldn't have, that's all. He'll cool down and come back. We won't discuss it anymore. It upsets your Maman.

  "And miss," he said severely to Natalie, "I'll thank you to mind your manners. Your ears are much too big for your own good."

  "Yes, Papa," Natalie acquiesced obediently, momentarily subdued by her father's reprimand. Her natural curiosity wouldn't be repressed for long, though. She had the kind of bubbling, vivacious personality amenable to everyone. She was friendly with all the servants, and they adored the little hoyden. Natalie knew every scrap of gossip that flowed through the house.

  The subject was closed, and so Alex proposed checking with Natalie later to have his curiosity resolved. Katelina certainly was acting oddly, he mused.

  Before dessert was served, Alex rose and adjusted the width of shirt cuff showing under his evening jacket, but carelessly, as though it scarcely mattered that he was point-device. He was, as usual, elegantly if somewhat carelessly dressed. His tie was knotted loosely, his overlong raven-black hair lay in graceful disarray on the back of his collar, and his watch fob was strung through the handiest waist-coat buttonhole. But he had an air about him, and a careless unaffected distinction carried easily on his tall, powerful, lithe form. All in all, he was an arrogant, spoiled rakehell with far too much charm for his own good.

  Alisa and Nikka both contemplated the splendid figure of their son in evening dress, but with somewhat different views. Alisa's eyes shone with motherly love and admiration, while Nikki's pensive gaze held more gloomy presentiments. With more realism and less parental bias he wondered if it were possible for the boy to live his life without the constant threat of public scandal hovering over. But certain deeds of a misspent youth warranted Nikki an understanding of the reckless promptings of youthful indiscretion. And after all, he had been almost ten years older when married, and he must allow Alex a bit of time to adjust to his new matrimonial state. The particular circumstances that were driving Sasha were not entirely of his own making this time. Hopefully Sasha and his young wife could reconcile their differences eventually. In the meantime, it was obvious the boy was dangerously bent on raising hell.

 
"I think I'll see what's going on at the Nobles Club. Don't wait up for me," Alex grinned.

  Much later that night Nikki and Alisa were readying for bed. Alisa was seated at her white moiré-draped boudoir table, brushing her hair. Nikki came up behind and lightly touched the golden-red tresses as they tumbled down her back. Alisa's eyes met his in the mirror.

  "What are we going to do, Nikki? Two of them out on the town at one time. Between Sasha's and Wolf's wildness the scandals will be calamitous," she wailed. "Wolf alone was a handful, and now Sasha. That boy's driven, Nikki. Did you see how tense he was? And the Krasskov scandal hardly died down. Thank God he lived, anyway."

  "Don't get yourself in a pet, my love," Nikki said, stroking the shiny hair under his fingertips. "Haven't I always managed to avert disaster?" he soothed comfortingly.

  "I don't know, Nikki," she lamented despairingly. "He had to marry that mountain girl, and you couldn't get him out of that."

  "I told you, dear, there are some debts of honor that must be paid."

  "But don't you see, Nikki, anywhere else a family could have stopped short of marriage one way or another. You said he didn't want to marry her. I agree' he may have acted rather thoughtlessly, but was it really necessary he marry her, Nikki?" Alisa vacillated indecisively. But her love for her son precluded any arguments of honor or justice. To her, Alex could be careless and temperamental, reckless and negligent, and always forgiven.

  "It was necessary," Nikki declared patiently, tolerant of his wife's maternal emotions. He knew she was always at heart a mother. Alisa expected the answer, of course. The question was merely rhetorical; this topic had come up for discussion numerous times before. Nikki had compassion for his wife's nerves and indulgently responded to the same voiced fears over and over.