Love Storm (8 page)

Whose toys were these? Zena pondered uneasily, recalling the prince's remark in which he acknowledged having children. Could his offspring be here at the
dacha,
Zena speculated uncomfortably, or perhaps he brought them out on visits? For some unexplicable reason, these musings evoked a sharp twinge of jealousy. Shaking herself mentally, Zena reminded herself pointedly that their acquaintance was of less than twenty-four hours. She was a silly fool to react in any way to Prince Alex's mode of life.

"I see my little sister's toys are once more of some use. Bobby seems to be enjoying himself," Alex said amiably. He pushed away from the doorjamb, moved into the room, sank down on the floor next to Bobby, and began assembling an intricate ferris wheel.

Inexplicably and despite her sober attempt to maintain an unruffled mental calm, Zena's disposition altered irresistibly to a most piquant cheerfulness. "You have a young sister?" she inquired with incisive interest.

"Yes, a younger sister and also two brothers and an older sister," the prince replied without looking up. Alex had captured Bobby's interest with the sizable ferris wheel and was guiding two chubby hands in manipulation of a small, wooden cross brace. "Perfect, Bobby," he encouraged as the brace finally slipped into place.

" 'Nother one, Papa. Bobby do 'nother one!" the excited young boy crowed in delight.

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.