Seized by Love (9 page)

“I could perhaps argue about who tamed whom, and
from whence the taint of wickedness came, but I politely defer to you as a gentleman should,” old Prince Kuzan graciously replied, smiling at his wife. Even after thirty-four years, she continued to delight him. The wild Tzigane heritage of the ripe sixteen-year-old Gypsy he’d married had never been submerged. That wildness had been but thinly veiled with the veneer of sophistication necessary to move in Prince Mikhail’s aristocratic circles on the rare occasions it suited him to remove himself from the comfortable, elegant seclusion of Le Repose.

“I wish someday Nikki could find a love like ours, Misha,” Princess Kaisa-leena Kuzan wistfully murmured.

“We had rare luck, love. It doesn’t happen often in this world,” the Prince replied with obvious feeling, recalling their first tumultuous meeting thirty-four brief years before.

Early the next morning Alisa was shaken awake by Maria whispering frantically, “Mistress Alisa, Mistress Alisa, you must get up!”

Alisa brought herself up out of a deep dream of Nikki, and reacted immediately when she saw the terrified fear in Maria’s eyes.

“What’s the matter. Is Katelina ill?” Alisa asked anxiously, sitting up.

“No, my lady,” Maria said, wringing her hands.

Alisa visibly relaxed, settling back onto her soft pillow.

“It’s much worse,” Maria moaned nervously.

Alarm again sparked in Alisa’s violet eyes.

“Mr. Forseus has returned.” She began looking wildly around the room as if to flee.

“No, my lady.”

“What is it, then, for heaven’s sake? Speak up, Maria,” Alisa insisted.

“A carriage of orchids, my lady,” Maria whispered quaveringly.

“A carriage of orchids? What in the world are you talking about?” Alisa asked incredulously as she jumped out of bed and rapidly stripped off her nightgown.

“Well, my lady, you know I always go to the chicken house very early in the morning to gather fresh eggs for your and Katelina’s breakfast. As I was slipping out the side door, I saw a strange carriage coming up the driveway and ran out to see who it was. The driver said he was Prince Kuzan’s coachman and he had orders to deliver the orchids, and, Mistress Alisa,” she continued, aghast, “there are also baskets and baskets of strawberries he has instructions to deliver to Mrs. Forseus as well, and”—she paused to catch her breath—“and also this letter for you. I told him to wait behind the bend in the driveway so he wouldn’t be visible from the house, but, my lady, you must hurry, the servants will soon be up.”

Alisa had already snatched the heavy envelope embossed with the golden seal of Kuzan from Maria’s hand before the old servant was finished with her explanation.

She tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Swiftly her eyes scanned the heavy, careless scrawl.

“If you don’t meet me at the meadow in forty minutes, I shall ride over to see you.”

The note was simply signed “N.”

Oh,
mon Dieu
! It must have taken the coachman twenty minutes to drive over here on the circuitous roads. This left her a bare twenty minutes to dress, talk to the driver, and cover the distance to the meadow, or else Nikki would be at her door.

“Maria, quickly find a dress for me. After I’ve gone, if
any servants question you, tell them I went to bring blankets and clothes for Mrs. Niemi’s new baby. Put those baby clothes you made in a basket and I’ll stop at the Niemis’ cottage on my way back. Hurry, quickly now, I don’t have much time!”

Within five minutes Alisa was dressed and dashing down the main stairway. The door closed quietly behind her just as the household servants began stirring.

Alisa ran down the driveway to the bend where, thankfully, the carriage and coachman were still waiting. Gasping for breath, she addressed the man severely. “You must return to Prince Kuzan.”

“I can’t, ma’am. I have my orders. I’m supposed to deliver these to Mrs. Forseus.”

Alisa looked in wonder at the glistening open landau, the Kuzan signet initialed on the door, the highly polished green lacquerwork and green velvet upholstery an ideal foil for the stunning display of enormous, resplendent yellow and lavender orchids, orchids in baskets, orchids spilling out of shallow basins, orchids carpeting the floor, interspersed with a prodigious number of wicker baskets containing perfect red hothouse strawberries.

“
I
am Mrs. Forseus, and am on my way to see Prince Kuzan now. If you don’t return to his lodge immediately, I promise you he’ll be angry.”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Prince Kuzan was quite explicit about my instructions,” the man uncomfortably equivocated.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to change his mind. Please, please, go back!” Alisa implored frantically.

You might be able to at that, the coachman reflected admiringly as he looked at the beautiful, breathless young woman before him. He knew Prince Kuzan’s susceptibility to beautiful women and had spent many a nocturnal vigil
wrapped in fur robes in carriage or troika, waiting for the Prince to reappear from some lady’s boudoir.

“Very well, ma’am,” he agreed, but added carefully, “if you promise to explain to Prince Kuzan.”

“Oh, I will, I will!” Alisa finished in a rush of grateful relief. “Thank you.” She waved and disappeared into the forest.

With a quiet cluck of his teeth and a pull on the reins, he turned the landau around and retraced its journey.

Alisa ran through the woods, afraid she’d be too late; would he really come to the house to find her? Horror! Please, please, make him wait, she prayed silently.

Her heart gave a leap of pure happiness. She would see Nikki again!

If you had an ounce of pride, she told herself. Well, she didn’t when it came to Nikki. She wanted to see him with all her heart.

Alisa broke from the shelter of the birches into the meadow, the dew lacy and sparkling on the grass, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the glistening meadow. Suddenly she saw the tall figure of Nikki leaning against a tree, restless, impatient, fitfully slapping gloves to thigh as he moodily contemplated the toes of his boots. Alisa stopped abruptly, confused emotions coursing through her.

Looking up at the slight sound, Nikki beheld Alisa hesitantly arrested at the edge of the grove, her gold-red hair tousled, loose tendrils falling around rosy, flushed cheeks, her breasts heaving with the exertion of the headlong rush through the woods, her yellow flower-printed linen dress damply clinging at the hemline from the dew’s wetness.

Their glances met.

In his eyes she saw some strange emotion. Was it relief? The transient expression vanished in an instant. Nikki smiled and started forward, opening his arms wide in welcome.
Alisa hesitated, then dropped her basket and ran flying into his open arms. Nikki enfolded her in a crushing embrace.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmured against her hair in an odd voice. “Forgive me,” he quietly added as he clasped her tightly, burying his face in her hair, taking in the smell of her, the scent and feel of clean, silken hair and sweet young flesh, the exquisite sensation of her body against his.

As Alisa clung to him, tears of joy ran freely down her cheeks. She was lost to the world in his arms, oblivious of right or wrong, or duty or conscience, aware only of a thrilling happiness.

For them the world held promise once again.

“I can’t stay long,” Alisa whispered nervously.

“I know. May I see you this afternoon?” Nikki asked with a husky urgency.

“Yes,” she answered, surrendering heedlessly, renouncing with a giddy delirium any thought of propriety.

“At one, then, I’ll meet you here. Hours to wait. That will be hell,” he groaned softly against her ear.

“I must go!” she fearfully murmured.

“I’ll walk you back,” he insisted quietly, still not releasing her from his strong arms, not wanting her to leave.

“No! You mustn’t. Please! If someone should see you,” she pleaded, lifting her lids to gaze into Nikki’s warm, golden eyes, already kindling with an insistent passion. “I’ll be here at one,” she promised.

Rising on tiptoe, Alisa brushed Nikki’s mouth softly with trembling lips, turned, pulled free from his grasp, and fled, picking up the basket that had been abandoned at the edge of the meadow. She still had her errand to complete.

Nikki was waiting long before one, thinking only of holding Alisa again, of feeling the warmth of her body against his.

When she came and saw him, her face lit up as he knew it would, no coquetry, no pretensions, just a guileless, naïve happiness, her marvelous violet eyes shining with pleasure, her gaze disconcertingly direct.

Nikki took both her hands in his and, surveying the smiling face, bent his head and tenderly kissed the tip of her nose.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked gaily. “This is our first day together. Come to my lodge. I’ve sent everyone away but the servants. My home, my servants, my estate, and I are at your disposal.” His warm smile caressed her. “Anything you want you shall have, anything you
want to do, I will do,” he offered with a joyous expansiveness.

Alisa looked up into his handsome face and shamefully blushed.

“Well, if you insist, we shall do that first,” he teased.

The music room, Nikki’s favorite, immediately caught Alisa’s fancy. Alcoves strewn with embroidered pillows fronted each large gothic framed window; the walls and vaulted ceiling were entirely mosaicked in glittering lapis lazuli, gold and ultramarine green tiles, portraying sinuous, entwined vines, flowers, and birds. The effect was breathtaking.

When they walked into Nikki’s sitting room, a large portrait gazed down on them—his mother painted by Winterhalter. She was small, dark, beautiful, seated in a gilded chair with Nikki at eight years, sturdily erect, angelic, childishly handsome at her side, his toys scattered on the rug before them. A great tenderness flooded through Alisa when viewing the child that he had once been.

“Your mother is very lovely,” Alisa said as she looked at the young woman depicted many years before.

“Yes, she is,” Nikki agreed. “You must meet her sometime soon,” he continued with a marvelous, open assurance.

“Oh, no! I couldn’t,” Alisa protested in embarrassment.

“Nonsense.
Maman
is a Tzigane and has a very realistic outlook on life. She’ll adore you, just as I do. Come here now,” he said impatiently, “enough talking and sight-seeing. Let me hold you.” He pulled her through the doorway into his bedroom, transformed since the return of the landau into a bower of orchids.

•  •  •

Thus began the first day of a week of afternoons they were able to spend together; a carpe diem existence, two mutually obsessed creatures making love through the warm springtime hours, both avoiding thoughts of the future. Particularly for Alisa, this decision to disregard the future was absolutely essential to her present happiness. Nothing must spoil these few days with Nikki.

For them there was only the wonderful, passionate, extravagant present. Young lovers lost to the world, conscious only of each other’s presence. They drew every sensation from every transient hour, from every exquisite touch, look, caress. Their sexual pleasures were of the simplest, old-fashioned, natural, a unique bond of affection enhancing the rapture as they satisfied their lusts in a simple variety.

As an accomplished aficionado of Eros, Nikki had long ago learned the pleasure of afternoon
amours
. One was refreshed from having but recently risen from one’s night’s sleep and eaten a light lunch. The mind and body were fresh, vital, vigorous, not staled by hours of drinking or gaming, as was the case with a midnight rendezvous. Not that he was adverse to late-night assignations, but he knew that he performed more ardently, more zealously, more resiliently in the gentle hours of afternoon.

The second afternoon Alisa timidly inquired as she lay in Nikki’s tender embrace, “Do you think perhaps—that is to say—do you think you should use some precautions?”