Seized by Love Read Free Page A

Mikhailovich Kuzan
was a giant of a man. His mother's long-ago heritage from the Caucasus
highlands was proclaimed in his swarthy complexion, heavy dark hair, prominent
cheekbones, and aquiline profile. From his father's White Russian roots he had
inherited not only his tremendous physique but also his enchanting tawny,
liquid eyes, the pupils so large and dark as to appear black; magnificent,
beautiful eyes brooding beneath heavy brows. The same kind of eyes that gazed
out from opulent, exotically gorgeous Byzantine icons for eight hundred years;
arrest-ingly splendid eyes that could be piercingly alert, indolently
shuttered, or benignly calm. His harsh-featured face was softened by those
redeeming eyes and by a sensitive mouth, now pursed in discontent.
    Nikki tensed, stretched his
lean frame like a great cat, then relaxed once again; the quiet sounds of the
forest washed over him—new young birch leaves rustling in the breeze, a soft
whisper from the bubbling stream lapping at the shore near the boundary of the
clearing, the unceasing chatter of the birds overhead. The tranquillity of the
woodland eased his tired body but failed to more than superfi-cially alleviate
the restless dissatisfaction of his spirit. Nikki was bored. Boredom—that
constant and irksome companion that trailed him with a dogged persistence.
Nikki had been leading the arduous and difficult life of leisure now for many
years. Chronic leisure with its deadly, restless tedium was inexorably closing
in on him.
    He propped himself up on
one elbow and from under slack lids surveyed his companions lounging carelessly
around the remains of the repast the servants had brought out from the lodge.
The ice had almost melted in the silver wine cooler and the half-empty bottles
were sweating in the heat of the spring sun. The remains of the sumptuous
dejeuner
sur I'herbe
lay scattered across the damask cloth and two wolfhounds were
diligently eating them. Cernov and Illyich were carelessly tossing dice on a
silver tray on the grass between them, while Aleksei was engrossed in a novel
by Turgenev.
    Nikki listened with his
usual tolerant aloofness to the friendly bickering going on during the dicing.
    "Tonight I want
Cecelia; you had her the last two nights and I think it's my turn," Cernov
said in a faintly bearish tone.
    "Can I help it if she
prefers me?" Illyich smiled complacently.
    "I don't care. It's my
turn tonight," Cernov insisted.
    "What can possibly be
the difference?" Nikki inquired in a low, husky drawl. "The wenches
are all agreeable in every way if one does not mind being bored in short
order."
    "Oh, no. I fancy
Cecelia's long legs and slender grace to those more voluptuous charms of
Olga," Cernov responded ardently, recalling Cecelia's dancing performance
the previous night.
    "Come now,
Gregor," Prince Kuzan remarked with the disenchantment of his thirty-three
years, "one woman is as good as another." Then he lay back in the warm
sun and shut his eyes.
    "Speak for yourself,
Nikki. I find Cecelia much more attractive, and I intend to have my turn,"
Cernov stated with a slightly aggressive emphasis.
    Nikki's golden eyes fixed a
look of mild contempt on the good-natured but now thoroughly heated Cernov.
    "As you wish, of
course, Gregor," Nikki replied soothingly. "Illyich, you understand,
as host, I must attempt to placate all my guests. Perhaps tonight I could
persuade you to take Tanya instead of Cecelia," he suggested politely, as though
he were offering courteously the less blemished of two pears to a dinner guest.
    "With pleasure!"
Astrakan Illyich responded avidly. Tanya had been Nikki's mistress for three
months now, and no one dared approach her, but if Nikki were graciously relinquishing
the girl, Illyich would be a fool to refuse the offer.
    Nikki calmly continued.
"It is my firmest conviction that in order to survive, it is necessary to
be amused, that one of the requisites in life is to stave off as long as
possible the unpardonable