Seized by Love

  Unanimous praise for bestselling author Susan Johnson

  “Johnson uses her fertile imagination to blend a strong heroine, unbridled sex, and … history into unadulterated fun.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Her romances have strong, intelligent heroines, hard, iron-willed men, plenty of sexual tension and sensuality and lots of accurate history. Anyone who can put all that in a book is one of the best!”

  —Romantic Times

  “The author’s style is a pleasure to read and the love scenes many and lusty!”

  —Los Angeles Herald Examiner

  “She writes an extremely gripping story … with her knowledge of the period and her exquisite sensual scenes, she is an exceptional writer!”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  SEIZED BY LOVE

  A Bantam Book / published in association with Doubleday

  Publishing History

  Playboy Press edition published in 1978

  Doubleday Loveswept edition / October 1993

  Bantam Fanfare edition / May 1994

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1978 by Susan M. Johnson.

  Library of Congress Catalog Number: 92-45720.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information address: Bantam Books.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-57514-2

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Random House, Inc., New York, New York.

  v3.1

  Then talk not of inconstancy,

  False hearts and broken vows;

  If I, by miracle, can be

  This live long minute true to thee,

  ’Tis all that Heav’n allows.

  JOHN WILMOT,

  SECOND EARL OF ROCHESTER

  CIRCA 1670

  Dear Reader,

  When I wrote my first book, SEIZED BY LOVE, in 1978, I was thoroughly enamored with Georgette Heyer’s Regency romances. Having recently discovered her, I’d managed to find copies of all her romances in a matter of a few months and read them in a pleasurable rush. But I was utterly frustrated in one sense because these fascinating characters never went beyond the genteel bounds of a kiss or two. What this world needs, I said to myself, is a Regency with sex. And that’s what I set out to do when I wrote SEIZED BY LOVE. In my usual cavalier way, I ignored the fact that SEIZED BY LOVE wasn’t set in England, nor did the events take place in the Regency period. It was stylistically a Regency, my paean to Georgette.

  Now, I hadn’t read SEIZED BY LOVE since I’d written it all those years ago, and when I looked at it recently with the thought of doing some minor revisions, I was astonished to discover how typical it was of the bodice-ripper era of romances. There’s an actual bodice-ripper scene in the story. Wow, I thought, did I write that? I’d forgotten. But in the end I altered it very little because SEIZED BY LOVE is a book I couldn’t write today. So much has changed. Women’s and men’s roles in our culture have substantially altered in the years since SEIZED BY LOVE was first published: steps toward equality in the workplace, in the family; legislation to insure civil liberties; new options for career choices have all contributed to both the perception and reality of today’s woman and man. And those transformations—radical, subtle or mood permutations—are reflected in current romances.

  But so many readers have written to request reprints of the Kuzan family series, I was very pleased when Bantam decided to reissue them. SEIZED BY LOVE is my only tribute to Georgette Heyer; books two and three in the series (LOVESTORM and SWEET LOVE, SURVIVE) are further evolutions in my story-telling techniques. As a painter originally, I’m familiar with stylistic and creative changes. Think of these books as my “early Russian style” in contrast to the new Susan Johnsons.

  I hope you enjoy this introduction to the Kuzans. Nineteenth-century Russia was a land of beauty and harsh contradictions, its aristocracy capable of savagery and the most refined sensibilities, the landscape vast, varied, dramatically majestic. Nikki and Alisa’s story is one small part of that enormous canvas. LOVESTORM and SWEET LOVE, SURVIVE travel to more distant locales in the Empire of the Tsars and continue the story through two more generations.

  Best wishes,

  Susan Johnson must know a witch—one of those good, yet powerful witches who can create magic for her … I’m not often asked to review books for Affaire, and I must say to review a classic like SEIZED BY LOVE was indeed an honor.

  Written in 1978, SEIZED BY LOVE is the first of the Russian series written by Susan Johnson. It was our first hint that Susan Johnson was special. Let’s start with her annotated footnotes, an exceptional tactic because for the first time, an author realized and addressed the intellect and interest romance readers have in history, and she educated us. Secondly, she threw convention to the wind and set her story in Russia. And, just think, 15 years ago, it was almost unheard of for a heroine in a romance not to be a virgin; the hero never admitted to having children, except with a deceased wife. More than those things, though, Sue Johnson took sex scenes to a new level, still unreachable by most.

  Meet Alisa and Nikolai, the two unconventional stars of the tale. Alisa is prim and proper and is in an untenable marriage with an old, abusive husband. Nikolai, privileged, spoiled, and bored to tears is idling his time away at his country estate when a friend challenges him to seduce the unapproachable Alisa.

  Alisa turns out to be much more than a single-minded, virtuous country maid. In fact, she’s almost too much for Nikolai who not only doesn’t want to marry now, he wants to marry a stupid woman who is a good breeder.

  Is SEIZED BY LOVE a classic?

  You bet! Because it withstands the test of time. It’s true the market has undergone some changes since it was written, and authors have shied away from manipulating their characters in the same manner Ms. Johnson does Nikolai and Alisa. Yet, SEIZED BY LOVE rises above those changes and tells a wonderful tale.

  Pass the Magic Wand over here, please, Sue. Better yet, keep writing!

  —Louise B. Snead, Publisher

  Affaire de Coeur

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  I. The Wager

  II. The Seduction

  III. The Unbidden Spectators

  IV. The Reconciliation

  V. The Blissful Interlude

  VI. The Dénouement

  VII. The Necessary Option

  VIII. The Recalcitrant Mistress

  IX. The Beguiling Belle

  X. The Angry Lover

  XI. The Stalemate

  XII. The Chase

  XIII. The Halcyon Days

  XIV. The Reluctant Bridegroom

  XV. The Volte-face

  Epilogue

  Notes

  Excerpt from A Touch of Sin

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  THE WAGER

  Karelia Province

  Grand Duchy of Finland

  April 1874

  The last goblet had, long before, been flung aside in toast and joined the brilliant display of broken crystal gracing the stone hearth. There, the litter of crystalline shards reflected and transformed the firelight int
o a dazzling, fluttering phosphorescence. A few surviving candles guttered low in their branches while the shattered stumps of others bore mute evidence of Prince Nikolai’s capricious fancy for a contest of marksmanship several hours earlier.

  Now, on a low stage at one end of the large room, a weary group of musicians continued playing wild, haunting Gypsy music, while nervously watching the brooding face of their master, the young prince. They hoped to successfully anticipate or assuage Prince Kuzan’s mercurial moods and thus avoid, at least this night, any more dangerous whims.

  At times like these, when the tedium of the world was too much with him, the Prince retired to his hunting lodge to brood upon the melancholy inequities.

  Nikki’s hunting lodge was a timber and stone villa constructed by local artisans in the early years of the seventeenth century. A Swedish noble had this retreat built for himself, situating it prettily on a rocky rise in a pine forest. The terraced gardens, in the Italian manner, were added by a later heir after a tour of Italy. With the advent of the romantic English garden, yet another descendant landscaped acres and acres of forest, transforming the wilderness with an extravagant hand and the toil of hundreds of laborers over ten years into charming green alleys, wide vistas of rolling terrain, crowning the elaborate scheme dramatically with a Greek temple perched on a distant grassy knoll. The local stonemasons had erected a reasonable facsimile in rough-hewn granite, a rustic but altogether lovely interpretation symptomatic of the then-fashionable rage devoted to whimsical follies.

  Although the high Renaissance had already come and gone when the main structure had been built, none of the lighter attributes characteristic of Renaissance architecture had filtered up north. The villa itself retained an overwhelming medieval character; stone turrets crowned with peaked tile roofs punctuated the walls, bottle mullioned windows caught and reflected the northern sun, enormous stonework on the ground floor supported the heavy timber walls of the second story. In a lavish display of his wealth, the Swedish aristocrat had the walls pierced wherever possible with windows, lighting the interior with dazzling color through the multicolored panes.

  Tonight Prince Nikolai Mikhailovich Kuzan had been entertaining a small party of fellow officers from his Guards Regiment. After participating in the April sixth fête-day of the Chevaliers Gardes with its day-long riding exhibition and religious celebrations, they had felt the need for a holiday and Nikki had invited them to his lodge for a fortnight of hunting. However, in the eight days elapsed, the quarry had been confined exclusively to the two-legged female variety, since Nikolai had thoughtfully imported a bevy of Gypsy wenches to provide diversion.

  Now, as morning approached, men and women lay entwined in each other’s arms about the room, some on pillows scattered on the Tabriz carpet, others on the colorful divans. One couple, in what to a less dissipated audience would be a tasteless lack of decorum, was busy on top of the dining table; all were in diverse states of drunken abandon and dishabille.

  Tanya, a beautiful young Gypsy girl, was swaying in a provocative, sensual dance before Nikki’s sprawled form. One of his hands lightly held a small flask of brandy on his powerful chest. The other hand, lying carelessly on the chair arm, would occasionally move listlessly to the nearby table and turn over another card in the game of solitaire he was indifferently and infrequently pursuing while regarding Tanya, who skillfully undulated to the wild, frenzied tempo. Through narrowed tawny eyes, Nikki watched her tantalize him. Her graceful young body, half revealed in a scanty blouse and silken skirt, twirled close, then retreated, displaying a wanton invitation from brilliant dark eyes. The firelight caught the coruscation of golden highlights from the heavy hoops in her ears and from the multitude of sparkling necklaces twined round her slender neck and swaying against her trembling half-naked breasts.

  Behind the curtain leading to the kitchen corridor, the youngest footman whispered to an old retainer familiar with the idiosyncrasies of his new employer. “Is the Prince always so surly and moody?”

  Igor admitted that the Prince was not in the best of spirits. “The Kuzans have a devilish temperament, sometimes little better than savages,” the old servant explained without malice, having happily served the household for decades. “They like fast horses, bad women, and good wine. Between father and son, they have developed one of the finest studs in the Empire, crossing English mares with bloodstock from the Orlov-Rostopchin and the Provalsky stud. They also breed Stryelet stock, which are even more rare. Their horses are world-renowned. The young Prince doesn’t do so badly in the breeding department either.” The old man chuckled. “Like father, like son, they say,” he added softly, remembering the reckless pace the old Prince Mikhail had set in his youth before marriage to a young Gypsy girl had tamed his ways.

  “More brandy!” The roar from the hall beyond echoed as Prince Kuzan impatiently banged on the table. The old man lifted his eyebrows and shrugged in cheerful resignation. Both servants hurried to obey the command.

  Tanya’s hips still moved to the hypnotic tempo. Her dance was intended to arouse, to primitively and seductively provoke the animal mating instinct.

  It did and he was.

  With a casual wave of his lace-covered hand, Nikolai abruptly dismissed the musicians and picked up his fresh bottle of brandy. Then he lunged to his feet and, as the music slowed to a stop, lifted her and disappeared into a curtained alcove.

  The musicians discreetly stepped over the drunken bodies, avoiding, when possible, the broken glassware and china littering the floor. As they edged cautiously through the elaborately carved double doors, never certain of their safe departure from the eccentric young Prince and his raucous group of intimates until well out of sight and sound, their exit was hastened by a wine bottle thrown violently against the doorjamb, crashing into a thousand fragments and narrowly missing the last violinist. Some drunken music-lover, no doubt, annoyed at the termination of the pleasant background accompaniment to his lovemaking.

  Scurrying through the narrow, dimly lit hallway and foyer out into the relative security and peace of the deep porch of the hunting lodge, the musicians exhaled a collective sigh of relief.

  “Heaven help the servants in the morning who have to attend young Prince Kuzan. There’s going to be hell to pay for his pounding head and thick tongue. Praise God, we won’t see him again until evening, when the worst of his headache is gone.” The leader of the musicians sighed.

  “Maybe the pain of a throbbing head might make him more docile or at least more silent. I’ve never seen Nikolai so sullen as tonight. He must be tiring of his newest Gypsy bed warmer,” the second violinist said wearily.

  “Well, thank sweet Jesus, we’ll be out of his range at least until tonight. Maybe Tanya will be able to soothe the dark mood he’s in. Let’s go to sleep, although the night is practically over,” the youngest member of the troupe suggested.

  In the alcove, Nikki casually dumped the girl onto the couch, thus freeing his hand to tip the brandy bottle to his mouth. The liquor flowed warmly down his throat. Thank God for brandy, he thought. It made life more bearable as it blurred the morbid edges of reality.

  Sinking down heavily next to the recumbent girl, Nikki set the brandy bottle carefully on the floor and began to pull off his hunting boots. Tanya softly crept up into one corner of the large pillow-strewn couch and leaned back against the tapestry-hung wall, watching him with her dark eyes.

  “I’m not in the mood,” she said, pouting.

  Nikki barely glanced at the sultry woman nestled against the wall, and continued without a pause to divest himself of his garments.

  “You’d better get in the mood,” he growled.

  A thrill coursed through the black-haired beauty and passion blazed into her dark eyes. Tanya, although only seventeen, had long ago learned to accommodate men’s varying tastes in bed, but she preferred violence with passion; hostility intoxicated her.

  “I won’t. I’m tired,” her petulant tone persisted as she swung her
long, shapely legs over the edge of the bed and began to rise.

  The Prince’s bare, powerfully muscled arm shot out and grabbed a handful of her satiny black curls, yanking her back onto the bed, pulling her down until she looked up into his golden eyes snapping with irritation.

  “Bitch!” he whispered, well aware of Tanya’s sexual preferences by now. But, having watched her enticing dances all evening, he wasn’t in a temper to be toyed with.

  “You’re always playing games, aren’t you? However, tonight, my sweet little whore, you find me in a suitably black humor to accommodate your preferences. If it’s violence you want, I can be obliging.”

  Tanya’s hand lashed out, long nails poised to rake Nikki’s face. He caught her hand in midair, his reflexes still relatively sure despite the large amount of alcohol consumed. He crushed her wrist in a savage grip and she winced in pain—or was it pleasure? He couldn’t tell.

  As he held her, Tanya’s little pink tongue appeared and ran provocatively over her full red lower lip, her dark eyes began to moisten, her breathing became ragged.

  “Ah, my dear, you do like pain. I should introduce you to Prince Gorcheviv. He has a penchant for whips.”

  The Gypsy girl’s half-closed lids lifted and she moaned sensuously.

  “Damn!” He surveyed her through half-narrowed eyes. “How can I force a woman as aroused as you?”

  Roughly he pushed her down into the pillows, spreading her legs with his knees, pulling her nipples up and away from her necklaces into hard points of desire. Her body writhed beneath his coercion and her teeth bit into her full lower lip to keep from crying out in joy. She held her arms out wide, reaching for something to cling to as he pushed her skirt above her waist. Then, forcing her wider, he fiercely drove into her melting body, each violent thrust releasing a part of his frustration, each powerful surge a mindless hope for temporary oblivion. She began whimpering as he moved faster into her, his unbridled penetration and withdrawal savage, brutal. He didn’t notice his back was running with blood where Tanya had run her sharp nails over the hard muscles that now moved rhythmically above her.