18.2

“Of course, sir. Nor do I desire a one-eared man for a husband.” Moving between his thighs, she slipped her fingers through his hair, lifted a lock, and clipped it. Though she dropped most of the residue on a nearby towel, a showering of severed hairs fell upon him, urging him to brush them off his naked shoulders.

“I’ll need another bath after this.”

Synnovea leaned forward and thoughtfully tucked the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she snipped above his brow. When she finally straightened, she brushed the loose wisps from his face and smiled down at him. “That’s what you get for intruding into mine.”

“Aye, madam, but the bathing chamber is very accommodating for making love, as you well know. Perhaps we should return there after you finish cutting my hair.”

She flung up her head, feigning a scoffing laugh. “I don’t intend to be caught sporting with you in the bathing chamber this time of day, sir, especially since we’ve already been there. The servants will likely wonder.”

“Will you sport with me here, then?” Tyrone asked, reaching a hand around to clasp her buttock and pull her closer within the spread of his legs.

Synnovea thrust her hip sharply outward to the side, a motion that not only tossed away Tyrone’s hand but raised the elevation of his brows by a high degree when her unbound breasts nearly bounced out of her robe, very close in front of his face. “Be warned, sir. You’re at my mercy, and I have no qualms about shaving your head to discourage all those other maids whom I espied drooling over you at the parade.”

“Can you do that again?” Tyrone coaxed, slipping loose the tie that secured her robe.

“Behave, or you’ll regret it,” Synnovea warned, slapping his knuckles.

“You’re too beautiful for that possibility,” he muttered in a low, husky tone. Leaning forward, he brushed aside the garment and sought to take her nipple into his mouth.

“I said, behave!” Synnovea reached down and twisted a few hairs on his chest, eliciting a wince of pain from him. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to dissolve in bliss and let him see just how slavish she had become to his ardor.

Rubbing his stinging chest, Tyrone complained. “Woman, you have a way of wrenching the heart right out of a man.”

An elegant eyebrow rose challengingly as Synnovea clasped her robe together and once more knotted the tie. “And you, sir, have a way of wrenching the heart right out of me. I have no idea how I’m supposed to react to your overtures when our marriage could likely be dissolved at your bidding.”

“I’ve already offered you assurances. What more can I do?” Growing a little vexed at having to explain again, he set her from him and came to his feet. “Although you might not recall it, madam, you were actually there when I bade the tsar to forget the petition.”

“Sit down.” Synnovea pushed him back into the chair, dissatisfied with his assurances. She wanted to hear something more, something he was obviously reluctant to yield to her. “I’m not through cutting your hair.”

“Why don’t you just cut it off and be done with it!” Tyrone muttered sourly. This wasn’t going at all according to his aspirations.

She looked pointedly toward his lap where the towel had ridden up. Anger did seem to have a way of chilling his desires. “I don’t think you’d sit still for that.”

“Hell and damnation!” Tyrone retorted, clasping the cloth over his manhood. “Would you sever my cod, too?”

“Don’t curse at me,” Synnovea scolded, pouting. “I’m your wife, not one of the men in your regiment.”

“I don’t need to be told that, madam,” he retorted. “Not one of them is as fetching—or as reluctant to accept what I say as fact.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t dare! You’d scald their ears with your tirade if they didn’t heed every little command you uttered, which brings us back to the point that I was trying to make. I’m your wife, and I won’t be cursed at.”

“If this is the way we’re going to spend the day, I’m going back to camp,” Tyrone grumbled, rising to his feet again.

Synnovea laid a hand upon his chest and, pressing him back into the chair, moved in closer, giving him no room to stand. She didn’t want him to leave, especially when he was angry. Her fingers idly brushed at the hairs on his shoulder as she spoke in a husky murmur. “I said I wasn’t finished, Ty. Now please sit still until I am.”

Grinding his teeth in vexation, Tyrone forced himself to endure the clipping. His mood had turned cantankerous beneath her chiding and her refusal to listen to reason. Since he would be gone fairly soon, he had held some hope of their being able to pass the day on more congenial terms. Now that seemed unlikely.

Ignoring her husband’s lowering scowl, Synnovea worked the scissors around his ear. not caring how her dressing gown fell away from her bosom as she neatened the area. Gradually Tyrone’s irritation ebbed as his eyes began to feast on the sights so near at hand. She twisted slightly to judge the results of her work, giving him ample opportunity to view the ripe orbs beneath her robe. Dissatisfied with what she had done thus far, Synnovea straddled his leg and trimmed the hair near his temple. Then she moved behind his back to cut the hair around his nape, working her way around to the front again. Upon facing him again, she stepped astride his other thigh to clip his sideburns.

“There!” she said at last, tucking her robe between her legs and perching on a sturdy limb to consider the finished task. The fact that her bare knee rested lightly against his loins didn’t seem to affect her, yet Tyrone was now of a different bent.

Smoothing the shortened hair beneath her hand, Synnovea commended her own efforts. “It looks good!”

“Am I allowed to move now?” Tyrone queried, running a hand caressingly up her thigh.

As if awakening from a daze, Synnovea met his gaze directly and recognized the passion smoldering in those shining depths of deep blue. In quickening response, her own pulse leapt with fire. “If you wish.”

Tyrone leaned near and gently plied her lips with warming kisses as he tugged the ties of her robe loose and pulled it down from her shoulders. Then his hands moved in a slowly ascending voyage from her hips, skimming upward over her ribs until they clasped her soft breasts. His mouth lowered, and a warm, licking torch stroked across the pinnacle of a breast, snatching Synnovea’s breath and awakening her desires until she closed her eyes with the ecstasy of it, basking in the delights he aroused within her.

Beyond the framework of the windows on the eastern side, the sun hovered behind a thin layer of clouds, and in the muted light, her pale bosom gleamed with a soft, lustrous sheen, contrasting with the bronze visage that pressed into the velvety softness. Synnovea braced her hands upon his wide shoulders, arching her back as his mouth and tongue bestirred her senses, nearly devouring her. When finally he raised his head, she met his searching lips with a fierce passion that matched his own. Her hand swept downward between them, past the lean waist and the flat, hard belly, until she clasped the fullness of his manhood. For a moment Tyrone closed his eyes and yielded himself completely to her will. When he opened them again, his gaze probed hers as his hand moved down to stroke along her thigh. Synnovca made a valiant effort to turn away from the hypnotic power that held her transfixed, half afraid she would lose herself in those pools of blue, but when his open mouth came upon hers, his searing kiss went through her, compelling her to yield to him everything he wanted. She was lifted briefly and then resettled astride his naked loins. Small, scintillating shards of excitement washed through her at the warmth of his intrusion, and for a long moment they savored the coupling, embracing and kissing, touching and being touched, as only lovers in love are wont to do. Then her hips began to answer his, leisurely at first, and then with a strengthening rhythm as the liquid fire surged through them, sweeping them along on a towering wave of molten passion until the brilliance of their passion burst upon them with a stunning radiance.

It was midaftemoon when the couple went downstairs to visit with Natasha in the great room. The older woman could hardly mistake their change of attitude. Each of them now seemed reluctant to be apart from the other for even a short distance or a brief space of time. They held hands like lovers entranced and were wont to exchange unswerving looks that warmly communicated things beyond the discernment of others, except that Natasha knew and understood, having once experienced a great love herself. Synnovea’s soft gazes clearly revealed her preoccupation with her husband, which reaffirmed Natasha’s belief that the girl’s devotion ran deeper than mere infatuation. As for Tyrone, he was clearly involved with his young wife. His eyes devoured her every movement, every smile, every questioning glance. He answered her, asked her opinions, listened to her with interest as he entwined his long, lean fingers with her slender ones or laid an arm around her shoulders to bring her close against his side. Neither of them appeared the least bit abashed by their ardent display of affection, but laughed when they found Natasha smiling in teary joy as she observed them together.

When they retired at an early hour that evening, Natasha was far from surprised. She cautioned Ali to stay away from their chambers until she was summoned, and it was not until midmorning of the next day that the servant was bidden to join her mistress downstairs in the bathing chamber. For the first time in her life, Synnovea felt strangely embarrassed by her own nakedness in front of the woman, but when Tyrone entered a few moments later, no protecting towel was called for. Instead, Ali was banished upstairs where she contented herself by laying out her mistress’s clothes for the day and humming gleefully.

Natasha declined Tyrone’s invitation to join them on an outing, having accepted Adolphe’s plea to spend the day with him and his daughter. Finding himself alone with his young wife, Tyrone was hardly disappointed. Still, he brooded over his growing reluctance to leave her. While Stenka took them on a tour of the city, they discussed a variety of matters, at times serious, other times sensually explicit and titillating as Synnovea probed his manly knowledge and experience. Then there were moments when he listened attentively to the story of her childhood or to her suggestions as to what gifts they should buy for Sophia, Ali, and Natasha, just in case he’d be gone for an extended period of time and be unable to share with them the joy of Svyatki , the Christmas season.

As the days had sped past, bringing his scheduled departure ever nearer, Tyrone’s thoughts had turned increasingly inward, and he found himself mulling over his affairs like a man whose days were severely numbered. In his military career he had always had to face the possibility that he might not come back from a campaign, but now he felt a desire to make Synnovea understand that if anything happened to him, she would be welcomed by his family if she should have a desire or a need to visit England. Now that there was a chance that he would leave an heir, he didn’t think it right that his parents or his grandmother only receive word of his death and never learn of his wife and the child they had made together. While privately ensconced with Synnovea in the coach, he took the opportunity to reassure her that his family would want to know about her should he be killed, but his statement filled her with dread, and for one brief moment she stared at him as if all her joy had been vanquished.

“I couldn’t bear your loss, Ty,” she croaked against the tears that welled up within her as he enfolded her against his chest. “You must come back to me.”

“I’ll do my best, madam,” Tyrone murmured against her brow. “Now that I have found you, I pray desperately that I may come back.”

“Oh, you must! You must!”

“Dry your tears, my love,” he coaxed gently. “We’ll be leaving the carriage soon, and people will wonder why you’ve been crying. They’ll think I’ve been mistreating you in some fashion.”

Synnovea laughed at the absurdity of such a notion and, sitting up, dabbed at her reddened eyes and blew her nose with a dainty handkerchief. Then she lifted her gaze to her husband’s softly querying smile. “Is that better?”

Suddenly struck by the full import of how miserable he would be away from her, Tyrone clasped her to him again and seized her lips in an ardent kiss. “I pray the time may go swiftly,” he muttered as his mouth lifted to hover over hers. “I cannot bear to think of leaving you and not being able to see you, touch you, love you.”

Clinging to him, Synnovea strove to be brave. “A month or two from now, the anguish will be over and I’ll be welcoming you back into my arms. We must take courage now and pray that no harm comes to you.”

Tyrone glanced around as Stenka halted the carriage in Red Square. Then he faced his young wife again with a desperate plea. “We’ve so little time together. Let us not waste it all here, where I cannot hold you or kiss you as I yearn to do. I’d like to return home as soon as possible.”

Synnovea slipped a trembling hand into his, blinking away a fresh start of tears. “We’ll hurry, my dearest.”

Arm in arm, the couple hastened off toward the markets of Kitaigorod, leaving Stenka and Jozef waiting with the coach. After making their selections, they returned with their gifts, a golden necklace for Natasha, a lace-trimmed nightgown and woolen shawl for Ali, a dress for Danika, and a doll and a brightly decorated wooden dollhouse for Sophia.

Tyrone lifted Synnovea into the conveyance and was about to climb in behind her when he noticed his second-in-command waving to him from afar, trying to gain his attention through the milling crowd. Pledging to return in a moment, Tyrone left his wife and hastened through the throng to where Grigori awaited him.

“You seem happier than I’ve seen you looking for some time, my friend,” Grigori remarked with a smile. “Marriage seems to agree with you.”

Tyrone’s brows gathered in bemusement. He sensed that something dire was troubling the man, but he had no idea what it could be. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you come over to the carriage to speak to me there?”

The captain’s face clouded. “I didn’t think your wife should hear the news I bear, of which you, my friend, need to be made aware. Aleta is pregnant, and General Vanderhout is boiling mad. He swears it’s not his.”

“How can he be so sure of that unless they haven’t been sleeping together?”

“Which seems to be the way of it. I heard it whispered that he’s suffering some infectious malady of late that prevents him from indulging his wife’s appetites.”

“Infectious malady?” Tyrone frowned in confusion. “You mean—”

Grigori held up a hand to halt the flood of questions that seemed to be on the very tip of the colonel’s tongue. “Again I’ve heard it whispered that he’s been forced to consider what wench gave it to him, for he hasn’t been exactly faithful to Aleta either.”

“Two of a kind,” Tyrone mused aloud.

“Anyway,” Grigori continued, “Aleta is spreading the rumor about the city that you’re the cause of her condition.”

“The bitch!” Tyrone cried, and then almost groaned as he thought of Synnovea getting wind of the gossip. “It’s not true, of course!”

“I know that, but General Vanderhout doesn’t. It seems he’s looking for you. You’d better hope we leave ere he finds you.”

“Aye! But what can I tell Synnovea? She’s bound to hear all this filth while I’m gone if I don’t tell her now.”

“I agree! ’Tis better you tell her yourself rather than allow anyone else to wound her. Will she believe you?”

“She must!”

Seated inside the coach, Synnovea was content to inspect the gifts that they had purchased, but when she became aware of a shadowed form filling the open doorway, she glanced up with a smile, expecting to find Tyrone beside the coach. Her greeting froze on her lips as she met Aleksei’s darkly smoldering eyes.

“Synnovea, my beautiful little ice maiden,” he greeted huskily. “I didn’t think it possible, but you’ve grown even more lovely since last we met. Can it be that you’ve become enamored with your husband, and that the radiance of that devotion is what I see? Perhaps you can even be grateful for my lenience in allowing your husband to keep what he no doubt treasures most.”

Synnovea’s icy gaze conveyed her contempt, nearly chilling him to the bone. “I’m extremely grateful that Ladislaus and His Majesty kept you from doing your foul deed, Aleksei. But tell me, why do you brave my company when my husband is so close at hand?”

Aleksei seemed taken aback by her statement and glanced around nervously. Then he arched a brow, displaying a rampant distrust. “Really, Synnovea, you shouldn’t lie like that. What man would foolishly leave his wife alone where dastardly villains could approach her?”

“I’m not alone,” Synnovea reminded him, sweeping her hand around to indicate the location of the driver and the footman. “Stenka and Jozef are here with me, and should I scream, I have every confidence that they’ll both be here a mere step or two before my husband arrives.”

“Tsk, tsk!” Aleksei admonished. “You ought to know by now that I can have their hands lopped off if they dare touch me.”

Synnovea’s eyes grew even colder. “Didn’t His Majesty warn you about your manners after you took Tyrone and had him whipped? If you were to dare such a thing, I assure you that Tsar Mikhail would hear from me. But tell me, do you intend to remain here until my husband returns? Or will you flee like the coward you are once he arrives?”

“I doubt he’s here at all, my girl, so you can cease your feeble ruse, because I’m in no mood to leave just yet.” Slipping into the coach, Aleksei settled himself across from her and, for a lengthy moment, considered her heightened beauty. “You know, Synnovea, I might be persuaded to share my attentions with you after all. You’re clearly worth the effort it will take to forgive you.”

“Please, Aleksei! Forebear the struggle!” Synnovea enjoined sarcastically. “Lend me your hatred instead! I’m better able to cope with your disfavor.”

“I’ve heard rumors that your husband will be leaving the city soon. You’ll need a man to comfort you while he’s gone.”

“Why should I settle for your attentions when I’ve had the best there is?”

“You’re still such an innocent, my dear.” The swarthy prince leered at her in unswerving arrogance. “After you’ve been with me for a while, you’ll learn how to recognize a real man.”

“A real man!” Synnovea scoffed. “Why, you pompous, braying ass! You haven’t the simplest notion what those words mean! Do you honestly think you can judge a man by the number of trollops he has bedded? Why, you’re no better than a boorish swine who mounts the closest haunch to serve his rutting instincts.”

Aleksei’s face hardened with ill-suppressed ire. “I see you haven’t yet learned to curb your tongue, Synnovea. If you think I’m unable to wound you, then you’re mistaken. I have ways to make you grovel at my feet.”

Leaning forward with narrowed eyes and an evil grin, he caught her wrist in a cruel vise. By slow degrees, he increased the pressure upon the finely structured bones and began to smirk as she writhed in pain. “You remember our ride in the hired carriage that night, don’t you? Well, I can think of better ways to deal with your husband than by merely having him flogged, my dear, and I needn’t take the blame for it at all. You see, there are enough Russians who loathe foreigners who’d be willing to carry out a proper gutting of any foreigner they find. I need only hint at what great service they’d do their country if they’d take the colonel for a little jaunt beyond the city.” Aleksei lifted his broad shoulders briefly. “Of course, he’d never return, and you’d be left a widow—”

Aleksei glanced toward the carriage door as he detected a shadow looming beyond the opening. In the next instant he leapt aside with a start of surprise, reminiscent of a dog that had just been scalded.

“You were saying…” Tyrone interrupted caustically and drove a fist toward the man. His blow caught the prince on the cheekbone, forcibly propelling that one toward the door on the far side. The back of Aleksei’s head hit the inner wall near the window, and frantically he sought to right himself and reach the door, but a warbling cry of fear was wrenched from him as Tyrone leapt upon the step and, seizing the hem of the man’s ruby-red kaftan, dragged him back.

Aleksei frantically searched for leverage against his adversary’s relentless vise and clasped his arms tightly around Synnovea’s legs as he was being hauled past her. He grimaced with the strain of trying to resist the inevitable force that drew him nearer the beast who held him, and he raised his head to glare at her as she tried to shove him away. “Be warned, Synnovea! I’ll do more than see your husband gelded this time! I’ll set the dogs to eating his foul carcass! Synnoveaaa…help meee!!”

Snatching Aleksei up by the scruff of the neck, Tyrone yanked him away from his wife and growled near his ear. “You sniveling coward! Where is your courage now that Ladislaus isn’t here at your beck and call?”

The prince’s arms and legs thrashed wildly about as he was dragged swiftly through the door and then launched into midair. He came to earth a short distance away and skidded through the muck of slimy vegetables, which a vendor had just tossed from his cart. The prince scrambled to his feet, and without so much as a downward glance at the clinging bits of offal that adorned his gold-trimmed kaftan, he clasped its hem and made his departure with great, leaping strides.

“Colonel Rycroft!” The name was barked from a different vicinity, and as Tyrone spun around. General Vanderhout stalked toward him with irately flushed cheeks. His outrage was obvious. “What is the meaning of this offense? Have you gone mad?”

“The man was assaulting my wife!”

General Vanderhout blustered in vehement rage. “How dare you attack a Russian boyar when it’s you who should be horsewhipped! I’ve a mind to see you court-martialed for your offenses!”

“My offenses?” Tyrone arched a brow in question. “And just what are they, sir?”

“You thrashed that boyar!” Vanderhout shouted, thrusting an arm after the long-departed prince.

“He deserved at least that much and more for hurting my wife! I should have broken his neck!”

“The tsar will hear of this!”

“Aye, you tell His Majesty! And this time perhaps he’ll have the bloody beggar’s head lifted off his shoulders! That toad has been warned before by His Majesty. It might not go so well for him again!”

“Nor for you, Colonel, when I tell His Majesty what you’ve done!” the general warned irately.

“Precisely what have I done, other than to protect my wife?” Tyrone asked crisply.

Vanderhout sneered in disdain. “You know what you’ve done better than anybody. Frankly, I’d like to see you gelded.”

Tyrone snorted. “That has been tried before, by that very same one who just now tried to accost my wife!”

“Obviously he wasn’t successful,” the older man snapped. “Or did that happen after you bedded my wife?”

The bronzed cheeks flexed with ill-suppressed ire. “I’ve just heard the rumors about Aleta’s condition. General. The only thing I can say is that I’m not the one at fault.”

“Aleta says you are, and for that affront, Colonel, I’ll see you stripped of your rank and sent home in disgrace.”

Tyrone muttered a curse as he felt the sting of Aleta’s conniving revenge. No doubt she was seeking retribution for his rejection of her, but he was not about to accept her accusations without defending himself. “I suggest, General, that you seek out the truth of this matter ere you proceed with your claims. You’ll save both yourself and your wife a great deal of embarrassment.”

General Vincent Vanderhout reddened to the neck of his shirt as he struggled to find an appropriate rejoinder to refute the colonel’s claim of innocence. With equal fervor he searched for a threat to frighten the man, but when he met the steely stare of those blue eyes, he could do naught but sputter and spew in frustration.

“I must be leaving now, General,” Tyrone continued tersely, “but if you wish to address this matter further, be assured that I have witnesses to testify in my behalf, several high-ranking officers who can vouch for the number of times I’ve turned aside your wife’s invitations. Her indiscretions are none of my affair, but I promise you, I won’t let her lies ruin my life.” Inclining his head with a crisp nod of farewell, Tyrone ended the conversation abruptly. “Good day, General.”

“This is not the end of it, Colonel Rycroft!” Vincent Vanderhout railed. “You’ll hear about this again!”

Ignoring the man’s threats, Tyrone turned and gestured for Stenka to make ready to depart before he climbed into the coach and took a seat beside his wife. As the conveyance lurched into motion, he muttered through grinding teeth, “’Twould truly seem that a woman scorned has the sting of a venomous viper.”

Synnovea searched her husband’s angry visage, wondering what else had occurred to thwart his good humor. “Beyond our confrontation with Aleksei, what has happened to make you say that?”

“Aleta is with child,” Tyrone stated with a heavy sigh, “and General Vanderhout claims he’s not the father. ’Twould seem that she has taken the initiative to lie by claiming that I am the one at fault, obviously to cause trouble for me.” He looked into his wife’s worried gaze. “I’m not, Synnovea, I swear to you that I’ve never touched that woman except to thrust her out of my sight.”

Leaning forward, Synnovea pressed her brow gently against the side of his stalwart neck and, in a soft whisper, dissolved most of his anger. “I believe you, Ty.”

Slipping a hand beneath her chin, Tyrone drew it up and searched her softly smiling face for a lengthy moment before he lowered a long, tender kiss upon her lips. When he drew back, his eyes delved warmly into hers. “Have I told you yet, madam, that I love you?”

The green-brown eyes grew misty with elated tears as she searched his face. “Do you really mean that, Ty?”

“Aye, madam, very much. Indeed, I cannot remember a time when I haven’t loved you. You’ve been the one for whom my heart has beat ever since we came together in the pool months ago.”

“My dearest, dearest colonel,” she breathed as his lips lowered to savor hers again.

As the coach rumbled away from the square, they clung together, luxuriating in their marital contentment. It was several moments before Synnovea broke the revelry by telling her husband of the princely boyar’s intent.

“Aleksei has heard rumors that you’ll be leaving soon. He has also decided that he would like to resume his efforts to have me in his bed.”

Tyrone stared at his wife in some surprise and recognized the worry written on her face. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he snuggled her close against his chest and soothed her fears as much as he was able. “I’ll set men around the house to watch over you in my absence. Aleksei isn’t brave enough to confront several armed guards alone. He needs a whole regiment behind him to give him courage.”

Synnovea smiled into the beautiful blue eyes above her own. “I’ll miss you terribly, Colonel Sir.”

“I’ll be leaving my heart with you,” he whispered, caressing her face with his lips. “Guard it well for me.”

“I’ll never betray you, Ty,” she promised softly, bracing herself up higher on his chest. She traced a fingertip over his lips and chin before lifting shining eyes to his. “I think I love you, Colonel Sir.”

In the next phase of a heartbeat, their hungering mouths came together in a kiss that sealed their vows of love more thoroughly than any spoken word. A long moment later, they pulled apart, but that same evening they retired earlier than usual to the upper chambers, where they spent many wakeful hours sweetening their passion with mutual demonstrations of their devotion.