17

T yrone was usually very punctual about getting up before dawn, but on this particular Saturday, when he had a day free of duties, he didn’t even stir when Synnovea slipped from their chambers and went downstairs for her morning toilet. It was a pair of hours later before he roused from slumber and, upon realizing the place beside him was empty, launched himself from bed before he noticed Synnovea sitting in a chair near the windows. For a moment he savored the stirring vision as he recalled the passion they had enjoyed during the night. At present, she looked sweetly demure in a softly hued dressing gown. She was repairing a snag in a pair of his newer trousers that had been torn by a lance during one of the practice assaults in which he had been training his men. Yet there had been moments in their night-long feast of sensual delights when he had glimpsed again the wily temptress who could make him tremble in lusting fervor. Although newly indoctrinated into the rites of love, Synnovea was warm, responsive, and creative. Indeed, he found himself thoroughly enthralled with his young wife, for he was wont to think that she could portray the bewitching seductress better than the most knowledgeable strumpet.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his lips slowly tracing into a grin.

Synnovea’s smiling gaze swept his long, naked torso in admiration before she met his warmly inquisitive stare. “Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well.”

Tyrone raked his fingers through his hair, somewhat amazed by his tardy rising. “I had no idea I could sleep so late.” He cocked a brow at her and teased, “I think you wore me out, madam.”

“Strange, I seem to remember a time or two during the night when you woke me up wanting more,” Synnovca rejoined with a soft chuckle. Setting aside the mended breeches, she rose and brushed close against him in passing, rousing a whole volley of delectable sensations before she moved on to the anteroom. “I told Ali that I would let her know when you were up so Danika could prepare you victuals. Would you like Ali to bring you up a tray or would you prefer to go downstairs to eat?”

Tyrone let his breath out slowly, somewhat amazed at himself. Even after spending such an adventuresome night in bed, he was still anxious for more. Scrubbing a hand over the stubble bearding his face, he crossed to the dressing room. “If Ali wouldn’t mind fetching a tray, I’d rather eat up here.”

“Ali lives to please you, Ty,” Synnovea assured him, pausing near the door of the anteroom. “Your will is her command.”

“What of her mistress?” he queried, leering at her.

Synnovea laughed and shook her head. “If I were to yield that bit of knowledge to you, my dear husband, you’d probably take advantage of me, perhaps even seek retribution for past offenses. I don’t think it would be wise to reveal how my heart races at your slightest touch. You see, only a few days ago I was sure you hated me.”

“Have I not been a most attentive husband these past two nights,?”

“Aye,” she agreed with a husky warmth imbuing her tone. “So attentive you make me yearn for more.”

“Then you’d better send Ali for a tray, madam. I’ll need nourishment if you want me to stay up here and make love to you all day long.”

“Your servant, sir.” Her laugher flowed behind her as she hastened to the outer door.

Chuckling, Tyrone made his way into the bathing chamber, where he paused to wrap a towel around his hips before beginning his morning routine. When Synnovea leaned in a few minutes later, he was spreading lather over his cheeks.

“I think it’s about time I devoted some attention to teaching you Russian,” she announced. “Are you agreeable?”

“I was wondering when you’d get around to it.”

With an air of playful indifference, Synnovea tossed her loose tresses. “You haven’t been home long enough for us to even speak, much less allow me time to instruct you.”

“I’m here now, madam, and I can assure you that you have my complete and undivided attention.” Stepping near, Tyrone braced a hand against the jamb above her head and leaned down to nuzzle her throat, unintentionally bearding her as he smeared a fair measure of soapy froth over the long, graceful column.

Synnovea squealed in protest and sought to escape, but he clamped an arm around her to hold her secure. One broad hand clasped her buttock, snuggling her up against him. while his other slipped inside her robe to cup an unfettered breast, but she slapped at his wrist playfully. “If by that remark you mean to make love to me again, sir, you’ll have to get rid of that awful beard. I swear you’ve drawn blood.”

“My apologies, madam,” Tyrone mumbled in chagrin as he stepped back. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her eyes glowed back at him. “I know that.”

He stepped to the washstand again and picked up the razor, but she followed and. taking it from his hand, carefully pronounced, “ YA khaCHU pabrItsa . I want a shave.” She urged him to repeat the syllables as she drew him to a straight chair in the bedchamber and pressed him down upon it. Plying the sharply honed edge slowly along his cheek, she shaved away both the stubble and the lather as he eyed her warily. “ YA khaCHU pabrltsa . Now repeat it.”

“YA khaCHA pabrItsa.”

“CHU!” She took his chin firmly in hand and. lifting it up, forced him to look into her face. “ YA khaCHU pabrltsa . Say it right this time.”

“YA khaCHU pabrltsa.”

“Excellent!” Synnovea smiled as their gazes melded. Then she leaned forward and carefully whisked the razor over the rest of his face.

Tyrone raised a dubious brow as she laid aside the razor and picked up a pair of scissors. She brought them threateningly near, prompting him to lean back in sudden distrust of her intentions.

“ YA khaCHU paSTRICHsa . I want a haircut,” she stated, her lips twitching puckishly as she snipped the air in front of his nose.

“How do you say ‘I don’t want a haircut’?” he inquired dryly.

A giggle punctuated her answer. “ NYE NAda paSTRICHsa .”

“ NYE NAda paSTRICHsa. ” he repeated with a grin.

“Coward!” she accused through her laughter as she ruffled his short locks. With another playful roar, he moved forward out of the chair, dipping a shoulder and sweeping her onto it as he surged upward.

Synnovea laughed in glee and braced her hands upon his back as she tried to right herself, but Tyrone whirled her about the room until it seemed to sway and dip around her. Upon halting, he let her body slowly slide down the length of his as his hand slipped the tie on her robe free. With a shrug of her shoulders, Synnovea banished it to the floor and sighed softly in rapturous bliss as his mouth feasted upon her bosom. The towel was tugged free, and with stunning results, her hips came to rest against his loins.

Synnovea stared into her husband’s sharply chiseled features, feeling his throbbing excitement. The bed was conveniently near, and Tyrone moved to its edge, where he laid her back upon the mattress. His hands swept down her lithe body in a long caress until they clasped her thighs; then he gently parted them and settled into the welcoming warmth of her. Synnovea caught her breath as his loins began to caress hers, and his mouth covered hers in a heady kiss. She dug her heels into the edge of the mattress as she lifted herself to meet his leisured thrusts, and soon she was gasping and writhing. Their breathing grew harsh and ragged as the rushing spasms washed over them, sweeping them out into a sea of ecstasy where they floated detached from the world of reason and reality.

A light rap sounded on the door, evoking a startled gasp from Synnovea, but Tyrone held her fast in a gentle embrace and, lifting his head, called out to the outer portal. “Who is it?”

“’Tis Ali, master,” the maid announced through the thick wood. “I’ve brought yer victuals, but there be a messenger awaitin’ yer instructions downstairs. He says yer scout returned wit’ word that he’s found Ladislaus’s camp an’ wants ta talk wit’ ye about it. The messenger wants ta know, sir, if’n ye’d be wantin’ Avar to come here or if ye’ll be returnin’ ta camp any time today.”

“Leave the tray beside the door, Ali,” Tyrone instructed. “Then go down and tell the messenger that I’ll ride over and speak with the scout.”

Leaning down to Synnovea, he grinned and caressed her mouth with a most ardent kiss. “As much as I hate to leave you, my sweet, I must, but at least we’ve started the morning off in a most eventful way.” He slid his hands up to cup her breasts and drew a trembling sigh from his wife as he slowly plied a nipple with a languid caress of his tongue. “I’ll return as soon as I can. Will you wait for me?”

“I must,” she crooned, threading her slender fingers through the hair on his chest. “You’ve lit another fire within me, and it must be quenched.”

His loins moved against hers again, quickening her blood as well as his own. “This will never do,” Tyrone said in some amazement, feeling himself growing hot and hungry again. He kissed her again and reluctantly withdrew, shaking his head at the wonder of it. “I swear you’ve bewitched me, madam, or at least given me some strange potion to keep me always eager for you.”

“Aye, husband o’ mine,” she warbled through silken laughter. “And I’m the only one who can ease your plight, so be warned. Lifting the skirts of other maids will do you little good.”

“You tell me nothing new, sweet spouse. I’ve known that from the first moment you blinded my eyes to other women.”

Synnovea gave him a pert nod. “Good! Then I command you to hurry back to me.”

Tyrone kissed her passionately, holding nothing back, and then drew back to whisper, “I will, my sweet, just as soon as I can.”

A short time later, Synnovea waved to him from an upper-story window where she solemnly watched his departure. It was not within her capability to describe the anguish that now weighed down her heart. She knew by the message he had just received that he’d soon be leaving her and going out in search of Ladislaus. She could not be sure what might happen or if he would even come back alive. She had no doubt that she’d be in constant fear for his safety until he returned hale and hearty from that quest.

The darkening brumes of gloom descended much sooner than Synnovea had expected. The dreaded harbinger came in the form of Major Nekrasov, who, after passing Tyrone in the square, finally deemed the time was ripe to inform the lady of her husband’s plan to leave her. Thus it was that Nikolai presented himself at the Andreyevna manse and politely made a request to speak with the Lady Synnovea in private. He was allowed entrance and then bidden by a servant to wait in the open area of the great hall until the lady could be summoned from his mistress’s chambers. A moment later, Synnovea entered the room and came forward, graciously extending her hands to the major, who clasped them and eagerly bestowed a kiss upon her fingertips.

“How good of you to come to see me, Nikolai,” she murmured with a smile. Indicating an oriel where they could be observed but not heard, she led the way there. “I trust you’ve been well.”

“Well enough, my lady,” Nikolai replied, awed by her beauty. Delicately hued shards of light streamed in through the translucent mica panes, bathing her in a pale pink light. He was certain that no angel from heaven could have looked as radiant, or as appealing. “But I must confess that I’ve been much distressed by your marriage, so much so I haven’t had the heart to seek solace in the company of another woman.”

“Oh, but you must try, Nikolai!” Synnovea encouraged. “There can never be anything between us, and it grieves me to see you saddened by my marriage to the colonel.”

“How can you be happy with him?”

The question startled Synnovea, and though some instinct deep within her warned her not to ask the major to explain, she stared at him in growing confusion, goading Nikolai to continue.

“Does he treat you as a husband should?”

“Of course,” she replied cautiously. “I’m his wife. Why should he not?”

Nikolai rushed on, fearing the Englishman had already yielded to the temptation of her beauty. “I must bare my heart, my lady, as much as it grieves me to do so. Your husband had the effrontery to ask His Imperial Majesty to grant him an annulment from your marriage ere his return to England.”

“You must be mistaken…” Synnovea began, feeling a coldness seeping into her heart.

“I heard him myself!” Nikolai insisted.

“But how can that be?” she queried, her heart constricted by pain. “We’re man and wife.”

“Has the marriage gone that far…or is it still a sham, Synnovea?” Nikolai probed with care. “Colonel Rycroft said he would hold himself from you until the time came for him to leave. Did he lie?”

Synnovea was suspicious. “Why have you come to tell me this thing now? What is your purpose?”

The major detected a note of irritation in her voice and rushed to allay her distrust. “I came here to pledge my loyalty should such an occurrence happen. If you’d consider accepting my proposal, I’d be honored to exchange the vows with you once your present marriage is dissolved. I’d cherish you as no man could.”

Struggling to hold back an eruption of tears, Synnovea stiltedly faced the window. She had no idea what Tyrone meant to do now that their marriage had been solidified by their intimacy. That uncertainty evoked visions of her being left behind on the docks as he boarded a ship bound for England. Would she be carelessly discarded as a wife? Would he, after he reached his homeland, replace her with another light-o’-love and, in time, forget her?

Casting a glance over her shoulder, she questioned in a voice fraught with emotion, “How long does my husband plan to remain here?”

“A little over three years—until his tour of duty is fulfilled.”

“Three years?” she repeated in a tiny voice.

“And some months, my lady,” Nikolai added.

“So much time betwixt now and then,” she murmured reflectively.

“The colonel was adamant that the tsar grant his petition at that time,” the major insisted.

“When was this?”

“When you came to see His Majesty shortly after the colonel’s whipping, and it was announced that you and the Englishman would be wed.”

“Colonel Rycroft was very angry, as I remember,” she rejoined in muted tones.

A brief, scoffing laugh evidenced Nikolai’s ridicule. “ Enraged would better describe the colonel’s emotional state that day, my lady.”

“You’re saying that he was deeply outraged by the tsar’s decree that we wed?”

“Exactly.”

“That was to be expected, considering what I did to him,” Synnovea stated quietly. “I used him to escape marriage to Prince Vladimir, and he was brutally whipped for it. Wouldn’t you be irate if you were treated in such a fashion?”

Nikolai preferred not to excuse the colonel for his offenses and gave no answer.

Synnovea faced him with sorely strained pride. “Thank you for your warning. Nikolai,” she murmured graciously, “but I’m afraid I cannot promise my hand to you when no one can predict what three years and some months may bear. Perhaps you’ll fall in love with another and regret any troth you pledge to me now.”

“Never!” the major cried emphatically.

“Nevertheless, ’tis best to bide our time till that day Colonel Rycroft leaves for England. I wouldn’t have him think me unfaithful to the vows we exchanged until they are truly severed.”

“You’d hold true to such oaths when you know they mean nothing to him?” Nikolai inquired in amazement.

Synnovea met his incredulous stare with all the dignity she could muster. “There is still a lot of time for my husband to change his mind. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that possibility.”

“But why?” Nikolai insisted, unable to understand. “Surely any other maid, upon hearing what I’ve just re vealed, would be sorely offended by her husband’s plans to annul their marriage.”

A restrained shrug preceded Synnovea’s rejoinder. “I believe the colonel spoke in the heat of anger when he begged leave to dismiss me from his life. The hurt that I had caused him wounded him more deeply than the whipping he had received.” A sad smile curved her lips as she added, “But then, I love him too much to give up the battle ere it has barely begun, Major.”

Nikolai’s shoulders slumped suddenly in defeat. Unable to find an effective argument against her declaration, he sadly took his leave.

He was in the process of gathering his horse’s reins from the iron hitching post when he espied the lady’s husband riding down the lane toward the manse. Though he hurried to mount and be on his way before the man reached him, his haste lent incentive to the colonel, who nudged his heels into the flanks of his own steed, sending the animal racing forward.

“Major Nekrasov!” Tyrone nearly gnashed his teeth as he forced a smile. “What brings you here? Should I assume that you’ve come on some errand from the tsar, or have you taken leave to visit my wife in my absence? I saw you earlier in the square, and it comes to me now that you did pause and watch me pass. What should I think? Have you come on my heels again to claim a chance to have my wife for yourself?”

Nikolai’s face reddened with ill-suppressed ire. After his disappointing meeting with Synnovea, he was in no mood to give banal excuses. “I did indeed come here to see your wife, Colonel, but what does it matter to you? Wouldn’t you be relieved to have some other man take her off your hands?”

Tyrone snarled and, jumping off his horse, flung himself toward the other’s mount. Catching the major’s coat, he dragged him from the saddle and gave him a harsh shake. “If it’s your intent to try and take her from me, Major, then we’d better settle it right here and now. I’m tired of you going behind my back in your efforts to steal her from me.”

Angrily Nikolai thrust the colonel away from him. “The matter has already been settled,” he stated sharply. “The lady obviously wants to believe that you won’t leave her behind when you return to England.”

Tyrone’s brows shot up in surprise. Then he abruptly recalled that the major had been in attendance when he had finagled his foolish commitment from the tsar. He sneered at the man. “Now I understand why you came slinking here behind my back like some defeated cur. You hoped, by telling Synnovea about the commitment that I had gained from the tsar, that you could advance your own cause and console her like some infatuated swain in my absence. You didn’t care how you’d hurt her with your revelation. All you wanted was to have her for yourself. Well, Major, let me be the first to tell you that I’ve already retracted my petition from His Majesty. I’ve consummated our marriage vows, and the only way you’ll ever have her is if I’m struck down and she is widowed. In other words, I don’t have any intention of leaving my wife behind for you or any other swain when I return to England. I intend to make love to her every chance I get and keep her belly so fat with growing babes that you’ll have no chance to interfere again. Now be gone from here before I thrash you to a bloody pulp.”

Nikolai was not one to back down in the face of threats. He retorted with a warning of his own. “If I should hear one whisper of your mistreatment of the lady, Colonel, be assured of one thing. You’ll rue the day you ever came to Russia. That much I promise you. Do I make myself clear?”

“’Twill be a bloody cold day in hell ere you hear such rumors,” Tyrone growled.

“Good!” The major nodded crisply. “Then perhaps you’ll live long enough to return to England.”

Nikolai swung into his saddle and, reining the horse about, sent him down the road in a thunderous departure. Tyrone watched him for barely a moment. Then, with a muttered curse, he whirled and raced into the manse. Finding no evidence of his wife’s presence in the tower rooms, he leapt up the stairs to seek her out in their apartment. The door rebounded against the wall in his haste to gain the bedchamber.

Synnovea turned from the windows with a start of surprise and quickly brushed at the tears streaming down her cheeks as he came toward her.

“Major Nekrasov was here.” Tyrone spoke the obvious as he searched her face.

“He came to see how I was faring,” Synnovea replied stiltedly. Sensing his intention to discuss the details of the man’s visit, she moved past him to the open doorway. “Natasha has delayed the meal until your return and is awaiting our presence down below.”

Tyrone tried to curb his impatience, knowing the issue would have to be discussed at length in the privacy of their chambers. It couldn’t be aired before others. Lifting his arm in invitation, he watched his wife carefully as she, in turn, slipped a hand into the bend of his elbow.

“You look especially beautiful tonight, Synnovea,” he murmured in an effort to break her strained silence.

“Do I?”

“Almost as beautiful as the day you came into the palace to speak the vows with me.”

“I wasn’t aware that you had even noticed me then,” she replied distantly. “You seemed quite disturbed by the whole affair, so much so that I was expecting you to call a halt to the ceremony ere it was done.”

“I was greatly troubled.”

“I suppose any man hates to be coerced into a marriage that he abhors.”

“I don’t abhor the marriage, only the circumstances that brought it about.”

“Did you resent my encouraging your lusts, Colonel? I seem to remember they were already brewing.”

“They were,” he admitted. “I’ve desired you from the very beginning, Synnovea—from that first moment I held you naked in my arms. Since then, I could think of no other woman. You’ve been the only one I’ve dreamed of having.”

“You didn’t seem to want me at all after our marriage,” she reminded him. “If not for His Majesty, I’m sure you would have left me.”

“Aye,” he acknowledged thickly. “But I was angry. You had used me, and you didn’t seem to care what I might have suffered because of your ploy. I was very nearly gelded because of you.”

“I should have married Vladimir,” she muttered dismally, struggling to subdue her tears. “It would have been better for us both if I had.”

“No, dammit! I want you as my wife!”

Synnovea lifted her gaze to his, her lips drawn into a poignant smile. “Do you, Ty?”

“Aye! You must believe that.”

Natasha joined them at the bottom of the stairs, and her vivacious chatter allowed them to endure the meal with only a modicum of responses. She had no idea what was troubling them, only that something seemed to be terribly wrong between them. Synnovea’s aloofness toward her husband was unswerving, while Tyrone’s gaze hardly strayed from his young wife. Although he sipped from his glass far more often than was his usual habit, the couple barely touched their food. Natasha found her attempts to draw them into discussions of any sort were for naught. Long, awkward silences followed her efforts at conversation. Any questions pertaining to the tsar’s enjoyment of the parade were met by Synnovea’s forced smiles, and noncommittal shrugs or brief comments from the colonel. Frustrated by their taciturnity, Natasha finally begged escape as she clasped a trembling hand to her brow. It was now throbbing from the ordeal of watching two cherished friends punish themselves and destroy everything they had come to enjoy together.

Though other men might have shown some sign of being affected by the amount of wine he had consumed, Tyrone felt coldly sober when he finally escorted his wife upstairs. Finding Ali awaiting them, he retreated to the dressing room, where he doffed his clothes and donned the kaftan his wife had made for him. When he returned to the larger room, the Irishwoman was just brushing out her mistress’s silky tresses. He lounged in a nearby chair, deeply appreciating the opportunity to watch this ritual and the stirringly beautiful vision of his wife clothed in a softly hued dressing gown, but when Synnovea bade Ali to braid her hair, Tyrone knew her hostility hadn’t wavered in the least.

“I prefer it loose,” he announced brusquely and waved the old woman away.

Reluctantly Synnovea responded with a consenting nod when Ali turned to her with a questioning glance. Sensing that something was terribly awry, the servant took her leave and quietly closed the outer door behind her.

Having gained the privacy he had been waiting for, Tyrone went to his wife and tried to take her in his arms. “I need to talk to you, Synnovea.”

“There’s nothing to be said,” she answered coldly and slipped free of his grasp with an irritated jerk. Immediately she crossed to a small writing desk that stood near the windows and, after opening and closing all of the drawers, finally selected a leather-bound volume of sonnets from a shelf near the top. She refrained from meeting the eyes that followed her every movement as she came back to her side of the bed. She swept back the covers that Ali had turned down moments earlier, fluffed the pillows, and hurriedly shrugged out of her robe before slipping beneath the covers, giving him no opportunity to peruse her meagerly clad form. Lying back upon the pillows, she opened the book and made an earnest effort to appear interested in the contents.

Tyrone had no idea how to repair the rift between them and feared his explanations would seem trite. Fretting over his difficult dilemma, he glanced at her often but could find no encouragement in her forbidding manner. He finally took up the conversation where he had left off. “Major Nekrasov was here.”

“You said that,” Synnovea goaded, lifting her slender nose with a lofty air as she kept her gaze fastened on the verses which she was striving hard to read.

“Is it your custom to entertain men while I’m away?” As much as he realized that he was accusing her unfairly of offenses when, in truth, it was he who should have been explaining, he just couldn’t seem to help himself. Perhaps the wine had addled him more than he had thought.

“Nikolai and I were never alone,” Synnovea informed him with unswerving chilliness. “We were in sight of everyone who passed the door—”

“Obviously the major fancies himself in love with you,” Tyrone interrupted. “Given the opportunity, he’d take you to bed. He seems most willing.”

Synnovea plopped the book facedown upon her bosom and, with a coolly disdaining stare, met her husband’s brooding gaze. “Major Nekrasov has been a good friend to me in the short span of time I’ve known him. If not for the fact that he warned His Majesty of Aleksei’s intent, you wouldn’t be here today, at least not as a whole man.”

“He seems most willing,” Tyrone reiterated with emphasis as he approached the bed. “Perhaps as much as I was.” He laughed sharply. “I was so anxious to have you that you thought nothing of using me for your little gambit. You had no qualms about letting me touch your soft breasts. Would you let him fondle what you now withhold from me?”

“I withhold nothing from you!” Synnovea sneered hotly, her aplomb disrupted by a fury that her husband had never glimpsed before. “You were the one who sought to draw the limits between us when you asked the tsar to grant you an annulment upon your return to England! After setting such boundaries between us, would you now have me welcome you with open arms? ’Twas your intent to leave Russia unshackled, so how can you cast the blame on me because I dare withhold myself from you tonight? What more can you expect? You want neither me nor the burden of this marriage. Major Nekrasov, however, is interested in having me as his wife. He overheard your gallant request and came here to ask me to marry him after you leave.”

“Did he, now?” This time Tyrone displayed a range of temper that Synnovea had never seen before. It distorted his handsome face, and before that towering wrath, she could do naught but shrink back upon her pillow in sudden fear as he leaned near. “Would he also sample your womanly softness ere he speaks the vows with you and cuckold me behind my back?” He growled at the very idea. “Be damned! ’Twill not happen to me again!”

Synnovea gasped in outrage, and her hand came forward with an angry sweep, cracking loudly against his cheek.

Tyrone’s head jerked aside with the impact of her blow. Then, with lean nostrils flaring and cheeks flexing tensely, he bent a fiery glare upon her. “Angelina pledged her troth to me in marriage, too, and then behind my back played the harlot with a despicable rake….”

The green-brown eyes widened as Synnovea stared at him in sudden horror. “Are you saying that you’re married to someone else?” Before he could answer, she scrambled across the bed and leapt to her feet on the far side. Tyrone swung around the stout post and stalked toward her. As he neared, she stumbled back against the wall and flailed the air with a clenched fist, warning him to keep his distance. A snarl of rage tore free from her throat as she bestowed an accusing glare upon him. “You deceived me! You let me think you were without a wife! And all this time, while you played the injured one, you were the one who had duped me!”

“Dammit, Synnovea, it’s not what you think!” Recognizing her panic, Tyrone tried to take her by the arms, but she pulled away and sneered at him in loathing disdain.

“Don’t touch me, you lying lout! ”

“Listen to me, dammit!” he barked. Catching her by the shoulders, he gave her a harsh shake as he commanded her to give heed to his words. “I was married in England several years ago, but my wife died before I came here! You are quite properly the only wife I now have!”

The sharp, piercing ache, mingled with a disturbing sense of having been cruelly betrayed, slowly dwindled into a feeling of reprieve as Synnovea gaped up at him. It was as if her life had been given back to her, as if he had been absolutely lost to her for a time, but was safely hers again. Another memory came winging back, impelling her to carefully peruse the handsome visage so close above her own. “You’re the man you spoke about weeks ago, the husband whose wife betrayed him with another….”

A pained frown creased Tyrone’s brow. “I’m the one.” Leaving her, he made his way around the end of the bed and halted before the windows. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared into the darkness beyond. “Even before suitors were allowed to call upon Angelina, she had men swarming about, waiting in droves to bid for her hand. She was beautiful, of course, but it didn’t hurt that her father had made provisions for an enormous dowry. Once she reached a proper age, she spent much time at court and was entertained by some of the most famous of roues. Our parents were neighbors, and I watched all of this from afar while she was growing up, thinking her naught but a child.

“She saw me out hunting one day after I had returned from a campaign. She rode over to talk with me, perhaps to show me that she had grown up since last we met. She was witty, charming, very lovely, everything a man could possibly want in a wife. She told me that even as a child, she had dreamed of becoming my wife and had set her cap to win me. Though I was amused at the time, she seemed dedicated to the idea of wearing down my resistance, until I finally proposed. I married her without con sidering that she might become bored with my frequent absences from home. After all, she had been fervently courted by a collection of gallant swains. You know the rest. While I was away in the third year of our marriage, she betrayed me with another man who made light of the affair when she told him that she was carrying his babe. He laughed and ridiculed her for having taken him seriously. He boasted to others of his deed and his bastard whelp that she carried within her womb. I came home and found Angelina trying to hide her condition from the world, though by then she was already well along.”

“You say nothing of love, and yet I sense that you cared for her.”

“Aye, I cared for her in a way any husband might care for his wife,” Tyrone conceded, but checked himself before adding. But I care for you more .

“I’m your wife,” Synnovea reminded him softly. “Does that make a difference?”

“Aye.” Tyrone allowed the single word to suffice for an answer, though his heart yearned to say more. If she really knew how he was wont to treasure even her slightest smile, she’d understand how much he regretted ever mentioning the word annulment .

“I’m truly tired, Ty,” she murmured, feeling thoroughly drained. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go to bed now…and sleep.”

“Of course,” he replied, allowing that she had had a most trying afternoon. “I yield you that request. If it would ease your mind, you need have no fear that I’ll force you against your will.”

Synnovea dipped her head in a disconcerted nod and, after regaining her place in bed, turned on her side away from him.

Tyrone heaved a sigh, feeling as if the firebird had just escaped from his hands. It seemed that they were back where they had first started in their marriage. Now it seemed that he would have to woo her and wear down her resistance.