6

S ynnovea awoke with a start, her heart thumping nigh out of her chest. Anxiously she searched the shadows of her bedchamber, hoping fervently that she had been dreaming, that she wasn’t really locked in a dungeon somewhere and that the strange rattling sounds she had heard hadn’t been the tip of Aleksei’s sword tapping tauntingly against the iron bars of her cell. Frightening images of the prince standing before the locked door of her dungeon cubicle still hovered before her like some dreadful ghost left over from her dreams. His swarthy face gleamed back at her from the gloom as his voice, blandly laying out the conditions for her release, came winging back to her. Haughtily he had assured her that unless she yielded him everything he desired from her, she’d never leave her dark, dank prison until they carried out her bones.

The faint, clattering noise came again, wrenching a frightened gasp from Synnovea as she came upright in bed. Her heart hammered in her throat, sounding so loud in her ears that it was useless for her to listen for some evidence of her tormentor’s presence. Anxiously she probed the deeply shadowed gloom in a desperate search for the one who lurked just beyond her reach and sight. By slow degrees, the moonlit chambers began to take on a comforting familiarity, and with overwhelming relief, Synnovea realized she was ensconced in her bed at the Taraslovs’ manse.

The lightest rattle against a glass pane drew another start from her, and her eyes flew to the front window from whence the sound had come. Like the other three windows in the room, it stood wide to catch whatever evening breezes were stirring. Silvery shafts of moonlight illumined the silken draperies fluttering inward on gentle currents, but she saw nothing that resembled human form.

Leaving her bed on trembling limbs, she crept stealthily across the bedchamber and pushed aside an opaque panel to peer out, fully expecting to find Aleksei standing beneath the tree in front of the window. The night sky twinkled with myriad stars, while a bright moon cast its radiance through the leaves of the tree, allowing her to see the one who waited beneath it. A strange blend of relief and surprise flooded through her when she saw that it wasn’t Aleksei at all, but Tyrone Rycroft. Feeling no hesitancy now about brushing aside the draperies, she leaned out to confront him, aghast at his boldness in seeking her out in such a manner.

“What are you doing here?” she queried in a carefully subdued whisper. She conveyed a fair measure of irritation at his foolishness as she demanded, “Don’t you realize you could be shot for coming here this time of night?”

Tyrone swept off his hat in a flamboyant manner and grinned up at her as his eyes flicked over her, savoring the sights that were there for the taking. Bathed by a silvery aura, she was the very replica of the dream from which he had awakened in a lusting fever. The soft, gossamer gown molded the wanton fullness of her breasts divinely, seeming eager to reveal what they barely concealed. Such a vision of loveliness made his dreams appear almost lackluster. “My lady,” he called in a hushed tone. “How wondrously fair you look.”

Suddenly abashed by her lack of modesty, Synnovea crossed an arm in from of her, allowing the long, billowing sleeve to mask her scantily garbed bosom. “Prince Aleksei’s chambers are on the opposite side of the house,” she hissed, frustrated by the Englishman’s lack of discretion. “If he wakes and sees you down there, he’ll shoot you for an intruder without even asking why you’re here.”

“Thinking of you thwarted my sleep,” Tyrone declared, dismissing her warnings. “I had to come and assure myself once again that you’re indeed real and not a figment of my imagination.”

“If you won’t take heed of the danger you’re in, then I urge you, Colonel Rycroft, to consider what my punishment may be if you’re caught here! Princess Anna will likely think I encouraged you and will order my windows nailed shut. These rooms will become my prison, but she won’t stop there. She’ll see you arrested, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a dungeon, never seeing the light of day again.”

Ignoring her admonition. Tyrone caught hold of a stout vine twining over the facade of the house and climbed it as easily as he would a ladder. Upon reaching the window, he grasped the frame above his head and swung inward feet-first. Synnovea’s astonished gasp evoked a wayward grin from him as he lowered his booted feet to the floor and sat back upon the sill.

Though she had grave doubts that any garment would protect her against the colonel’s aggression, Synnovea quickly sought the covering of a dressing gown and then, with fingers trembling uncontrollably, managed to light a candle. The tiny flame danced beneath her fluttering breath, and she lifted the taper high above her head as she warily approached her visitor. His translucent eyes reflected the flickering light, and the hungry yearning visible in those luminous depths was so intense it seemed almost tangible.

Tyrone released his constricted breath in halting degrees. Even the simple act of taking air into his lungs became difficult when he was near Synnovea. Indeed, he felt much as he had that night in the bathhouse when he had watched her padding barefoot and stark naked alongside the pool. “No need to fear, my lady,” he assured her in a husky whisper. “I mean you no harm.”

“I believe you said that in the bathhouse right after I caught you spying on me like some unprincipled libertine,” Synnovea whispered chidingly. She couldn’t meet those flaming orbs without sensing the depth of his hunger. Never before had she been looked at with such tangible longing.

“Did I not make my presence known to you tonight?” Tyrone asked her softly, avoiding the subject of his past guilt. “Had you been of such a mind, you could have closed the window and kept me out.”

“I was too astonished by your nerve!” Synnovea protested with a blush. Even so, she suffered no uncertainty that she would’ve barred Aleksei’s entrance by whatever means proved necessary. Halting the Englishman, however, had never even entered into her consideration. Was she fooling herself into believing that she was safe in his presence merely because he had let her leave the bathhouse unscathed? Or was she so bedazzled by the strange, stirring excitement that started pulsing within her at every conjured image of his naked beauty that she could allow herself to be reduced to the level of some mindless twit who irrationally sought the company of the one who awakened those delectable feelings?

Synnovea tried once again to make him aware of what he chanced. “Whether you intend mayhem or not. Colonel, you’ll likely ruin my good name if you’re found here in my room. I must insist that you leave. You’re taking liberties which will likely have serious repercussions. At the very least, the Taraslovs will see you imprisoned for trying to accost me and will send me to a monastery.”

The smiling blue eyes delved into hers as he cajoled in a hushed tone, “I’ll leave if you truly insist, my lady, but I’d go more readily if you’d give me a token to remember you by.”

Synnovea was immediately suspicious and managed a faint question. “Such as?”

Tyrone’s eyes wandered leisurely over her, taking in as much detail as the meager light afforded him. A single braid fell over one shoulder, leading his eyes downward to where the robe softly molded her round breasts. The memory of their unconfined perfection and her lithe, shapely form lingered in his mind, haunting him through the days and making his nights a blissful torment. After a man had glimpsed such a rare, perfect vision, how could he find ease for his body and rest for his mind until he had made such a goddess his own?

Synnovea could hardly ignore where his gaze wandered, and though her breasts tingled beneath the languid caress of his gaze, she thought it prudent to warn him. “Your eyes give away the direction of your thoughts, Colonel, so I’d advise you to leave here ere I start screaming, because I don’t intend to keep still while you force yourself upon me.”

“’Twould be a dreadful shame if any man ever took you against your will, my lady,” Tyrone murmured, imagining the passion that would be sacrificed by such brutishness. “I ask nothing more from you than a scented handkerchief or a lock of your hair,” he murmured huskily. “If you’re in a mood to be generous, a painted miniature would serve as a sweet reminder of your beauty. A kiss would even send me away in rapture.”

His suggestion sent a strange thrill coursing through her veins and a brighter hue flooding into her cheeks, but Synnovea hastened to act the outraged maid, no matter how inappropriate it had been for her to let him into her bedroom. “You’re impertinent to suggest such a thing, sir. Why, I don’t even know you.”

Tyrone lifted his wide shoulders, casually rejecting such logic. “How can you say that, my lady, when we’ve shared pleasures few others would dare indulge in outside the bonds of marriage?”

“ You may have indulged in them, Colonel, but I certainly did not,” Synnovea declared, trying to subdue the blushing heat that nearly stifled her. No matter how many times she had allowed herself to bask in the giddy detail of their bathhouse meeting, she now sought to issue quick death to the notion that she had relished such an occasion. “Believe me, sir, I cringe every time I think of you lurking in the pool like some wily sea serpent waiting to consume his victim.”

Though Tyrone had in recent hours indulged his imagination by devouring her in a variety of lascivious ways, it was definitely a fantasy too lewd to confess to an untried maid. With a soft chuckle, he folded his arms across his chest and assumed an air of unyielding tenacity. “If you won’t give me a kiss, then I shall sit here until I gain a more permanent reminder. A lock of hair, a handkerchief…a tiny portrait…”

Synnovea had no doubt that the contumacious colonel would carry through with his threat and enjoy every moment of his stay in her room. He had already proven his dedication to visiting her in spite of Anna’s attempts to dissuade him. If she didn’t give him the gift he sought, she’d never get any peace…or sleep.

Synnovea approached him cautiously as she searched his features in the shifting light. “If I give you something of that nature. Colonel Rycroft, will you promise to leave posthaste? I fear someone will overhear us if you stay much longer.”

Recognizing the plaintive appeal in her soft tone, Tyrone smiled into those darkly translucent orbs. “A portrait would almost be as nice as a kiss.”

“You…you wouldn’t boast to others if I were to give you one, would you?”

“I would keep it close against my breast to hasten the beat of my heart,” he promised warmly. “No one would see it but me, that much I swear as a knight and an officer.”

Synnovea dipped her head, accepting his word. “Then I shall grant your request, but only because you saved me from Ladislaus.”

Tyrone’s eyes caressed her softly lit face. He was no less amazed now by the regal beauty of her delicate features than he had been that night in the tenebrous gloom of the bathhouse. No maid had ever ensnared his mind as firmly as she had, and though he sought to pass his infatuation off as simply a fleeting fancy awakened by his lengthy celibacy, she was the only one with whom he yearned to appease himself in the months and years to come. “I’d treasure the gift far better if you’d give it with some tender sentiment, Synnovea.”

“1 dare not encourage you,” she demurred. “You’ve evinced your gall by entering my bedroom in the dead of night without concern for the danger you might be in.”

“The few moments I spend with you are worth whatever dangers I invite,” he breathed warmly.

“You mustn’t come back like this again,” she insisted. “Your persistence in visiting me will see your life forfeited ere you’re aware of the jeopardy. If you have no care for the danger you’re in, then I must discourage you in taking similar chances by assuring you that in the future I will ignore your clandestine summons though you throw large rocks through my windows. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, I do.”

“Good!” Heaving a sigh of relief, Synnovea set the candle on a nearby table and went to rummage through the upper compartment of her largest trunk. Upon finding the miniature that had once belonged to her father, she clutched it near her heart, remembering that her parent had always taken it with him wherever he had gone away. In a way, it seemed a betrayal of his affection to give it to a man who was hardly more than a stranger, yet when the Englishman had saved her honor and possibly her life by risking his own, was he not deserving of such a gift?

Synnovea could feel the blue eyes feeding upon her every movement as she returned to the window. Those shining orbs gave her cause to wonder if the man could see through her dressing gown, for they appeared to dwell overlong on her soft curves. Handing him the portrait, she watched for a long moment as he admired the image.

Finally he raised his head and smiled at her. “I shall treasure it always, my lady.”

“Please be careful that you don’t awaken anyone making your departure,” she urged cautiously. “Most boyars are suspicious of foreigners, and with your English garb, they’ll likely shoot you for the sheer pleasure of it.”

Slipping her gift inside his doublet. Tyrone tucked it into the pocket resting over his heart. “I’m encouraged by your concern for me, Synnovea.” he replied in a husky whisper. “It gives me hope that you like me well enough to at least consider my courtship once I’ve gained proper approval. Perhaps you’ll even come willingly into my arms one day.”

“Princess Anna will never allow it,” Synnovea stated emphatically. “She hates foreigners, and your audacity has only intensified her dislike for you.”

“My heart bleeds with remorse.” Tyrone heaved a sigh of regret, but his lopsided grin completely nullified his claim.

A smile stretched across Synnovea’s lips. “Aye, I can see that you’re terribly grieved by her lack of veneration for you, so much so that you seem to be having trouble controlling your mirth.”

His eyebrows flicked upward briefly. “In truth, I care not a whit what she thinks about me and would be much heartened if she’d take a long voyage across the ocean so I can court you without her interference.”

Synnovea dared not tell him that a similar occurrence might well be in the offing. If he had ignored Anna’s efforts to get rid of him before, then Synnovea could imagine how bold he’d become once the path was clear. “No more of that now,” she admonished and, with an outward flick of her fingers, urged him to take his leave. “Hold to your promise and go before I lose patience with you.”

“Only a moment more of your time,” he murmured, settling his hands lightly on her narrow waist and drawing her between the spread of his legs. He felt her stiffen in sudden apprehension, but with another whispered promise that he wouldn’t harm her, he leaned forward and pressed his softly parted mouth upon hers. Synnovea was too astonished to even think of resisting and endured his kiss with growing awe, hardly aware that her lips slackened beneath his, allowing his tongue to flick briefly inward.

Long after Tyrone had made his departure, Synnovea wondered at the gift that he had given her as she stood with trembling fingers pressed to her smiling mouth. For some reason the night seemed sweeter, the moon brighter, the air cooler…and her heart warmer.