10

T he pendulum swung through the long hours as night followed day and day followed night until the evening of the planned seduction finally arrived. Synnovea was as jittery as a young bride on her wedding night with the realization that Tyrone would be in attendance and that she’d actually be making an attempt to beguile him by whatever means proved effective. Lacking the finesse and skill of a more experienced temptress, she had no real knowledge of how to go about preparing herself for such an event. In matters of feminine persuasion, she knew she’d have to rely on her own instincts, but in selecting a gown, she sought Natasha’s guidance. A deep blue creation of European design was chosen to compliment her fair skin and to reveal just enough cleavage to be subtly alluring.

“If Colonel Rycroft wasn’t able to resist an overflowing bosom, my dear,” the older countess counseled, “I’m sure he’d be content to coddle strumpets. Instead, he has set his eye on you and with good cause, but I doubt that you’ve given him much more than a glimpse or two of a dainty ear or a creamy nape. Therefore I’m inclined to think his tastes are more refined in the area of women and their attire.”

Synnovea lifted a hand in the guise of brushing aside a rebellious curl from off her brow as she sought to hide the vibrant color that flooded into her cheeks. She would never have verbally disputed her friend’s theory, but she was wont to wonder if Tyrone Rycroft would have been so anxious to court her at all if he hadn’t already seen as much of her as there was to see.

“Have you told Ali what you’re planning?” Natasha queried, settling back upon a chaise as Synnovea rose from the tub and slipped into the large pool fed by an underground spring. The Irish woman had left some moments ago, having forgotten the violet balm to rub into her mistress’s skin. Since Synnovea’s bedchambers were located at the far and uppermost end of the house from the bathing chamber, it was highly unlikely the maid would return within the next few moments. “Ali’s simply beside herself over the idea that Colonel Rycroft will be coming tonight. In light of her infatuation, I’ve been wondering if she has any idea what you’re going to do to the man.”

“What? And have her lay me low with her scolding, too? Why, I’d never hear the end of it!” Synnovea shook her head, denying the possibility, and then promptly voiced objections to the woman’s choice of words. “It isn’t what I’m going to do to the colonel, Natasha, but what I’ll be letting him do to me! You seem to imagine that I’ll be forcing myself upon his flanks. Believe me, if Colonel Rycroft’s hands move as fast and freely as his eyes do, I’ll be facing hazards just being alone with him.”

Natasha held up a hand to halt the other’s testy remarks. “I’ll say no more, for ’tis plain you’re easily riled by my lament.”

“Aye!” Synnovea agreed with a pert nod. “In your eagerness to plead the colonel’s cause, you’ve shown no similar compassion for me.”

Natasha leaned forward on an elbow and braced her small, pointed chin upon a slender knuckle as she peered intently into the brooding eyes of the other. “You may rant in outrage against my charity toward him all you want, Synnovea, but I’ve seen the weapons at your disposal and do tremble in fear at the havoc you may cause in that man’s life.”

Synnovea reddened profusely when she felt the meaningful flick of the other’s perusal, and with an indignant groan she sank beneath the surface of the water until the ripples lapped beneath her chin. “You’re not being at all fair to take his side over mine.”

“On the contrary, my dear. When you deliberately set out to entice a man solely for the purpose of using him as a pawn for your own gain, then I have no difficulty comparing your actions to the deeds of a well-versed courtesan, but I fear your ruse will be far more damaging. At least a courtesan would stay and pay her due, but what of you? The moment he seeks to take you, you fly.”

“Natasha, have pity!” Synnovea begged fretfully. “You wound me to the quick!”

“Good!” the older woman retorted and fixed a condemning finger upon the girl. “Because that’s exactly what you’ll be doing to him.”

A sullen frown troubled Synnovea’s brow as she peered up at Natasha. “Do you like the man so much?”

“Aye! I do!”

Synnovea lifted a dainty nose to indicate the injury she felt at the woman’s continual harping. “And do you loathe me so much for this thing I plan?”

Feeling defeated, Natasha lifted her arms in a lame gesture of appeal. “My dearest Synnovea, I understand why you’re intent upon doing this.” Overwhelmed by her own frustration, she shook her head. “I’m just reluctant to see you waste what had every potential of being a cherished love.”

“I may never know what I could’ve had with Colonel Rycroft,” Synnovea admitted dismally. “But I know I’ll be sorely grieved if I’m forced to wed an ancient or if I must continue to wage my wits against Aleksei to keep myself safe from his wayward bent. If I cannot gain my freedom, that’s exactly what lies ahead of me. Will you not give me your understanding and blessings as I try to avoid that end?”

Again the frosted head moved negatively. “Nay, Synnovea, I cannot do that, but I will give you my prayers, for I think you’ll be needing them—you and Colonel Rycroft. Aleksei may be tempted to kill you both.”

“Do you have to be so morbid about it all?” the younger countess grumbled.

Natasha stared at the radiant beauty for a long, thoughtful moment before heaving a laborious sigh. “Synnovea, my child, I don’t think you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”

The door opened behind them, and the two women glanced around as Ali skittered in. “Here I be at last,” the maid gasped, clearly out of breath. “An’ meself hurryin’ all the while. Why, if this house be any grander, ye could set the Taraslovs’ manse right square dab in the middle o’ it an’ still have room for a banquet! Poor Danika’s ne’er seen such a large pantry, not ta mention the livin’ quarters what she an’ li’l Sophia’s been given. They’re a happy pair, ta be sure.”

Natasha chuckled. “I’m delighted that Danika has proven herself such an excellent cook. She’s definitely a talented addition to the staff. Our guests will soon be raving over her capabilities.”

“Elisaveta is no less talented, but she fears her labors are mainly wasted at the Taraslovs’,” Synnovea interjected as she tried to set her mind on something less troubling than her planned gambit with Tyrone Rycroft. The old servant came to the edge of the pool, prompting Synnovea to suggest, “Why don’t you visit Elisaveta this evening, Ali? She’d enjoy hearing about Danika’s good fortune. Stenka can drive you over to the Taraslovs’ and return for you later.”

“A right fine idea, me dearie, but if’n ye wouldn’t mind, I’d like ta take a peek or two o’ Colonel Rycroft afore I go, just ta see himself decked out in his finery. Why. he’s nearly the handsomest man I’ve seen since yer pa came courtin’ yer ma.”

Having already suffered much admonition because of the Englishman, Synnovea was in a mood to demur the woman’s boast. “I fear you’re exaggerating beyond your usual bent, Ali. The man has a nice enough form, I’ll grant you, but hardly a face to turn a lady’s head.”

Natasha’s brows jutted upward in some wonderment as she contemplated her house guest. She could only wonder if the girl would find any man exceptional if she dismissed the colonel’s looks so easily.

The appointed time for the guests’ arrival rapidly approached, until only a few moments remained. Natasha went downstairs to the long entrance hall, where she would greet them. When Synnovea joined her there and extended the voluminous skirts of her gown, the elder nodded in smiling approval.

“Do I pass inspection?” the maiden queried with a charming smile, turning about in a slow circle.

“Admirably!” Natasha fervently avouched. “You cannot believe how much your mother’s necklace enhances the luster of your skin. And the gown? Why, it’s simply magnificent, my dear!”

The scalloped lace of the stiff ivory collar was a smaller version of the rabato that Queen Elizabeth of England had been fond of wearing during her reign. Lightly seeded with tiny pearls, it fanned outward from the neckline much like the ornate petals of a flower, complimenting the dark blue hue of the gown and the girl’s elegantly upswept coiffure. The lace insert covering her bosom seemed quite demure at first, but upon closer inspection, the piece proved most provocative, allowing minute glimpses of the round bosom swelling above the shallow blue bodice. The necklace was a massive creation, studded with large sapphires interspersed with diamonds and adorned around the lower edge with a collection of pearl teardrops. From the elaborate setting, a much larger pearl pendant dangled coyly above the fleshly crevice.

“I fear the poor colonel will have difficulty recovering his wits after he sees you, my dear,” Natasha commented ruefully. “He’ll be as vulnerable as a bleating lamb being led to slaughter.”

“Natasha, please,” Synnovea implored. “Have done with your nagging ere I’m rent asunder.” From beneath gathered brows she peered up at the woman, sulking like a beautiful child. “The way you harp at me, a body would have reason to think you’re my mother.”

Natasha flung back her head and laughed in hearty amusement. When her mirth finally ebbed, she met the solemn green-brown eyes with a warm radiance shining within her own. “If it’s so apparent that I have a mother’s concern for you, Synnovea, can you not understand that I value your happiness above all else? Thus I must beg you to have a care for the pride of the man whom you lead into your trap tonight.”

The tinkling of tiny bells announced the arrival of a carriage before the stoop, and soon the mingled voices of several men could be heard. Synnovea managed a tremulous smile as she searched the other’s dark eyes. “I shall do whatever I can to soften the blow to Colonel Rycroft.”

Natasha inclined her regal head in acknowledgment of the other’s assurance and moved toward the entrance to greet her first guests. For the time being, the pledge would be enough to appease her apprehensions.

It was nearly a quarter turn past the hour when Tyrone Rycroft entered the foyer with his second-in-command. Captain Grigori Tverskoy. The Russian officer was dressed in a red silk kaftan and looked quite dashing. The Englishman had garbed himself according to the fashion of his homeland and wore a rich velvet doublet, knee breeches, and stockings, all of the blackest hue. The only relief from the somber color came from the white, lace-edged cuffs and wide, flat collar that had been similarly adorned. In contrast to the colorful robes of the boyars, the elegant simplicity of his clothes seemed quite sober. Even so, his appearance was no less than magnificent.

The ornately adorned vaulted ceiling looming above the staircase was well lit with chandeliers, allowing visitors to view the beauty of it as they approached Natasha, who awaited them near the arched colonnade bordering the entrance to the manse’s great room, which was itself a work of art with its intricately painted tiles, motifs, and richly paneled walls. Ali kept vigil from the second flight of stairs, and it was there that Tyrone espied her soon after his entrance. Much to the maid’s delight, he swept her a courtly bow. “You’ve made this evening brighter by your cheery smile, Ali McCabe. So far, I’ve seen none to bless my heart more.”

“Ah, but ye will, Colonel, mark me words,” she warbled cheerily and scampered up the stairs to fetch her wrap. Now that she had seen the gentleman handsomely outfitted in his best, she’d be content to leave and visit with Elisaveta in the Taraslov kitchen.

“No wonder Ali is taken with you. Colonel,” Natasha observed with a gracious smile. “With a name like Tyrone and enough charm to crumble Lord Blarney’s castle, you’ve managed to endear yourself to the woman. She’s convinced you come from Irish stock.”

“Actually, my grandmother is Irish,” Tyrone admitted with a grin. “But then, she all but raised me, for my own mother often sailed the seas with my father.”

“And what is his profession?”

“Once he plied his trade as a merchant seaman and sailed to foreign climes, but now he owns a small fleet of ships, which are used in the same commerce.”

“Not a soldier?” Natasha queried. “I would’ve thought him to be a proud cavalier like yourself. Colonel. Wherever did you gain such equestrian skills if not from your father?”

“My grandmother Meghan is very fond of horses, my lady.” A brief flash of white teeth accompanied his answer. “Shortly after I was weaned, she put me in a saddle. Even at an age of threescore, ten, and three years, she still rides for an hour or so every morning.”

“Doesn’t your grandmother object to your being in a foreign land? Wouldn’t she prefer to have you closer at hand in her advancing years?”

“Aye, but I fear there’s no help for it. At least not yet.”

Natasha’s brows lifted curiously. “The cause sounds most dire, Colonel.”

Tyrone saw no reason to deny the seriousness of the deed. “I killed a man in a duel, and since his family had both rank and power, whereas mine had only wealth, I was advised to leave the country until their tempers cooled or they could see the light of it.”

“The light of it being?” She held her breath in dread of his answer.

“’Twas a quarrel over a woman,” he murmured candidly.

“Oh.” Natasha paled considerably and managed a shaky smile to hide her concern for the innocent who was about to lead this man into a trap. “Are you prone to quarreling over women, Colonel?”

“Not usually. Countess.”

“And the lady? Is she content now to have you gone?”

“It matters no more to her, I fear. She died shortly before I left England.”

“How sad for you, Colonel. You must have loved her very much to have fought over her.”

“At one time I was thoroughly convinced that my fondness for her would endure every trial.” His lips twitched briefly in a bleak smile. “I was mistaken.”

Natasha dared no more questions, for she sensed by the brevity of his reply that the colonel wished to speak no more of the matter. A timorous smile sketched her lips as she shifted her attention to his companion. “How good of you to come this evening, Captain Tverskoy. I believe you’re acquainted with al least two other guests of mine. Naturally, when I heard you’d be here, I made certain that Prince Adolphe and his daughter, Tania, were also planning to attend. If I’m not mistaken, you and the Zherkofs come from the same province, do you not?”

The Russian brightened considerably. “Why, yes, we do. Countess. In fact, I’ve been acquainted with that particular family for a number of years, certainly well before I accepted my commission into His Majesty’s services. But please, my lady, I’d be especially honored if you’d call me by my given name, Grigori.”

“Thank you, Grigori,” she replied graciously and beseeched both men, “and, of course, you are both welcome to call me Natasha.”

“Only if you’ll address me by Tyrone, my lady,” the colonel suggested with a cajoling smile.

The countess dipped her adorned head in a consenting nod. “Of course, Tyrone.” She laid a fine-boned hand lightly upon his arm. “Would you wait here until I return? The Zherkofs are anxious to renew their acquaintance with their friend, and I promised I’d bring him over as soon as he arrived. As for you, Colonel, I’d like to formally introduce you to a young guest of mine.”

Tyrone grinned in anticipation. “I shall eagerly await your return, my lady.”

Drawing on her close friendship with Prince Adolphe Zherkof and his beautiful daughter, Natasha engaged them in conversation with the captain before making her way back to the Englishman. Accepting his proffered arm, she drew him to the food-laden tables, where Synnovea was presently assisting a pair of ancient dowagers with the service of zakuski and glasses of Amarodina .

“A moment of your time, Synnovea,” Natasha murmured and glanced aside at the officer as the younger countess excused herself from the elders. “I know the two of you have met. Colonel, but as I’ve been advised, not with proper decorum.”

Pasting a smile on her lips, Synnovea tightened her grip on her wine goblet to hide the fact that her hands were trembling as she faced the Englishman. Inwardly she could feel herself quaking in apprehension of that moment when their eyes would actually meet, and she delayed it as long as possible, sweeping her gaze upward from buckled shoes to the braid-trimmed doublet that defined the taut, lean waist and broad shoulders. Her inspection rose higher still to lips that were now totally devoid of distortion. Dazzling white teeth sparkled behind a roguish grin, and Synnovea held her breath as she forced herself to meet the startlingly beautiful blue eyes that glowed back at her. Against her will, her jaw slowly sagged.

Natasha raised a hand to introduce her guest. “Synnovea, this is Colonel Sir Tyrone Rycroft, of His Majesty’s Imperial Hussars….”

Tyrone stepped into a chivalrous bow. “It gives me sublime pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Countess Zenkovna.”

Synnovea closed her mouth abruptly and nervously plied the fan to hide her confusion. “Why, Colonel Rycroft, I would never have recognized you,” she replied breathlessly, a bit flustered by his crisply chiseled good looks. He straightened to a towering height above her, or so it seemed to her. She hadn’t remembered him being so tall. Her heart began to race, and in an unsteady, disconnected rush, she enlarged upon her statement. “You were still quite bruised the last time we met…but then, I really didn’t see you that well…I mean, with the rain and all. I was so thoroughly soaked, I didn’t give much heed to anything else.”

The glittering twinkle in the blue eyes rapidly evolved into a rakish gleam. “The last time we met, Countess, I fear we were both rather sodden, though perhaps not quite as wet as I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Oh!” Though the syllable was barely audible, Synnovea wielded the fan with disconcerted haste, heedless of the chill in the air. Indeed, she was nigh suffocating from the hot blush sweeping over her. She chanced a sidelong glance at Natasha to see what the woman might have garnered from his comment, but even after being reassured that nothing untoward had been noted by her friend, the nervous rhythm of her heart refused to slow. “Well, no matter,” she hurried to add in disarray, filling the empty space of their exchange with shaky comments. “That seems so long ago now! Weeks have flown.”

“Have they?” Tyrone’s voice was warmly hushed as his eyes plumbed the depths of hers. “I was sure it was only yesterday, but then, I relive the experience daily nightly…and every hour of my waking.”

Synnovea would have fled in whatever direction had allowed for an easy escape, but when she looked in frantic appeal to Natasha and found the woman smiling in smug satisfaction, it required no mean mental feat for her to realize their hostess was absolutely delighted by the colonel’s ability to scatter her wits and dismantle her defenses.

Gathering her sundered poise by the grit of her teeth, Synnovea tapped her fan lightly upon Tyrone’s forearm to rebuke him for his brazen reminder. “Perhaps you should give your imagination a rest. Colonel. It seems to be caught in a definite rut.”

Tyrone’s lips twitched with humor as his eyes lightly caressed her. “I assure you. Countess, my imagination ranges far afield, but usually well within the confines of the same subject.”

Synnovea struggled to subdue the fiery heat that continued to surge upward into her cheeks. She could perceive the particular quintessence of the man’s dreams if he allowed his mind to dwell on what he had already seen. No doubt she had been mauled and ravished a score or more times in his fantasies.

Whipping up her flagging will, Synnovea won a small battle with her composure and lightly stroked the fan back and forth along his arm. Had she given vent to her true feelings, she might have used the delicate apparatus in a more vengeful quest and wiped that maddening grin from his lips. A slap across the cheek was definitely what the blackguard deserved for being so forward, but it would hardly serve her purpose. “You’ve come to my rescue so often. Colonel, I fear I’ve lost count. I can only hope that you’re as kind to me in your musings. I wouldn’t want to admonish you for being coarse.”

Tyrone chuckled softly at her reproof, allowing that she had just cause to blush, for his fantasies were indeed sensual and not meant for sharing with a young innocent. “I sometimes find myself a victim of my dreams. Countess, but may I assuage your worries with a pledge of my devotion?”

“A pledge will hardly suffice,” Synnovea responded, managing to tease him with a bewitchingly winsome pout. She didn’t feel the least bit vindicated by his feeble excuse and was tempted to extract some further revenge. “I’ll need proof of your claim, Colonel, and since I haven’t seen you of late, you can probably understand how I might think you’re only toying with my affections.”

Natasha restrained the urge to roll her eyes in disbelief as she witnessed the sassy flirtation. She was now reasonably confident that the Englishman could take care of himself, but when the cannons of Synnovea’s warfare were loaded to the hilt and primed to blow the man’s heart right out of his chest, she found it difficult to remain distantly detached. Doubting her ability to curb her interference, she begged leave of the couple, fervently hoping the girl’s scheme wouldn’t result in another deadly duel.

“You’ll watch after Synnovea, won’t you, Tyrone? I promised Princess Anna that I’d keep her well guarded.” Natasha smiled as she gave a little shrug. “I just never committed myself to doing so entirely alone.”

A lopsided grin once again made an appearance, nearly bedazzling Natasha, who had seen a goodly share of handsome men in her lifetime. She just hoped that when the fray ended, this prime specimen of the male gender wouldn’t be so outdone with her young friend that he’d sail back to England on the first ship available.

“’Twill be my greatest delight to devote myself entirely to the task, Lady Natasha,” he declared magnanimously.

The woman patted his arm almost in sympathy. “Take care of yourself, Tyrone.”

He gave her a clipped nod that sufficed as a bow. “I can assure you, Lady Natasha, that I’ve tried my best to do that for most of my life.”

“Please continue,” she said encouragingly and tossed a meaningful glance toward Synnovea. Turning from the couple, she joined the pair of elderly ladies who were now giggling like adolescents as they sipped wine and reminisced on days of old.

Tyrone was fully conscious of the long-coveted gift he had just been granted. Having been restricted from Synnovea’s company until now, he found himself feasting upon her stirring beauty. “’Tis true enough that you’ve held my thoughts and dreams entangled, Synnovea,” he breathed softly. “Any man would be hard-pressed to forget what I have seen.”

Synnovea groaned inwardly at his audacious reminder. “I’m not accustomed to flaunting myself in front of men, Colonel, and I would take it much amiss if you were to speak to anyone about the incident in the bathhouse or anything else that would cause me shame, including your visit to my chambers.”

“No need to fear, Synnovea. I shall continue to guard our secrets with utmost diligence,” he averred softly.

Synnovea’s qualms were eased by his gentle pledge, allowing her to sip her wine. “I fear I’ve been much beset by worry, Colonel,” she admitted. “My mother was English, you see, and she instilled within me an aversion to bathing in public. You were my first encounter to the converse.”

The blue eyes kindled brightly. “I’m glad no other man has seen the treasures I’ve beheld.”

In all of her trips abroad and those taken within the borders of Russia, Synnovea couldn’t remember a time when she had beheld more beautiful eyes. They were definitely not the gray she had first supposed when she had glimpsed them in the forest and then later probed in the shadowed bathhouse. In the glow of the nearby candles they seemed almost an azure hue rimmed by deeper sapphire. In contrast to his warmly bronzed face, they were all the more vivid, but the same sun which had darkened his skin had also bleached his neatly clipped hair. Lighter strands capped the top of his head and streaked the darker tawny brown at his temples. The bruises and swelling were no longer in evidence, and what Synnovea now saw before her made her realize that All’s declaration could no longer be challenged. Tyrone Rycroft was an exceptionally handsome man.

Synnovea offered him a beguiling smile. “I was certain Anna had been successful in frightening you off.”

The blue eyes twinkled back at her. “She only made me more determined to impress His Majesty.”

“Pray tell me, sir, how have you fared in that endeavor?” Synnovea asked, deliberately positioning her battery of arms as she leaned forward to set her half-filled goblet upon a nearby table. A candelabra sitting atop the gleaming wooden surface cast forth the radiance of a dozen tapers, the warmly flickering flow of which pierced the scalloped white lace that lay like a hazy veil over her bosom.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Tyrone replied huskily as his gaze probed the translucent cloth. Her young breasts seemed to glow with a luster of their own and were just as tempting as he had recalled. “His Majesty has yet to grant my request.”

Though Synnovea had been admired by men in the past, this was like some potent nectar she had never sipped before, a full, heady draught that made her breasts tingle and her senses come alive. Basking in this new, indescribable awakening, she traced a slender finger around the rim of her glass, averse to curbing the titillating excitement he had awakened within her. “And what request was that, Colonel?”

“The very same that I declared to you when Princess Anna turned me away from her door—to pay court to you.” Tyrone replenished his memory with a more rewarding view into her decolletage as he bent forward to claim the goblet she caressed. When he lifted the glass and his gaze, his warmly glowing eyes delved into hers as he sipped the brew. “In truth, my lady, you’ve become my heart’s desire.”

Synnovea smoothed his lace cuff, allowing her fingers to lightly caress the back of his lean hand. “Do I dare ask how many maids you’ve sworn the same to, Colonel?”

“Ask on,” Tyrone whispered, advancing a step closer, “and I will answer ‘None.’”

“How is it that you’ve escaped the banns of marriage so long, then? I’d guess you to be of an age….”

“A score, ten, and two, my lady,” he murmured, sampling her fragrance.

“Old enough to be properly wed, then… if you’ve lent as much heed to other maids as you’ve recently bestowed upon me. Or mayhap you’ve been the one pursued and have denied any the chance to catch you.”

“I must admit that I enjoy initiating the chase, my lady.”

“Ah, then there have been other ladies whom you’ve fancied,” Synnovea gently prodded. Under his close attention, she felt as flighty as a bird in hand.

“Are there other maids as worthy of a man’s attention as you are?” Tyrone breathed warmly. “I haven’t noticed any, if they do indeed exist.”

“Are you really so intent upon courting me?”

“Aye,” he whispered without hesitation, moving forward until his thighs pressed into the fullness of her wide skirts. The smoldering blue embers touched her lips, and unwittingly Synnovea yielded their softness to his visual caress, parting them as she drew a shaky breath. She had no idea what sorcerer’s enchantment he used upon her. Beneath his lingering stare, she could almost feel his mouth moving upon hers. Much entranced, she watched again as he tasted the edge of the goblet where she had sipped.

“Ah, a most delectable brew.” He sighed above the rim. “It seems as if years have passed since I tasted its equal in your coach.”

Synnovea mentally shook herself free from the fascination of his unswerving gaze and flicked a glance about the room in an effort to subdue the delicious tumult within her. Had she quaffed several glasses of wine, she would have felt no less giddy.

All around them, guests were involved in animated conversations. It didn’t seem to matter that some were no more than a score in age, while others were three times as old; each seemed imbued with a zeal and a passion for life. Those who were more mature had certainly made the most of their lives, as well as of their fortunes, and had no need to draw succor from the adventures, accomplishments, or affairs of others. The younger ones were on their way to making their own lives noteworthy and were eager to learn from the experiences of the elders. Comfortably absent from the affair were the gossipmongers who were ravenous for any delectable tidbit.

Her companion reached past her to set the goblet on the table, causing Synnovea to catch her breath and stumble back in surprise as she felt his velvet-clad arm brush boldly across her breast. Though it might have been a chance encounter, every instinct within her denied the possibility. More disturbing was the delicious thrill that catapulted through her, searing holes in her carefully contrived facade of cool restraint.

Synnovea’s widened eyes chased upward to meet the colonel’s closely attentive regard. As she searched his visage, a tawny brow rose in challenging amusement, as if he dared her to accuse him of some dastardly crime when both of them were aware that she had intentionally teased him. For Synnovea, it was like coming up against a cold, hard reality. The Englishman was no untried youth whom she could blithely lead along with engaging words and flirtatious smiles. He knew the game far better than she and had accepted her ploy as an invitation. That realization made her question her own wisdom in selecting such a man for her gambit. When Tyrone Rycroft was able to see clearly through her subterfuge, how could she hope to successfully maneuver him into a compromising situation and still expect to remain unscathed when it was obvious he had every intention of ushering her to a fate she fervently wished to avoid?

In contrast to his audacity, her strategy seemed suddenly seriously flawed, for he was progressing with greater dispatch than she, in her naivete, could safely handle. The alacrity with which he was advancing would see her tossed upon her back and divested of her virginity before she even had a chance to reach his quarters.

“I must be excused for a moment,” she begged unsteadily, knowing she had to think this matter through once again, just to make sure she wanted to subject herself to perils that appeared much more real now. Of a surety, her courage needed bolstering if she meant to carry through with her ruse. In truth, she felt as if she had just been bombarded by a volley of cannonballs.

“May I be of some assistance, my lady?” Tyrone asked with exaggerated politeness. She seemed so distraught by his touch, he wondered if he might have mistaken her enticement. “You appear…disturbed.”

Recognizing the esprit in his wayward smile, Synnovea lifted a hand to halt his advance. She had to keep her wits well aligned or all would be lost. She didn’t need him touching or wooing her at the present moment, not when she had to escape to some haven where she could recapture some semblance of intrepidity. She shook her head and sought to step past him. “I must go.”

“Perhaps a glass of wine will help soothe you,” Tyrone suggested, deftly catching her fingers within his and bestowing a gentle kiss upon them. He was reluctant to see her leave, for he was not at all sure she’d return, and if she fled now, it appeared unlikely she’d ever allow him to see her again.

“I must go!” Synnovea gasped again, astonished by the way her fingers trembled beneath his lips. Disentangling them from his grasp, she pressed her palm against his broad chest, growing increasingly wary of being detained. “Please stand aside, Colonel.”

“Will you come back?” The tawny brow jutted upward again. “Or should I forget that we ever met?”

Though the inquiry was quietly spoken, the vulnerable disappointment in his tone pierced her heart. Pausing, she stared up at him in amazement. As she probed the depths of those translucent orbs which observed her with a shadowed reserve in return, she realized that this was no casual game for Tyrone Rycroft. He was serious about having her for his own.

Synnovea’s panic began to ebb as she recognized his dedication to winning her. How could a man force a woman to yield to his ardent bent when he seemed so sensitive to the possibility of losing her? A tentative smile curved her lips as she traced a trembling finger along the silk cording that trimmed his doublet. “I need a few moments to myself, Colonel, that is all, but I’ll be back. That much I promise you,” she vowed in a hushed voice. “Will you wait for me?”

“As long as it takes,” Tyrone replied, gathering her slender fingers within his again and bending over them.

His kisses lingered warmly upon her skin, evoking feelings that she could not fully explain, an incredibly stirring experience that flooded her heart with tenderness and a strange sense of joy. She felt as if she were melting inside and leaned toward him, brushing her fingers almost lovingly over his closely cropped hair, When he straightened to search her face, she drew back, a blush suffusing her cheeks. Synnovea dared not test the strength of her voice, and with an inarticulate murmur, she left him staring after her in some bemusement as she fled across the hall.

Ali’s absence allowed Synnovea the solitude she desper ately needed to find in her bedchambers. Though she sought to bring some clarity to her thoughts, she paced about like a caged animal, finding no rational solution for what she was experiencing. If by his mere presence the colonel could suffuse her being with feelings that closely resembled a gentle regard and then, in the next moment, send her senses reeling giddily out of control, a definite chasm existed between what he had awakened within her and the apathy she had felt toward her betrothed. It only affirmed what she had known all along: she’d never be content with Vladimir as her husband.

Pushing open a window, Synnovea leaned back against the frame and gazed out upon the starlit sky. She needed the bracing chill of the night air to clear her mind and to cool her skin after the heat of Tyrone’s kisses. Yet, as the moon came out from behind a cloud, a movement across the thoroughfare drew her attention. Shading her eyes against the flickering radiance of the candles burning in her room, she peered intently through the lantern-lit darkness until two shadowy figures standing side by side became discernible. It was a moment before she recognized the shorter one as Prince Aleksei. She could only assume his hulking companion was one of the rogues he had hired to watch her, but she found that one’s appearance oddly troubling. Though the man’s head was covered with a karakul similar to those worn by Mongolians in bygone years, his powerful frame seemed hauntingly familiar.

Aleksei swaggered forward with unmeasured confidence and settled his hands on his narrow hips. Assured of her undivided attention, he threw back his head and roared his mirth to the night sky. Synnovea stiffened, feeling scalded by the mocking sound. He was laughing at her, scorning whatever hopes she had of escaping him.

Of a sudden, Synnovea regained her fortitude with an intensity that would have shocked the prince had he known he had been instrumental in perfecting it. Like a full-blown temptress, she addressed her attention to her appearance, preparing it for a more thorough siege. Resolved to show no clemency lest she find herself wedded and bedded forthwith, she readjusted her laces, cinching her slender waist tighter while loosening her bodice to a more tempting degree. No matter the extent of Tyrone’s experience with the fairer gender, she was now committed to setting him back upon his heels with a more impassioned courtship. And if Natasha’s warnings about the hazards of pushing a man beyond his limits were correct, then Synnovea silently vowed to make him fairly quake with frustration until he felt compelled to fly to his apartments with her.

Synnovea examined the results of her revamping both fore and aft in the tall looking glass and pronounced herself fit and trim. Surely no seaworthy galleon had ever been outfitted for battle with the same equipage and weapons she possessed within her cache, but this fine vessel of womanly softness was rigged for a most unusual contest, the entrapment and studied rebuff of no pompous youth, but a man well versed in the art of seduction.

Synnovea descended the stairs with measured tread as her gaze slipped past the colonnades into the great hall. The candles had been snuffed around the outer perimeter of the room, lending emphasis to a flaming wreath of tapers that encircled a blind balladeer recounting a tale of a princely warrior and a beautiful maiden. The guests were enthralled by the poetic lilt of his voice and seemed to hang on every word as the man wove his magic.

Tyrone Rycroft proved the singular exception. He had joined several men in the great hall, but by the swiftness with which his eyes reached her, Synnovea could believe he had been watching eagerly for her return. He promptly excused himself from his companions and seemed to move through the guests with only one purpose in mind, for his eyes never strayed from her. When he entered the vaulted alcove enclosing the stairs, those deeply hued orbs measured every detail of her, much like an avid collector of art might assess a treasured piece. Synnovea had no difficulty recalling that he had seen and perhaps even understood things about her that no one else ever would. When his eyes touched her hair, she knew he had seen the glory of it tumbling down her naked back. When his gaze dipped to her bosom, it was as if he but brought to mind the sight of those pale spheres glistening wetly in the warm glow of the lanterns. Even when his perusal swept down the length of her skirts, he seemed to probe the fullness for some hint of the sleek limbs that he had once viewed.

Synnovea shivered at the wealth of emotions his slow, meticulous inspection elicited. Upon halting on the last step, she tried to snatch her mind free from the slavery of her thoughts, yet the impressions remained, merging with memories of their first encounter, when he had lifted her from the murky depths of the dark waters and she had clung to his manly form. Her breasts almost ached with a vivid reminder of that moment when she had been caught against his steely hard chest. In her mind’s eye she could see the fascinating play of muscles across his wide shoulders, the rippling sinews along his ribs, and the taut, flat belly, so briefly glimpsed and yet keenly defined in her mind, with its tracing of hair that mentally led her eye downward to the pure manly heat of him.

Synnovea took a deep breath and released it in a long, shuddering sigh, strangely excited by the wantonness she was experiencing and would have to surreptitiously convey, yet fearful of tempting this man beyond the threshold through which she’d find no easy retreat. Dragging her mettle up the full length of her spine, she sought to demonstrate a serenity that one might expect of a maiden sheathed in ice, yet inwardly she trembled with the danger of being caught in the vortex of her own growing involvement in this game of enticement.

As he halted before her, Synnovea could do naught but submit to the flame burning in those darkly translucent orbs. He slipped a hand behind her waist, and her breath nigh halted. Delicious shivers rippled up her spine as his lean fingers lightly strummed the laces at the back of her bodice.

“You’re even more beautiful than when you left a cen tury ago,” Tyrone breathed, leaning provocatively near to indulge himself in her heady fragrance. “Or is it that I’ve forgotten the details in so long a time?”

Synnovea flicked a glance upward through silken lashes. Even with the added height of the step, she still had to look up to meet his gaze. “I’ve never met a man so perceptive in the mores of a woman that he can readily detect the repairs she has made to her appearance,” she murmured silkily. “Am I to be faulted for wanting to look my best for you?”

Her heart quickened as his long fingers paused on the laces, as if he toyed with the idea of testing the security of the knot that held the cords in place. Had they been in a private place, he might well have tried.

“Can any man fault perfection?” Tyrone’s smile was engaging, commanding her stare. “Truly, Synnovea, you have my undivided attention. I only wish we were alone so I could prove how genuinely I covet your companionship.”

Sensing the effectiveness of her subterfuge but recognizing her own vulnerability to his charm, Synnovea struggled to slow the crazy, staccato beat of her heart. “Should I imagine that you wish to take me to your quarters, Colonel?”

He brushed his lips against her hair as his hand ascended to a place between her shoulder blades and pressed her forward until her breasts were lightly thrust against his chest. “Though I dare not hope that you’d bestow such favor upon me, I must confess ’tis my most fervent desire, my beauty. The merest thought of being alone with you takes my breath away, for I cannot forget the bliss of our encounter in the pool and do fervently wish that such a meeting may be repeated.”

In spite of the queer knots in her stomach, Synnovea struggled to feel some victory, but the hand she braced against the solid rampart of his chest trembled noticeably. Even the subtle hint of his cologne caused a curious headiness, not unlike some strong intoxicant capable of sapping the strength from her limbs and stripping away the last vestiges of her womanly will. It would have been so easy to lean into him and appease a quickening desire. Yet Synnovea pushed away from that stalwart physique, deeming the distance between them safer for her own racing heart. “I think I should be cautious of such an event, sir,” she murmured with more truth than coyness. “You allowed me to escape unscathed once, but I shouldn’t think you’d be as generous a second time.”

“’Tis extremely doubtful that I’d be able to display such control again.” He grinned with an allure that was becoming familiar to her. “Still, if such an occasion were repeated, I would hope that you’d at least consider calling me by my given name. After all we’ve been through together, Synnovea, wouldn’t it seem appropriate? Is it so difficult for you to call me Tyrone? Or, if you’d prefer, Ty or Tyre. The latter is the name my grandmother calls me.”

“Ty…Tyre…Tyrone.” Synnovea tested the names as if sampling a luscious fruit. “Until I know you better, I think Tyrone must suffice. In truth, we’re barely acquainted.”

“The name sounds as delectable as honeyed mead when your lips sweeten it.” His eyes tarried hungrily on her mouth, making her breath waver. “When I remember the sweet tidbits I’ve stolen from them, I’m beset with an unquenchable longing to kiss you in a way that would convince you of my desire for you, yet I would also enjoy teaching you how to respond.”

A deeper color flooded into Synnovea’s cheeks, evidencing her chagrin. Though it wasn’t considered proper for a young maid to be conversant in the art of kissing, she was reluctant to have him think her an awkward chit when he compared her to all the other women he had kissed. “Do I need instruction?”

Tyrone’s lips curved with amusement. “I’d be jealous if you didn’t.”

Synnovea met his smiling regard with wide, searching eyes. “Should I be jealous of all the women who’ve taught you?”

“You needn’t be, my sweet,” he assured her. “Since our first meeting, I’ve been your absolute slave.”

“I wonder whose slave you truly are, Tyrone,” she countered, arching a winged brow dubiously, not at all convinced of his sincerity, “If mine, as you claim, then I’ve not seen you much of late.”

In an attitude of sincere regret. Tyrone pressed a hand to his breast. “A complaint you must take up with the tsar, since it has been his pleasure I’ve been serving. Yet, even while gratifying his desires, you’ve been on my mind.”

“I’ve heard rumors, and I have no real assurance of your claims,” she needled winsomely.

Sagaciously Tyrone turned the subject elsewhere, sensing her growing curiosity about the other women he had courted in his life. “Though I’d prefer to keep your beauty well hidden from every male eye but mine, sweetest Synnovea, I must introduce you to a close friend.”

He took her elbow, lending her assistance from the last step, and drew her arm through his before escorting her into the great hall. Once there, he motioned to the young Russian whom Synnovea had seen enter with him. That one stood near the far wall with Natasha’s frequent escort, Prince Adolphe, and his daughter, but at Tyrone’s summons, he promptly excused himself from his companions. He joined them as they returned to the vaulted alcove.

“May I present my second-in-command, Captain Grigori Tverskoy,” Tyrone said in a quietly subdued voice so as not to intrude upon the balladeer’s verse. “Grigori, this is the Countess Synnovea Zenkovna.”

The handsome Russian stepped into a decorous bow. “’Tis indeed an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Countess,” he replied graciously in English for the benefit of his superior. “You probably don’t recognize me, since you were occupied with Ladislaus at the time, but I was fortunate enough to be among those who came to the assis tance of your entourage after your coach was hailed by outlaws. Of course, the tribute belongs solely to Colonel Rycroft, who ordered our detachment to search out the cause for the gunshots we heard.”

“I’m grateful for your participation, Captain,” Synnovea replied graciously, “and, of course, to your commander for his attention to duty.”

Grigori tossed a grin toward his superior. “If you’re not aware of it, my lady, Colonel Rycroft has derived enormous delight in having been the one to accomplish your rescue. Although he performed nearly the same service for several boyarinas when they were accosted by ruffians at a coach station only a few days before your attack, the colonel fervently denied his availability when they invited him to meet their father upon our return to Moscow,”

Tyrone lifted a challenging brow toward the man and, with a wayward grin of his own, applied some good-natured needling in reverse as he directed his comments aside to Synnovea, “Among the sisters, there was one in particular who found it difficult to get through doorways, yet she was eager to win Grigori for her spouse. To save himself, he hid in the smokehouse until she finally gave up her search and departed with her kin.”

“Much to my relief,” the captain admitted with an amiable chortle.

Tyrone noticed Princess Tania timidly eyeing them from the great room. “I perceive there’s yet another lady wistfully pining for your attention, my friend. You do seem to have a flair for enchanting sweet, young damsels.”

Grigori cast a glance askance, and his smile broadened when his gaze lit on the one who stared back at him with more than a hint of longing in her eyes. He promptly faced his commander. “Since we’ll be at liberty on the morrow, Colonel, I’ve agreed to accept Prince Adolphe’s invitation to spend the evening at his home. I’ll be journeying with them in their coach, so you’ll have the hired livery to yourself this evening.”

Tyrone stared after his friend, considering his haste to return to the girl. “It seems the princess has endeared herself to Grigori far better than most,” he said, glancing down at Synnovea. “Otherwise he’d be running to the stable to hide.”

“Should I take heart that you’re here with me and not hiding out somewhere, Colonel?”

Tyrone faced her with eyes gleaming above a tantalizing smile. “Were I you, Synnovea, I’d consider myself the one being pursued. If I must make it any plainer…I’m quite ravenous to claim you for my lady.”

Synnovea felt his lean ringers entwining hers and was amazed at how swiftly her senses began racing. Still, she teasingly demurred his assertion. “Simple words are hardly enough to validate your claims, sir.”

Tyrone laid a hand possessively upon the small of her back and pressed her forward again, making her breath halt as he leaned near her ear. “Must you still be given proof after all my efforts to see you, my lady?” he queried warmly. “That would indeed demand a more private place than I’ve seen here. If you’d be willing to accompany me, I shall address that issue without delay.”

Tyrone drew her along with him as he crossed the great hall and entered an enclosed veranda where several doors stood open to the garden. The fragrance of late-blooming shrubs wafted inward on cooling breezes, but the chill that went through Synnovea had nothing to do with the zephyrs. A sudden nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach had made her recall Natasha’s dire warnings about the man. Tyrone was no milksopping suitor who could be led along with teasing smiles and coy glances toward an unspoken promise of carnal fulfillment and then be held at bay with feeble excuses. So why was she ignoring all the warning signs and blindly taking her virtue and possibly her life in her hands by deluding a man who truly, deeply wanted her?

Tyrone gathered her shaking fingers within his and, pulling her near, brushed his lips across her brow in a caress as light as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. His gentleness was unexpected, and whatever threat Synnovea had momentarily imagined he might pose in this gambit of hers faded from conscious thought as she enjoyed the moment. A sigh wafted from her as she relaxed in his arms, and she felt no need to be wary of what would follow.

Tyrone glanced around when another couple came to stand near the door through which they had just escaped. The pair’s presence hindered the privacy he fervently coveted with Synnovea, and in some frustration he caught her fingers within his and drew her into the shadowy depths of the porch. When he faced her, his gaze caressed her dimly lit face and paused almost hungrily upon her soft mouth before venturing downward into her bodice.

“Are you so starved for companionship that you must consume me for your sup, Tyrone?” she queried in a faint, tremulous whisper.

“’Twas my hope that we could be alone,” he murmured huskily. “Until we find such a place, I must feast upon your comeliness the only way I can.”

Rising to her toes, Synnovea pressed her lips near his ear, hoping he wouldn’t detect the quaver in her voice as she breathed, “Have you seen the garden? ’Tis a rare sight even at night.”

She smiled up at him invitingly as she stepped back, and like a gracefully floating wraith, she turned and glided as if on silken wings into the enclosed garden. A bright moon cast its silvery light through the lofty canopy of a huge tree, and it was there she waited, seeming as cool and serene as a high priestess of Roman hierarchy. It was merely a guise, for under that tranquil facade, Synnovea felt as anxious as a new bride awaiting the approach of her groom. Unable to predict what the next moments would bring, she felt as if she were opening a door to an unknown world.

Tyrone paused long enough to assure himself that Natasha hadn’t seen the girl leave. Their hostess was standing beside Adolphe and several others who had drawn near the storyteller. They stood with their backs to the door, listening intently to his tale, lending Tyrone some hope that he and Synnovea would remain undisturbed, at least until it ended.

He followed slowly, searching for some hint of the area in which Synnovea had hidden herself, peering into shadows, probing for the moonlit path that she might have taken. Then he glimpsed a bejeweled necklace twinkling in the mottled light filtering downward through the rustling leaves of a tall tree and advanced with more purposeful strides. When he hailed before Synnovea, a shaky smile curved her lips. For a split moment he perused the beautiful, uplifted face and the dark eyes that seemed to mirror his own yearnings. Then he caught her hard against him until her breasts ached from the sheer pleasure of his unrelenting embrace. In the next phase of a heartbeat, his parting lips plummeted downward, seizing hers with a wild, frenzied passion.

Synnovea was too surprised by his ferocity and the bold intrusion of his tongue to know how to set aright her spinning world. Her feeble grasp on reality seemed to slip through her fingers as artfully devised tactics were sundered beneath the sweet, brutal onslaught of his kiss.

They came apart with a gasp, panting as if they had raced with abandon across the steppes. Synnovea turned her face aside, struggling to halt the careening flight of the earthbound sphere wherein she had been caught, but her suitor was intent upon savoring every minute detail of her. His mouth traveled downward, pressing warm, sultry kisses along her silken throat. Caught up in the bliss that he evoked, she yielded the ivory column to his fancy, unable to find any strength within her limbs. In her reeling world, he had become the only stable core to which she could cling.

Tyrone was hardly content with a mere sip, not when he was nigh famished for the full draught. Tiny specks of moonlight illumined the silken skin beneath the costly white lace, and the strengthening temptation to test the true depth of the lady’s involvement goaded him onward. The weighty necklace proved but a meager obstacle to be bridged, for in the next instant he was pressing parted lips against the swelling ripeness above her gown.

Synnovea caught her breath, jolted by the swiftness of his daring advance. His boldness vividly expressed his manly cravings, yet her trembling disquiet was not entirely due to the abashed modesty of an innocent maid. Rather, it was the flaring flash of ecstasy catapulting through her that left her feeling closely akin to a ship that had just been bombarded. No well-aimed broadside could have blown apart her composure quite so effortlessly.

Steeling herself against a strong inner urge to abscond with her virtue intact, Synnovea persevered through another deliciously titillating experience as his warm mouth traced to the edge of her gown. After all, she reasoned with a growing reluctance to interfere, it was nothing more than a light caress, hardly harmful to anything but her reserve. Even so, she laid a cautious hand upon his chest, availing herself of the opportunity to claim her escape should the need arise.

Tyrone had traversed the road of conquest long enough to know by heart the rules of the game. It was basically the same whether he was in a bed with a woman or on a field of battle facing an enemy. When no resistance was in evidence, he could assume with some degree of confidence that his opponent was acceptable to the idea of surrender. He was just as eager now to regard his companion’s reticence as submission. Still, he was one to move with caution until reasonably assured of his position. As a soldier, he clearly understood the wisdom of applying the strategy of retreat to confound the opponent.

His open mouth returned to ensnare her lips in an insatiable quest to win her eager response. He mentally sighed over his success as her slender fingers threaded through the short hair at his nape. Their lips were forged with fiery intensity, and Tyrone drank his fill, slanting his open mouth across hers and plumbing the honeyed depths with a flaming brand. A soft, fluttering sigh of pleasure wafted from Synnovea’s lips when his mouth slipped downward again, leaving hers throbbing for want of more. He tasted again the fragrant dew of her silken throat and ventured slowly past the hollow in her throat, on toward softer, more tantalizing ground.

Synnovea’s head tipped backward as she gave herself over entirely to the bliss of his sultry kisses, but she was hardly prepared for the devastating salvo he was about to launch as he swept her bodice downward beneath a creamy breast, baring its soft peak to the night air and to the branding heat of his tongue.

“No, you mustn’t!” Her shocked gasp was a desperate whisper as her daunted propriety rallied in full strength. “What you’re doing isn’t proper!” The heat of a blush suffused her, warming her almost as much as the jolting fires that leapt through her senses when he took her nipple into his mouth. Feeling consumed by the moist, fiery torch that swept over the sensitive pinnacle, she strained away.

“Lovely Synnovea, do you not ken how much I want you?” he rasped hoarsely, holding her easily with an arm clamped around her narrow waist, “I’m a man sorely beset by a goading desire to make you my own. Yield to me, sweet love.”

Synnovea caught her breath at the intensifying jolts of pleasure that shot through her senses as he greedily devoured the silken orb. Until now, she had never imagined that such wildly wanton sensations were possible. She was just as much a stranger to the liquid fire spreading upward from her loins, awakening a strange, burning hunger within her that seemed to set her whole being ablaze with desire. The persuasive titillation of his mouth and tongue blunted her will to resist, and though she relished each blissful stroke that strummed across the gutstrings of her being, she strove desperately to gather the scattered fragments of her wits.

Tyrone bent and swept Synnovea up into his arms. Though he had been reluctant to take his ease of her without first securing some private haven for the patient nurtur ing of her pleasure, his passions were soaring well beyond the point of caution. It didn’t matter so much now that he couldn’t hold her naked in his arms. A shadowed spot would serve his mounting lusts, and if it had to be done while they were both still fully clothed, it wouldn’t be the first time he had fought the voluminous skirts of some rich creation to take his ease.

Some shred of reason awakened Synnovea. His aim was all too obvious; he intended to claim her virginity, and as yet, she was doing nothing to deter him from his goal. A bit overwhelmed by her own vulnerability, she slipped her arms around his neck and gently pressed her brow against his temple. “Please, Tyrone,” she whispered pleadingly, “give me a moment to catch my breath.”

“I need you, Synnovea,” he rasped in a hoarse whisper.

“These gardens aren’t private enough to protect us from being caught. Natasha would quickly come to rue the day she asked you here. If you would have it so, Tyrone, I’ll go with you to your quarters.”

He drew back to search her face in the dimly speckled light. The hungering ache in his loins had now manifested itself into a throbbing density, and he felt driven to assuage his cravings ere the tormenting agony rent him asunder. When he considered the delay and the chances of her abandoning him, he knew he didn’t have the patience to endure another lengthy wait.

“My quarters are so far away, Synnovea.” His softly rasped appeal could hardly convey the turmoil roiling within him, for she was ignorant of the goading desires that could wreak havoc with a man. Only when she yearned for the same release would she understand. His mouth parted as it swept downward again over the ivory fullness, and with a greed he hoped she could not long withstand, he caressed the sweet ambrosia of her sweet flesh, nearly splintering her reserve.

For one long, delicious moment, Synnovea forgot everything but the ecstasy of being devoured by his hotly consuming hunger, but the sudden reminder of Aleksei’s ridiculing laughter served to strengthen her resolve. “Would you instruct a virgin in so open a place?” she breathed shakily near his ear. “Where we could be discovered by anyone who happened upon us?”

Disinclined though he was to delay the moment of their union, Tyrone struggled to curb his hard-pressing needs. She was right, of course. This garden was no treasured place where lovers could leisurely feast upon their passion. She deserved much more than this, if only because he desired her more than any woman he had ever known, including Angelina. He had displayed care and patience with his virgin bride years ago. The very least he could do with this maid was to pamper her with the same consideration.

“Waiting will test me sorely, Synnovea, but if that is your wish, then I can only acquiesce.” He kissed her passionately and then removed his arm from beneath her knees, letting her feet slide between his to the ground. In pained forbearance he watched as she straightened her clothing. “Will you come with me now?” he queried. “My hired coach is waiting in front.”

“Only a few moments more I would beg, Tyrone,” Synnovea whispered unsteadily, unable to ignore the hotly flaming craving he had kindled deep within her. “If you wait here, I’ll return to you as soon as I’ve changed my gown and fetched a cloak.”

“Surely there’s no need for that, Synnovea,” Tyrone argued, anxious to accomplish the union and ease his lusts. “I’ll keep you warm, and your gown will be of little consequence once we reach my quarters.”

Synnovea pinkened at the full import of his insinuation. The idea of her garments being stripped away brought back bold reminders of their meeting in the bathhouse. The possibility of being confronted by his male nudity almost made her demur the coach ride to his quarters, for she knew the sight of such manly magnificence would likely lead to her doom. It was her own weakening will that concerned her. Yet if she fled from him now, she’d be throwing away her only chance to thwart Aleksei’s plans. Her whisper waned in strength as she feebly offered an excuse. “I would prefer to prepare myself for you.”

Tyrone understood all too well her womanly petition. It was her right to come to him when she was ready to receive him. “Another kiss before you go.” He slipped his arms around her. “It must last me.”

Synnovea met his parting lips with her own and, gleaning from her meager experience, slid her tongue provocatively into his mouth. Somewhat abashed by her forwardness, she braced her hands upon his chest and sought to leave him, but the gentle enticement had been enough to awaken a desire within Tyrone to prolong the kiss. A long moment passed before he released her, but this time Synnovea was averse to leaving his embrace.

“Another,” she pleaded breathlessly.

Tyrone lifted her up hard against him, allowing her to feel the thunderous beating of his heart. “We must go ere I take you here and now,” he whispered raggedly while his hand wandered down to clasp her buttock and press her to him. “’Tis difficult for a man to wait so long.”

Synnovea searched his features in the mottled light, and though the layers of her skirts prevented intimate contact, the tense frown creasing his brow clearly conveyed his urgency. “I won’t be long.”

Tyrone lowered her to her feet and almost groaned in frustration as he watched her depart. In her absence he paced to and fro, seeking to divert his thoughts and ease his plight, but he knew if she didn’t come back, it would be nigh impossible for him to endure the long ride home alone. He had never forced a woman before, but the way Synnovea held his mind entrapped, he’d be tempted to seek her out in her chambers upstairs and have his way with her upon her own bed.