18

T yrone couldn’t even begin to think of making preparations to leave the city when he knew that Synnovea was still reeling from Nikolai’s revelation. He wouldn’t have blamed her at all if she had decided that she wanted nothing to do with him. It was the same way he had felt after she had carelessly used him. Yet he just couldn’t go away, letting her believe that he didn’t want her as his wife.

The first light of dawn streamed through the windows, bathing the chambers with a soft rosy glow. Tyrone stood beside the bed, watching his sleeping wife, unable to recall an occasion when he had ever accepted her presence casually. There had been times when he had either smoldered with desire or fumed with resentment, but whatever his reaction, his heart had been firmly ensnared and his senses completely alert to her.

He had dreamed of her again during the night and had been snatched to full awareness by the pressure of her tantalizing curves against his naked back. Snuggling up close to him was her way of seeking warmth, and no amount of reasoning convinced him that she had forgiven him and wanted him to make love to her. As often as he had taken advantage of her proximity recently, he still ached for her. Indeed, he seemed constantly caught in a rutting heat for her, like some slavering beast sniffing the air for one of its own in season.

It came as no surprise that he enjoyed being her husband. That was more than he might have said about Angelina at times. His first wife had been more like a child, ever vying for his affection or needing affirmations of his devotion in overt displays, hanging onto him when he had just wanted to sit quietly for a few moments and converse with her, or visit with his grandmother or his parents without being embarrassed or distracted by her constant attempts to kiss and hug him. Perhaps she had grown up with the idea that she could command love. Having been the only offspring, she had been pampered and overly coddled by her parents. Her incessant demands had come close to disrupting their lives, for whenever she had been forced to share his time or affection, she had later pouted and complained that he didn’t actually love her and that he cherished everyone else far more. Once she had even urged him to prove his love by lending his attention solely to her. When he had countered by promising to comply if she, in return, would give up her friends and family for him, she had vehemently refused. Grudgingly she had had to extend to him the same privilege by allowing him to visit those whom he had esteemed as kin or regarded as close companions.

It was bold in Tyrone’s mind that Synnovea was very much a woman in every sense of the word and not at all unreasonable about anyone usurping her rights and privileges as his wife. There had been only one real instance wherein her jealousy and disdain had been manifested, and that was when Aleta had sought to seize his attention, along with other things, in the doorway of their chambers. But no one in his right mind could have disputed Synnovea’s right to be offended then.

Now here he was, struggling with an overwhelming desire to awaken her and tell her how much he yearned to stay with her. Yet he held himself in check. He was a soldier; he had duties that would take him hither and yon. Perhaps he wouldn’t even come back from his planned campaign to take Ladislaus and the leaders of his miscreants prisoner, and she’d be left a widow. If he was killed, then it might be better if she thought the worst of him. Her resentment would carry her through any grief she might feel over his passing, and she’d no doubt find it easier to forget him.

Heaving a weary sigh, Tyrone moved away from the bed and finally went downstairs to bathe. After dressing, he joined Natasha in the dining hall, but by then he was no less disturbed by his inability to hide his anxiety than he had been the night before.

“You seem preoccupied this morning, Colonel,” Natasha commented, having affectionately settled on that particular form of address. In her mind, it most aptly suited him, for he was a man well accustomed to authority. Still, she suspected at times that he was totally at a loss as to how to deal with his young bride. “Is something troubling you?”

Releasing a long, pensive breath, Tyrone leaned back in his chair. “As the time for my departure approaches, I find myself reluctant to leave Synnovea. It makes me wonder if it will get any easier.”

Natasha studied him carefully. “If I allowed myself to mull over your statement, Colonel, I’d be tempted to think that you’ve fallen in love with the girl.”

Her conjecture failed to surprise Tyrone. “What am I going to do?” He made no attempt to hide his concern as he confessed, “Major Nekrasov came here yesterday to inform Synnovea that I, in a moment of inanity, had wheedled an agreement from the tsar that would have granted me an annulment upon the fulfillment of my military con tract here…if I could confirm that I had managed to withhold myself from Synnovea during our marriage.”

Natasha’s brows lifted in surprise. “Do you have hopes of accomplishing that feat, Colonel?”

He laughed shortly. “Our marriage has already been well consummated, but after Nikolai’s visit, Synnovea wants nothing more to do with me.”

“I’m sure her bruised feelings will mend in time,” the woman encouraged. “A little patience is required to see it through.”

“There lies the problem. I don’t have much time. I’ll be leaving here fairly soon, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Weeks or mayhap even months. ’Tis difficult to predict.”

“Perhaps Synnovea will consider what is wise and let you speak your piece ere you leave. ’Tis true that she can be obstinate at times, but she usually comes around when she can see a matter clearly.” Natasha laid her hand consolingly upon his as she offered him the only advice that seemed appropriate. “Go about your business as usual, Colonel, but watch for the opportunity to talk with her. Speak the truth, and don’t be reluctant to tell her that you really want her to be your wife, even after you go home to England.” The countess relaxed back in her chair and studied his troubled features. “Do you know what you’ll be doing once you return to England? Have you been able to settle your differences there?”

Tyrone lent his attention to straightening the napkin on his lap. “I have a house in London. As for the other matter, it hasn’t yet been resolved. Though my father hasn’t said as much in his letters, I fear the parents of the man I killed haven’t yet forgiven me. He was their only son. Still, I’m determined to establish my home there.” He glanced up to meet the dark eyes that rested on him. “Do you think Synnovea will be happy there…with me?”

A gentle smile touched her lips. “I think Synnovea will be happy anywhere as long as she’s with the man she loves. Actually, she has an aunt in London, her mother’s sister, who is now her only living kin. ’Twill be good for Vanessa to have the girl close at hand. Of course, I’ll miss you both dreadfully once you’re gone.”

It was Tyrone’s turn to lay a comforting hand upon the woman’s thin fingers. “You’ll be welcomed at our home any time, Natasha. Your visits would allow us the opportunity to return the favor that you’ve so graciously extended by letting us live here in your beautiful home.”

“Oh, posh!” Natasha laughed and dismissed the idea of repayment with an elegant wave of her hand. “I’ve enjoyed every moment of it and will continue to delight in your presence until you must leave. Without both of you here, I’d be a lonely old woman!”

“What?” Tyrone chuckled, doubting the possibility. “With all your friends? I find that hard to believe, Natasha.”

“Synnovea is as near to my heart as any daughter could have been,” Natasha avouched, her dark eyes growing misty with tears. “You both are like family, and although I have many good friends, there is that strong tie which binds my heart to Synnovea that none other will ever replace. Her mother was my dearest friend. She was the sister I never had, and so, my dear colonel, you’ll need to indulge me during those times I’m worn to show my motherly concern for you both.”

Tyrone grinned. “A mother-in-law by design, eh?”

“Colonel! Show some respect for your elders!” Natasha insisted as her laugher merged with his.

When the meal had been concluded, Tyrone heeded Natasha’s advice as much as he was able and rode off to work, avoiding the bedchambers where his wife was ensconced. He returned to the business of planning a foray on Ladislaus’s camp and talked in depth with Grigori and the scout, Avar, about the difficulties that could arise before finally laying out the strategy they would use. While the three of them worked with maps, drafts, and diagrams of the area where Ladislaus’s camp was located, the lower-grade soldiers took an accounting of supplies, weapons, and equipment; either stocked, repaired, or replaced what was needed and discarded what was not.

In anticipation of their departure, Tyrone allowed his men some time to do as they pleased, but with a stern warning that three days hence they would return to duty coldly sober and fully alert. They would be gone at least a fortnight, perhaps much longer, and in consideration of that lengthy separation from his wife, he also took some time off in hopes of repairing the damage that had been done in his marriage. Sensing Synnovea’s continuing reserve, he avoided telling her of his upcoming leave and the time of his departure. Of late, it had become her custom to dally overlong in the dressing room until he had drifted off to sleep, negating any likelihood of their talking or doing other things. Thus he had decided to remain reticent until he had the firebird well in hand.

Synnovea had taken care not to awaken her sleeping husband as she settled down beside him that night. She was aware that he had pushed himself throughout the day and had earned the right to rest. Despite her aloofness while he was awake, she enjoyed closely observing him while he slept. By now his hair was much longer than she had ever seen it. Straggly wisps fell onto his brow and temples, and the results left him looking as handsome as some legendary Greek god.

A chill had crept into the room, as it was wont to do late at night. Synnovea felt it seeping in and moved closer to her husband. He was lying on his side facing her, a change that had occurred with the improvement in their marital status, except that now she was bent on presenting him an ignoring back every chance she got. at least until he fell asleep. Then she could admire him to her heart’s content.

Carefully Synnovea reached out and tugged the covers up over Tyrone’s shoulder. He must have felt her movement, for his eyes opened slowly and for a moment he stared at her with only a vague awareness. Then a faint, lopsided grin traced across his lips, warming her heart more effectively than any clever argument. Some strange, indescribable joy stirred within her, making her almost catch her breath. Sliding as close to him as she dared, she laid her head on the same pillow and, with a soft, adoring gaze, caressed his face. His arm lifted and came around her, pulling her against his long form, and with a contented smile she closed her eyes, gratified to be within his embrace.

Synnovea woke late the next morning and was surprised to find that Tyrone hadn’t yet made his departure. He was presently occupied in the dressing room, and while he was ensconced there, she promptly availed herself of the opportunity to don a robe and scurry into the anteroom. After easing open the door, she slipped out and closed it gently behind her. She called for Ali and, urging the maid to hurry, hastened downstairs, fully intending to claim the bathing chamber before her husband decided he wanted a bath.

Several moments later, Synnovea was in the bathtub when she heard the door open and glanced up in some alarm to see Tyrone striding into the bathing chamber. Anxiously she motioned for Ali to fetch her a towel and folded her arms across her naked breasts as she awaited the covering.

“No need to rush, my dear,” her husband assured her as he came ambling toward her. As much as she sought to hide the delectable fullness, it overflowed the confines of her restricting embrace, allowing him a most tempting view of her bosom and a delicate pink nipple. “I have the day off and am really in no great hurry.”

“I was wondering about that,” Synnovea replied, rising behind the large towel that Ali spread in front of the tub. “You’re usually well gone by this time of the morning.”

“The men needed a couple of days off to relax before we start out after Ladislaus, and I was much in want of a good rest myself.”

“You should have told me.” After briskly toweling her self off with a smaller towel behind the makeshift screen, Synnovea quickly smoothed a lotion over her skin and then donned a robe. “We could have been better prepared.”

Tyrone smiled in satisfaction, having caught her in the kind of disarray he had been expecting. Warning her would have seen her up and garbed ere he had a chance to rise. “I saw no reason to disturb the usual rote of your day, madam. I just thought I’d come down and share your bath.”

Tyrone grinned as the tiny servant glanced around in some wonder. “Ali, will you be kind enough to fetch a bucket of hot water to warm your mistress’s bath? ’Twill suffice for my needs this morning.”

A giggle accompanied her sprite curtsy before she flew across the room to do his bidding, leaving Synnovea to face her husband alone. The silken robe had molded itself to her damp skin and presented such delightful detail that Tyrone felt his wits lagging as he devoured the sights. Ali sharpened them again when she came back and emptied a pail of water into the bathtub.

“I’d best get in while it’s hot,” Tyrone mused aloud, sweeping the kaftan over his head.

“Ali, leave us!” Synnovea bade instantly, seeing no hesitancy on his part to disrobe in front of the maid. The small woman scurried out as the garment dropped to the floor behind her, and with a grin, Tyrone settled into the warm, scented bath and idly scrubbed his chest, closely observing his wife as she flounced about and angrily berated him.

“Have you grown so accustomed to the mores of this country that you think naught of stripping yourself naked before my maid now? Why, you would have shocked poor Ali to the core! I doubt she’s ever seen a nude man!”

“Perhaps it’s time for the woman to glean some knowledge of the male form, my dear,” he rejoined teasingly. Although his wife’s robe basically hid her nakedness, it clung cloyingly to every curve and hollow it covered. The view was most titillating to a man hungering for some serious copulation.

“Ali has come threescore and two years of her life, and you now say she ought to gain some knowledge about men?” Synnovea was incredulous. “What do you think she should do? Go out and snare herself a lover at this late date?”

Tyrone casually shrugged his broad shoulders. “You never know when she might get trapped in a bathhouse with a strange man. Without proper instruction, she could drown from the shock.”

“Oh, you!” At his taunting grin, Synnovea looked around for a weapon and, choosing a bucket of icy water, christened him as no kindly priest would ever dream of doing.

Tyrone caught the full contents of the bucket in his face and, with a shocked gasp, came up out of the tub, stark naked and intent upon catching the winsome culprit. He swung one long leg over the rim and, blinking to clear his blurred vision, searched the chamber for his wife.

Synnovea was already running toward the door, having decided that it was time for her to make a hasty departure. Throwing the portal wide, she raced out, well aware of her husband’s padding footfalls rapidly following. Casting back an anxious glance, she gasped in alarm as she found him in hot pursuit. Bent on escape, she faced forward again and then came to a tottering halt, nearly colliding with Natasha. Her startled gasp was immediately followed by another as she took several awkward steps backward into the solid bulk of her dripping-wet spouse. Knowing full well that he was as bare as the day he was born, Synnovea made every effort to keep well in front of him as she forced a smile for the countess’s benefit. To say that it was pained would have been an understatement.

“I came down to visit with you,” the older woman commented with droll humor, cocking her head aslant in an effort to catch a better glimpse of the muscular flanks that Synnovea was trying so hard to hide. “But I see that you already have more than enough company to keep you engrossed for a goodly spell.”

Synnovea stepped cautiously in front of the woman’s line of vision as she gallantly sought to preserve her husband’s modesty, which, at the moment, she was sure he was seriously lacking. Lamely she stated, “You’re probably wondering why Tyrone is here.”

“Is that who it is?” the countess teased. “It’s difficult to recognize him without his uniform.” Then she spoke past the girl, directing her comments to the man. “I missed you at breakfast this morning. Colonel, but I can see you had better things to do.”

“I have the day off, Natasha, so I thought I’d take your advice. It might be the last chance I have before I leave.”

“I wish you good fortune,” she bade, and then crinkled her brows in a perplexed frown as she contemplated the way his hair hung wetly over his ears. “Did someone try to drown you, Colonel? You look a bit bedraggled.”

While Synnovea closed her eyes in painful chagrin, Tyrone settled his arms akimbo and gave the older woman a brief nod before he bestowed a condemning stare upon the top of his wife’s head. “I hope you’ll reconsider your departure now, my dear, and return with me so we can finish our discussion in a more civilized manner,” he suggested, quite willing to stand there until his wife yielded. There was already a puddle around his feet, but if she didn’t soon relent, the possibility of it growing larger did exist, for he wasn’t nearly as sensitive about his nakedness as she appeared to be.

Synnovea responded with a stiff nod, refusing to glance around. “If you wish.”

“Good!” Tyrone replied and grinned in satisfaction. “I’ll be expecting you, so don’t delay. I may completely shatter Ali’s innocence if I have to come searching for you.” With a dip of his head to Natasha, he pivoted on a bare foot and stalked back into the bathing chamber as Synnovea hurriedly retreated in an effort to hide his departing form.

Natasha’s brows twitched upward in amusement as she caught a glimpse of Tyrone’s bare backside beyond his wife’s slender frame. She couldn’t resist a museful comment. “You know, Synnovea, the more I see of the colonel, the more he reminds me of my late husband.”

Synnovea rolled her eyes heavenward and, with a mortified groan, whirled and fled back through the doorway.

Natasha waved her hand in dismissal, trying to maintain her poise, which seemed punctuated with brief lapses into laugher. “Of course, my dear,” she called after the younger woman. “Anytime.”

Synnovea slammed the door firmly behind her and stalked after Tyrone, who was sauntering toward the tub. Grinding her teeth, she demanded, “Have you no propriety?”

Settling his hands low on his hips, Tyrone faced her. “I’m not going to wrap myself up in a monk’s habit just to suit your delicate nature, madam, if that’s what you’re prattling about. Nor can you make me believe that after three marriages Natasha hasn’t seen her fair share of naked men. As for that, I’m certainly not ashamed of the fact that I am one.”

“You strut about like a proud peacock and display your possessions before every woman who happens to be near!”

“What does it matter to you? I could lay my treasures on a block and you wouldn’t care! You’d rather keep that soft sheath reserved for some other gallant’s blade the give me comfort and solace.”

Synnovea gasped, taking exception to his accusation. “That’s not true!”

“Oh?” Tyrone waved an arm eloquently in the air as he derided her denial. “Then, if not for me and not for others, madam, pray tell me the name of the one you reserve it for. Yourself? As a trophy of your departed purity?”

“Of course not!” Synnovea flounced past him in a huff and then, whirling, verbally accosted him. “At least I don’t flaunt myself around like some knavish hawk, always eager for a peck or two!”

“If I appear eager , ’tis only because I’m starved for want of that sweet succor you now barricade behind that fine belt of chastity. Though I waste away for want of you, you’ll no doubt keep the key well hidden in the coffer of your mind.”

“Would you have me serve you as a common doxy?” Synnovea came toward him, boldly provocative, with a small shrug encouraging the fall of her robe from a smooth shoulder. “That’s how you wanted me in the first place, wasn’t it? Unwed, but in your bed? Your paramour? My dear colonel, do you still sorely chafe because you were forced to speak the vows with me? I’ve heard it rumored that in a thrice of years you intend to deny that you ever spoke them and would no doubt name whatever scion you beget to be your bastard whelp.”

“I intend no such thing, madam!” Tyrone declared hotly, wrapping a towel around his hips. “If you refuse to take solace in my simple assurance, then I’ll lay in your hands documents to guarantee my name to all my heirs. Would such a deed suffice to appease your anger?”

Synnovea pondered his question aloofly. “In part, it might.”

“What else would you have from me?”

“No greater promise can bind you more than the vows we spoke. Thus it remains to be seen whether you will hold true to them or not. Only time will see the true depth of your honor.”

“Would you go with me before the tsar to hear me plead for a retraction of my request? It has already been done, but if you insist, I’ll go before him again.”

Synnovea raised her gaze to his in curious question. “Would you be willing to do such a thing?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I hadn’t been.”

“Seeing is believing.” She tossed her head like a child playing at a game. “Perhaps when such an event takes place, I might be reassured.”

“Then can we not be at peace until I leave to search out Ladislaus? Perhaps you’ll be rid of me ere the month is out, and this argument will be for naught.”

Synnovea felt her heart grow cold with dread. Anxiously she searched his face. “I would have you come back unscathed, Colonel Rycroft.”

“I’ll try my best, madam, but I can make no guarantees.” Taking up his robe, he tossed it over his shoulder and looked at her again yearningly. “I’d like to spend some time with you before I must make my departure. After this week, I may not see you again for a month or more.”

Choked by her emotions, Synnovea nodded in willing submission, but when he started toward the door, her eyes skimmed his long form worriedly. The towel was hardly sufficient clothing for her peace of mind. “Would you go upstairs like that?”

“Aye!” Tyrone answered bluntly, squelching any idea that she could persuade him otherwise.

Rather than vex him further, Synnovea acceded to his disregard for propriety and moved beside him up the flight of stairs. Upon entering their chambers, he closed the door behind them and then stepped into the dressing room. When he returned, he handed her a pair of scissors.

“ YA khaCHU paSTRICHsa .” He pronounced the syllables carefully. “ MOZHna pakaROche ZAdi .”

Pushing the curling tresses back from her cheek, she peered up at him. “Just in back? Don’t you need your hair cut on the sides, too?”

“MOZHna pakaROche pa baKAM—paZHAlusta.”

“You’re progressing very well, Colonel.”

“Bal’SHOye spaSEEbu.”

Synnovea laughed and tightened the belt of her robe. “You’re welcome.” Pointing with the scissors to a straight chair near the window, she urged. “Sit over there where the light is better.”

Tyrone complied and once again took notice of her clinging robe as she came toward him. It was hard to think of sitting still for a haircut when he had such a strong craving to take her in his arms and make love to her.

Synnovea embarked upon her task by running a comb through the tawny thatch. “Your hair is so thick you need a proper shearing.”

Tyrone cocked a brow curiously. “Have you ever done this before, madam?”

“Once or twice for my father, but he usually preferred his manservant to trim his hair.”

Tyrone looked at her askance, suddenly leery. “Was there a reason for his preference?”

Synnovea’s lips twitched as she strove hard to suppress her amusement. “None that he cared to mention, but I rather suspect that it was the loss of an ear or two which might have encouraged him to let another do it.”

Teasingly she worked the scissors near his ear, but Tyrone feigned a grimace and ducked his head, evoking her giggles. “Be careful, madam,” he urged. “I’ll need both ears to hear that scoundrel Ladislaus.”

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

“I’ll need another bath after this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you must! You must!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two of a kind,” Tyrone mused aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

“She must!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The man was assaulting my wife!”

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

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

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

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

“The tsar will hear of this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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