Forever in Your Embrace (22 page)

“I never expected this,” Synnovea said forlornly. It seemed like a century had passed since she had felt such freedom, and after so many weeks without rain, she couldn’t believe that it had started this very moment.

“Stenka is nearer,” Natasha declared. “We won’t have to wait as long for him to get through.”

Synnovea cast a dubious glance upward at the dark clouds. “Yes, but it may be another hour before the path clears enough for him to get through. But then, the way the sky looks, we’ll get soaked in any case.”

“I guess our only option is to run for it.” Natasha lifted her cloak and spread it wide as a shelter for them. “We’d better leave now, before we’re caught in a downpour.”

Synnovea huddled beside Natasha under the costly tent as they left the protection of the portico. They had barely ventured forth when a heavy torrent was unleashed upon them, dispersing the crowd ahead of them. Synnovea caught sight of Jozef scampering down from the footman’s seat in his eagerness to be at the door when they arrived. Presently Stenka was leaning down from his lofty bench, talking with another man, who had halted beside the coach. As the driver lifted an arm to point, the one to whom he spoke twisted about to search the crowd for her. Though garbed in an enveloping cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, the man was unmistakable. It took no more than a glimpse of that male visage to bring Synnovea to a sudden, disconcerted halt. The dauntless Colonel Rycroft had ventured forth in search of her again.

Synnovea had no opportunity to retreat as he came at a run toward her, nor even a chance to react. Without warning, a force from behind struck her solidly against her back and sent her sprawling forward onto her hands and knees. The culprit, a huge, simple-minded lummox who had panicked after finding himself separated from those who led him, glanced down briefly as he plowed past her. In spite of the blinding torrent that washed down upon them, a group of strapping youths raced for their mounts, all but treading on the heels of the oaf. By the time they saw Synnovea, it was too late for an orderly evasion. They leapt over, around, and finally upon as one fell short of his goal and came down on her foot, startling a cry of pain from her lips.

Frantically Natasha pushed against those who came dangerously near, but her strength was far too flimsy against such stalwart forms. “Begone with you!” she railed from beneath her cloak. “Can’t you see where you’re going?”

In the next moment, a dark shape loomed over Synnovea, abruptly discouraging the progress of the youths, at the same time causing Natasha to stumble back in some awe. The cloaked form momentarily provided a protective screen around the girl before the man bent and gently lifted her to her feet.

Synnovea was keenly aware of Colonel Rycroft’s arm slipping around her waist and of his hard body pressing near, lending her both shelter and support as she took a limping step forward. A piercing pain shot through her ankle, causing her to wobble and smother a cry. In the next instant, she was being whisked off her feet by arms that were iron-thewed and completely capable, the very essence of a fantasy a maid might create for herself. Her pulse leapt rather strangely as he clasped her to him, and she slipped her arms around his stalwart neck with the same intensity that she had once employed when faced with the threat of drowning. His hat offered some protection from the pelting bombardment of rain, and she pressed her brow against his cheek, giving no regard for the impropriety of her actions. Tyrone lifted a shoulder to cradle her more securely against him and ran with long, sprinting strides toward her carriage, bearing her as easily as he would a child.

Utterly amazed by the boldness of the chivalrous man and, in no smaller degree, by Synnovea’s willingness to accept his aid, Natasha Andreyevna gaped after them for one short, astounded moment before she, too, scurried toward the coach, albeit at a much slower pace than that of the one who had spirited away her friend. Her cloak and slippers were now completely soaked, proving more of a hindrance than a benefit, thwarting her efforts to be on hand when the two reached the conveyance.

Jozef swung open the door, allowing the colonel to mount the step unrestricted by anything more than his winsome burden. After springing onto the step, Tyrone leaned inward to deposit Synnovea safely upon the seat. For the briefest time, his lips caressed her dampened cheek before wandering around to taste the soft mouth that parted in surprise. A quick intake of breath evidenced the lady’s astonishment as his tongue passed over her lips in a gently provocative manner and flicked ever so briefly into the moist cavern. For barely an instant, Synnovea bent toward him, yielding him access as she savored the taste of his mouth, but she remembered herself abruptly and pushed back against the cushion. Excruciatingly aware of the unseemliness of her actions, she turned her burning face aside.

“You shouldn’t kiss me in public!” she scolded in a whisper. “What if someone were to see us?” Though the downpour served as a protective shield around her coach, it was still daylight, and there was no accounting for what Jozef could see through the gaps between the window frames and the shades that had been lowered to keep out the rain.

“If you won’t let me visit you in private, my sweet, how else can I kiss you?” Tyrone reasoned with a teasing grin, drawing her furtive gaze. The dripping brim of his hat shaded his eyes and part of his face, but she could hardly ignore the fact that his gaze was riveted upon her mouth. Tyrone leaned toward her again, wanting more. “What man, after tasting your lips, can easily turn aside from such intoxicating nectar?”

With a gasp Synnovea pressed a hand to his chest to halt his advance. She didn’t need to be told what he intended; she could see it in his eyes. The inexplicable tumult he evoked within her was reason enough to be cautious. For the sake of her own emotions and the situation in which she had been cast, she’d be far better off avoiding the man, for she seemed wont to dismiss every rational thought and traditionally accepted behavior in his presence, as if she had no will of her own. “Nevertheless, Colonel, I must insist that you control your ardor ere you see me disgraced.”

“Halting the sun in the sky might prove an easier task, my lady,” he murmured warmly as his fingers stroked along the inside of her arm, quickening the rhythm of her heart as his lean knuckles brushed the sodden cloth adhering to her breast.

Synnovea was amazed at her own breathlessness and struggled to convey an indignation appropriate for an offended
boyarina.
“You’re too familiar in the way you handle me, sir, and if you do not desist, I shall be forced to scream.”

“Before you alert others to your cause, my lady, feel how swiftly my heart races.” He captured her hand and pressed it to his breast. “Is this the heartbeat of a frivolous suitor?”

Touching him was like being near a lightning bolt when it plunged into the ground. Synnovea could feel the force sizzling through her and every nerve standing at attention. Thoroughly unsettled by what she was experiencing, she sought to disentangle her trembling fingers from his warm grasp. “Please unhand me, Colonel,” she whispered. “You’ll have my coachmen wondering what we’re doing.”

Sensing her rising panic, Tyrone complied, yet he watched her yearningly until she had to turn her face aside from the heat his eyes conveyed. She made every effort to slide across the velvet seat, but her sodden clothes hindered her, and as she braced cautiously upon the edge of the cushion and tried to rise, he saw her wince. In growing curiosity he lifted the muddied hem, revealing an ankle that was now swollen and darkly bruised. “Why, you’ve been hurt.”

“Truly, Colonel, it’s nothing!” Synnovea insisted, blushing at his forwardness. When he sought to take her ankle within his grasp, she quickly dragged her foot away and once again saw a need to advance her escape to the far corner of the seat. “ ’Tis but a small bruise, nothing more. ’Twill heal quickly enough.”

Tyrone was thoroughly perplexed. After seeing and holding far more of her than just a shapely ankle, he couldn’t understand why she should be so abashed by his inspection. But Jozef still stood near the door, and it seemed advisable not to question the lady lest the man hear them over the deluge beating down upon the roof.

“A cold compress may help reduce the swelling,” Tyrone suggested, having dressed a variety of wounds in his years as an officer, including many of his own. “You should stay off the foot for at least a day or two, just to give it time to heal.”

“ ’Twould seem I’m indebted to you once again, Colonel.” Synnovea blinked the raindrops from her lashes and reluctantly met his unwavering regard. She could feel water trickling into the crevice between her breasts and yearned to pluck the clinging
sarafan
from her bosom, but that would hardly be seemly. She waited wide-eyed as his gaze delved into hers, having no idea what he searched for.

“Is something the matter?” Self-consciously she dragged her headdress off and wiped the dribbling moisture from her brow. “I know I must look a sight.”

“Aye, that you do, my lady,” he breathed huskily, admiring everything his eyes touched. “A sight I’ve rarely seen.”

“Do I look as horrible as that?” Synnovea asked in some chagrin, mistaking his words.

Tyrone chuckled softly. “As beautiful as that, you should ask, my lady.”

“You tease me, sir,” she chided, unable to subdue the subtle curving of her lips.

His grin was warmly cajoling. “The beating of my heart would surely affirm the truth of my words if you’d but give me your hand again.”

“I think not,” she whispered, finding little strength in her voice.

“Then accept my devotion for what it is.”

Synnovea felt a suffusing warmth eroding the barrier that she was striving hard to erect. Shoring it up proved far more difficult than she might have supposed, and she hurriedly changed the subject lest she find herself consenting to his courtship. “May we take you somewhere, Colonel?”

“There’s no need,” Tyrone declined, distracted by her beauty. “My horse is nearby.” Yet he made no effort to leave as he continued to stare at her. He was curious to know how many more aspects of her character were waiting to be glimpsed and treasured, like a collection of precious pearls on a strand. He had first seen the outraged countess clutched in the arms of her captor, then the wanton seductress taking a bath and, later, perched upon her windowsill. He had admired the winsome sprite in peasant garb, the gossamer-garbed maid in her bedchamber, and now the vulnerable young girl in need of a champion to defend her.

Though she seemed abashed by this most recent occurrence, he was crushingly aware of the strongly protective instincts that had surged within him when he had seen her in danger of being trodden upon. His reaction had been far more complex than he could rationally explain even to himself. Not so long ago he had been absolutely certain that all those softer, more vulnerable emotions a man could feel for a woman had been utterly destroyed by betrayal and deceit, and though he greatly desired to claim Synnovea as his mistress, he was not at all sure he wanted his heart entangled in a relationship that he had hitherto considered merely a rutting fever.

Tyrone mentally detached himself from his musings and chuckled as he glanced down at his own wet garb. “Neither of us is in any condition to offer comfort to the other, my lady, at least not in a way that would be proper.” If he hadn’t been thoroughly convinced that she’d turn him down flat, he would have invited her to his quarters, but he knew the foolishness of rushing her. It was far better to cool his heels and his hot blood until he could be assured of her willingness to yield him everything he desired.

Lightly touching the brim of his hat, Tyrone met the troubled eyes that watched him so intently. “Another time…Synnovea.”

Whirling, he stepped down from the footrest and immediately had to dance aside to avoid colliding with Natasha, who, beneath the shelter of her cloak, had been forging head-downward through the driving rain. His encroaching form caused her head to snap up in surprise. Just as swiftly, her jaw plummeted. Once again Natasha found herself confronting a looming height and shoulders that looked no less than immense beneath sodden rain gear. Taken aback with a fair amount of awe, she gaped up into lean features and shadowed eyes, unable to voice an intelligible greeting.

A stiff twitch of a smile accompanied Tyrone’s muttered apology. Then, tugging his hat down lower over his brow, he hunched his shoulders against the pummeling droplets and swung up onto the back of his steed. After a brief backward glance toward the coach, he rode away.

Synnovea felt as if the glow had just been taken from the day. The memory of her name being breathed in a soft caressing sigh from Tyrone’s lips filled her with a secret pleasure that made her smile, but she promptly squelched it as Jozef handed her companion into the interior.

Natasha felt definitely akin to a drowned rat as she dragged her rain-soaked skirts through the door and fell back into the seat beside her young friend. Considering her difficulty in reaching the shelter, she might have paused at least to catch her breath, but she was much more interested in learning the identity of the stranger who had rushed to the assistance of her beautiful companion. “My goodness, dear, you certainly attracted the attention of a most capable protector. He seemed quite willing to move heaven and earth to keep you from harm.”

The woman paused, noting Synnovea’s sudden and decidedly nervous preoccupation with her ankle. It wasn’t at all difficult to imagine the girl’s reluctance to discuss the incident, and Natasha deftly turned the conversation to another matter. “I’ll be most upset with you, Synnovea, if you haven’t made plans to come home with me today for a visit. You left some clothes there the last time you visited with your father, and since you don’t have to be back until later, I’d be immensely pleased if you’d stay and chat with me for as long as you dare.”