Forever in Your Embrace (35 page)

“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 assistance of your entourage after your coach was halted 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 fingers 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 halted 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.