Forever in Your Embrace (36 page)

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 nurturing 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.

S
ynnovea paused just outside the veranda doors to collect herself. It would have been a mild assessment of her overwhelmed sensibilities to say that she felt much like a crippled frigate listing back into port. Her womanly weapons had been spiked and plundered. The sails of her self-assurance, which not so long ago had billowed wide with the winds of her fanciful ideas, now hung slack, deflated by the full import of her own naivete.

Still atremble from the lustful intensity of Tyrone’s advances, she did what she could to smooth her hair and repair her appearance, for the moment in which she would have to subject herself to the perusal of others was upon her. Confronted by the need to present a calm exterior, she struggled to subdue the turmoil roiling within her body and, upon her failure, wondered if anyone would be able to discern how deeply she had been affected by merely peering into her face.

If her entrance wasn’t challenging enough, having to face Natasha in her chambers upstairs would be tantamount to inviting defeat. It was crucial that she trade gowns with her friend, but she feared her breasts were still rosy from Tyrone’s caresses. If Natasha so much as suspected that his advances had progressed as far as they had, then Synnovea knew the game would likely be over before it even began. And where would she be but married to Vladimir?

Lifting her chin with a hard-won guise of serenity, Synnovea entered the house and cast a glance about in search of Natasha. She met the dark, radiant eyes across the width of the room and inclined her head in a slow nod before making her way to the hall. Her pace quickened on the stairs, and almost in a frantic rush, she burst into her chambers, her heart hammering from the stress of having to maintain such a farce.

Weakly Synnovea leaned against the closed door until, by slow degrees, her trembling eased to a more tolerable level. At long last she regained enough poise to approach the front windows and part the draperies. She stood before them with arms spread wide until Aleksei strode from the shadows. Then, at his mocking salute, she snatched the silken hangings closed again and indulged in a languid smile of victory.

By the time Natasha joined her, Synnovea had managed to doff her gown and clothe herself within the rich velvet folds of another creation, this one of a deep green hue which, by its simple elegance, complemented her beauty. Not being entirely of the same conviction as the older countess, she had modified the garment for the occasion, stripping away a demure inset of lined lace which once had modestly covered her bosom. The decolletage was now tempting enough to ensure that she would hold Tyrone’s attention completely ensnared until well after the two of them had reached his residence. If she had any regrets about her alterations, they were caused by a growing awareness that he needed no encouragement. In light of his unswerving ardor and her own declining reserve, a definite threat now existed that she’d no longer be a virgin by the time Aleksei arrived at the colonel’s quarters.

Having foreseen a need to preserve a reasonable facade of decorum in Natasha’s presence, Synnovea had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to hide from view any telltale blush that might have remained on her bosom. As prudently as she had guarded the secret of her first encounter with Tyrone, so she deemed it necessary to maintain her reticence about everything that had transpired between them in the garden. Otherwise the woman would refuse to help her.

Synnovea allowed Natasha to tighten the laces of her bodice and then she helped the woman out of her
sarafan.
As she did so, she recognized the soft tinkling of tiny bells that heralded the approach of her coach.

“That must be Stenka returning from the Taraslovs’. I’ve given him instructions to wait in front until he sees me come down.”

Natasha expressed her own apprehension in a worried question. “Do you actually think he can be fooled into believing that I am you?”

To blandly say that Natasha was nervous about this ruse would clearly have been an understatement, especially after she had heard from the colonel’s own lips that he had been involved in a deadly duel. He hadn’t explained how the woman he had fought over had died and that uncertainty clearly worried her for Synnovea’s sake, but Natasha knew the girl was dedicated to having this travesty accomplished. Indeed, it might do more harm than good to frighten her now with such revelations.

“There’s no reason for Stenka to suspect that you’ve come in my stead. Since we’re the same height, I rather doubt he’ll notice the difference. I’ve already told him that I wish to see the city by moonlight, so there’s no need for you to say anything. The game will certainly be lost if he recognizes your voice while Aleksei is at hand.”

“Adolphe has promised to serve as host in my absence,” Natasha informed her. “I gave him the excuse that you’re indisposed and need my attention, so he won’t be surprised by my delay in returning to the hall. As long as no one sees us depart, we should be reasonably safe. Where did you leave Tyrone?”

“He’s waiting for me in the garden. He hired a coach for this evening, so there’ll be no need for me to use yours.”