Forever in Your Embrace (65 page)

Tyrone had no idea how to repair the rift between them and feared his explanations would seem trite. Fretting over his difficult dilemma, he glanced at her often but could find no encouragement in her forbidding manner. He finally took up the conversation where he had left off. “Major Nekrasov was here.”

“You said that,” Synnovea goaded, lifting her slender nose with a lofty air as she kept her gaze fastened on the verses which she was striving hard to read.

“Is it your custom to entertain men while I’m away?” As much as he realized that he was accusing her unfairly of offenses when, in truth, it was he who should have been explaining, he just couldn’t seem to help himself. Perhaps the wine had addled him more than he had thought.

“Nikolai and I were never alone,” Synnovea informed him with unswerving chilliness. “We were in sight of everyone who passed the door—”

“Obviously the major fancies himself in love with you,” Tyrone interrupted. “Given the opportunity, he’d take you to bed. He seems most willing.”

Synnovea plopped the book facedown upon her bosom and, with a coolly disdaining stare, met her husband’s brooding gaze. “Major Nekrasov has been a good friend to me in the short span of time I’ve known him. If not for the fact that he warned His Majesty of Aleksei’s intent, you wouldn’t be here today, at least not as a whole man.”

“He seems most willing,” Tyrone reiterated with emphasis as he approached the bed. “Perhaps as much as I was.” He laughed sharply. “I was so anxious to have you that you thought nothing of using me for your little gambit. You had no qualms about letting me touch your soft breasts. Would you let him fondle what you now withhold from me?”

“I withhold nothing from you!” Synnovea sneered hotly, her aplomb disrupted by a fury that her husband had never glimpsed before. “You were the one who sought to draw the limits between us when you asked the tsar to grant you an annulment upon your return to England! After setting such boundaries between us, would you
now
have me welcome you with open arms? ’Twas your intent to leave Russia unshackled, so how can you cast the blame on me because I dare withhold myself from you tonight? What more can you expect? You want neither me
nor
the burden of this marriage. Major Nekrasov, however, is interested in having me as his wife. He overheard your gallant request and came here to ask me to marry him after you leave.”

“Did he, now?” This time Tyrone displayed a range of temper that Synnovea had never seen before. It distorted his handsome face, and before that towering wrath, she could do naught but shrink back upon her pillow in sudden fear as he leaned near. “Would he also sample your womanly softness ere he speaks the vows with you and cuckold me behind my back?” He growled at the very idea. “Be damned! ’Twill not happen to me again!”

Synnovea gasped in outrage, and her hand came forward with an angry sweep, cracking loudly against his cheek.

Tyrone’s head jerked aside with the impact of her blow. Then, with lean nostrils flaring and cheeks flexing tensely, he bent a fiery glare upon her. “Angelina pledged her troth to me in marriage, too, and then behind my back played the harlot with a despicable rake….”

The green-brown eyes widened as Synnovea stared at him in sudden horror. “Are you saying that you’re married to someone else?” Before he could answer, she scrambled across the bed and leapt to her feet on the far side. Tyrone swung around the stout post and stalked toward her. As he neared, she stumbled back against the wall and flailed the air with a clenched fist, warning him to keep his distance. A snarl of rage tore free from her throat as she bestowed an accusing glare upon him. “You deceived me! You let me think you were without a wife! And all this time, while you played the injured one, you were the one who had duped me!”

“Dammit, Synnovea, it’s not what you think!” Recognizing her panic, Tyrone tried to take her by the arms, but she pulled away and sneered at him in loathing disdain.

“Don’t touch me, you
lying lout!
”

“Listen to me, dammit!” he barked. Catching her by the shoulders, he gave her a harsh shake as he commanded her to give heed to his words. “I was married in England several years ago, but my wife died before I came here! You are quite properly the
only
wife I now have!”

The sharp, piercing ache, mingled with a disturbing sense of having been cruelly betrayed, slowly dwindled into a feeling of reprieve as Synnovea gaped up at him. It was as if her life had been given back to her, as if he had been absolutely lost to her for a time, but was safely hers again. Another memory came winging back, impelling her to carefully peruse the handsome visage so close above her own. “You’re the man you spoke about weeks ago, the husband whose wife betrayed him with another….”

A pained frown creased Tyrone’s brow. “I’m the one.” Leaving her, he made his way around the end of the bed and halted before the windows. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stared into the darkness beyond. “Even before suitors were allowed to call upon Angelina, she had men swarming about, waiting in droves to bid for her hand. She was beautiful, of course, but it didn’t hurt that her father had made provisions for an enormous dowry. Once she reached a proper age, she spent much time at court and was entertained by some of the most famous of roues. Our parents were neighbors, and I watched all of this from afar while she was growing up, thinking her naught but a child.

“She saw me out hunting one day after I had returned from a campaign. She rode over to talk with me, perhaps to show me that she had grown up since last we met. She was witty, charming, very lovely, everything a man could possibly want in a wife. She told me that even as a child, she had dreamed of becoming my wife and had set her cap to win me. Though I was amused at the time, she seemed dedicated to the idea of wearing down my resistance, until I finally proposed. I married her without considering that she might become bored with my frequent absences from home. After all, she had been fervently courted by a collection of gallant swains. You know the rest. While I was away in the third year of our marriage, she betrayed me with another man who made light of the affair when she told him that she was carrying his babe. He laughed and ridiculed her for having taken him seriously. He boasted to others of his deed and his bastard whelp that she carried within her womb. I came home and found Angelina trying to hide her condition from the world, though by then she was already well along.”

“You say nothing of love, and yet I sense that you cared for her.”

“Aye, I cared for her in a way any husband might care for his wife,” Tyrone conceded, but checked himself before adding,
But I care for you more.

“I’m your wife,” Synnovea reminded him softly. “Does that make a difference?”

“Aye.” Tyrone allowed the single word to suffice for an answer, though his heart yearned to say more. If she really knew how he was wont to treasure even her slightest smile, she’d understand how much he regretted ever mentioning the word
annulment.

“I’m truly tired, Ty,” she murmured, feeling thoroughly drained. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go to bed now…and sleep.”

“Of course,” he replied, allowing that she had had a most trying afternoon. “I yield you that request. If it would ease your mind, you need have no fear that I’ll force you against your will.”

Synnovea dipped her head in a disconcerted nod and, after regaining her place in bed, turned on her side away from him.

Tyrone heaved a sigh, feeling as if the firebird had just escaped from his hands. It seemed that they were back where they had first started in their marriage. Now it seemed that he would have to woo her and wear down her resistance.

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 contract 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 wont 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 herself 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.