Forever in Your Embrace (66 page)

“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 than 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 spaSEEba.
”

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.