Forever in Your Embrace

  “Once he plied his trade as a merchant seaman and sailed to foreign climes, but now he owns a small fleet of ships, which are used in the same commerce.”

  “Not a soldier?” Natasha queried. “I would’ve thought him to be a proud cavalier like yourself, Colonel. Wherever did you gain such equestrian skills if not from your father?”

  “My grandmother Meghan is very fond of horses, my lady.” A brief flash of white teeth accompanied his answer. “Shortly after I was weaned, she put me in a saddle. Even at an age of threescore, ten, and three years, she still rides for an hour or so every morning.”

  “Doesn’t your grandmother object to your being in a foreign land? Wouldn’t she prefer to have you closer at hand in her advancing years?”

  “Aye, but I fear there’s no help for it. At least not yet.”

  Natasha’s brows lifted curiously. “The cause sounds most dire, Colonel.”

  Tyrone saw no reason to deny the seriousness of the deed. “I killed a man in a duel, and since his family had both rank and power, whereas mine had only wealth, I was advised to leave the country until their tempers cooled or they could see the light of it.”

  “The light of it being?” She held her breath in dread of his answer.

  “ ’Twas a quarrel over a woman,” he murmured candidly.

  “Oh.” Natasha paled considerably and managed a shaky smile to hide her concern for the innocent who was about to lead this man into a trap. “Are you prone to quarreling over women, Colonel?”

  “Not usually, Countess.”

  “And the lady? Is she content now to have you gone?”

  “It matters no more to her, I fear. She died shortly before I left England.”

  “How sad for you, Colonel. You must have loved her very much to have fought over her.”

  “At one time I was thoroughly convinced that my fondness for her would endure every trial.” His lips twitched briefly in a bleak smile. “I was mistaken.”

  Natasha dared no more questions, for she sensed by the brevity of his reply that the colonel wished to speak no more of the matter. A timorous smile sketched her lips as she shifted her attention to his companion. “How good of you to come this evening, Captain Tverskoy. I believe you’re acquainted with at least two other guests of mine. Naturally, when I heard you’d be here, I made certain that Prince Adolphe and his daughter, Tania, were also planning to attend. If I’m not mistaken, you and the Zherkofs come from the same province, do you not?”

  The Russian brightened considerably. “Why, yes, we do, Countess. In fact, I’ve been acquainted with that particular family for a number of years, certainly well before I accepted my commission into His Majesty’s services. But please, my lady, I’d be especially honored if you’d call me by my given name, Grigori.”

  “Thank you, Grigori,” she replied graciously and beseeched both men, “and, of course, you are both welcome to call me Natasha.”

  “Only if you’ll address me by Tyrone, my lady,” the colonel suggested with a cajoling smile.

  The countess dipped her adorned head in a consenting nod. “Of course, Tyrone.” She laid a fine-boned hand lightly upon his arm. “Would you wait here until I return? The Zherkofs are anxious to renew their acquaintance with their friend, and I promised I’d bring him over as soon as he arrived. As for you, Colonel, I’d like to formally introduce you to a young guest of mine.”

  Tyrone grinned in anticipation. “I shall eagerly await your return, my lady.”

  Drawing on her close friendship with Prince Adolphe Zherkof and his beautiful daughter, Natasha engaged them in conversation with the captain before making her way back to the Englishman. Accepting his proffered arm, she drew him to the food-laden tables, where Synnovea was presently assisting a pair of ancient dowagers with the service of zakuski and glasses of Amarodina.

  “A moment of your time, Synnovea,” Natasha murmured and glanced aside at the officer as the younger countess excused herself from the elders. “I know the two of you have met, Colonel, but as I’ve been advised, not with proper decorum.”

  Pasting a smile on her lips, Synnovea tightened her grip on her wine goblet to hide the fact that her hands were trembling as she faced the Englishman. Inwardly she could feel herself quaking in apprehension of that moment when their eyes would actually meet, and she delayed it as long as possible, sweeping her gaze upward from buckled shoes to the braid-trimmed doublet that defined the taut, lean waist and broad shoulders. Her inspection rose higher still to lips that were now totally devoid of distortion. Dazzling white teeth sparkled behind a roguish grin, and Synnovea held her breath as she forced herself to meet the startlingly beautiful blue eyes that glowed back at her. Against her will, her jaw slowly sagged.

  Natasha raised a hand to introduce her guest. “Synnovea, this is Colonel Sir Tyrone Rycroft, of His Majesty’s Imperial Hussars….”

  Tyrone stepped into a chivalrous bow. “It gives me sublime pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Countess Zenkovna.”

  Synnovea closed her mouth abruptly and nervously plied the fan to hide her confusion. “Why, Colonel Rycroft, I would never have recognized you,” she replied breathlessly, a bit flustered by his crisply chiseled good looks. He straightened to a towering height above her, or so it seemed to her. She hadn’t remembered him being so tall. Her heart began to race, and in an unsteady, disconnected rush, she enlarged upon her statement. “You were still quite bruised the last time we met…but then, I really didn’t see you that well…I mean, with the rain and all. I was so thoroughly soaked, I didn’t give much heed to anything else.”

  The glittering twinkle in the blue eyes rapidly evolved into a rakish gleam. “The last time we met, Countess, I fear we were both rather sodden, though perhaps not quite as wet as I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you.”

  “Oh!” Though the syllable was barely audible, Synnovea wielded the fan with disconcerted haste, heedless of the chill in the air. Indeed, she was nigh suffocating from the hot blush sweeping over her. She chanced a sidelong glance at Natasha to see what the woman might have garnered from his comment, but even after being reassured that nothing untoward had been noted by her friend, the nervous rhythm of her heart refused to slow. “Well, no matter,” she hurried to add in disarray, filling the empty space of their exchange with shaky comments. “That seems so long ago now! Weeks have flown.”

  “Have they?” Tyrone’s voice was warmly hushed as his eyes plumbed the depths of hers. “I was sure it was only yesterday, but then, I relive the experience daily…nightly…and every hour of my waking.”

  Synnovea would have fled in whatever direction had allowed for an easy escape, but when she looked in frantic appeal to Natasha and found the woman smiling in smug satisfaction, it required no mean mental feat for her to realize their hostess was absolutely delighted by the colonel’s ability to scatter her wits and dismantle her defenses.

  Gathering her sundered poise by the grit of her teeth, Synnovea tapped her fan lightly upon Tyrone’s forearm to rebuke him for his brazen reminder. “Perhaps you should give your imagination a rest, Colonel. It seems to be caught in a definite rut.”

  Tyrone’s lips twitched with humor as his eyes lightly caressed her. “I assure you, Countess, my imagination ranges far afield, but usually well within the confines of the same subject.”

  Synnovea struggled to subdue the fiery heat that continued to surge upward into her cheeks. She could perceive the particular quintessence of the man’s dreams if he allowed his mind to dwell on what he had already seen. No doubt she had been mauled and ravished a score or more times in his fantasies.

  Whipping up her flagging will, Synnovea won a small battle with her composure and lightly stroked the fan back and forth along his arm. Had she given vent to her true feelings, she might have used the delicate apparatus in a more vengeful quest and wiped that maddening grin from his lips. A slap across the cheek was definitely what the blackguard deserved for being so forward, but it would hardly serve her purp
ose. “You’ve come to my rescue so often, Colonel, I fear I’ve lost count. I can only hope that you’re as kind to me in your musings. I wouldn’t want to admonish you for being coarse.”

  Tyrone chuckled softly at her reproof, allowing that she had just cause to blush, for his fantasies were indeed sensual and not meant for sharing with a young innocent. “I sometimes find myself a victim of my dreams, Countess, but may I assuage your worries with a pledge of my devotion?”

  “A pledge will hardly suffice,” Synnovea responded, managing to tease him with a bewitchingly winsome pout. She didn’t feel the least bit vindicated by his feeble excuse and was tempted to extract some further revenge. “I’ll need proof of your claim, Colonel, and since I haven’t seen you of late, you can probably understand how I might think you’re only toying with my affections.”

  Natasha restrained the urge to roll her eyes in disbelief as she witnessed the sassy flirtation. She was now reasonably confident that the Englishman could take care of himself, but when the cannons of Synnovea’s warfare were loaded to the hilt and primed to blow the man’s heart right out of his chest, she found it difficult to remain distantly detached. Doubting her ability to curb her interference, she begged leave of the couple, fervently hoping the girl’s scheme wouldn’t result in another deadly duel.

  “You’ll watch after Synnovea, won’t you, Tyrone? I promised Princess Anna that I’d keep her well guarded.” Natasha smiled as she gave a little shrug. “I just never committed myself to doing so entirely alone.”

  A lopsided grin once again made an appearance, nearly bedazzling Natasha, who had seen a goodly share of handsome men in her lifetime. She just hoped that when the fray ended, this prime specimen of the male gender wouldn’t be so outdone with her young friend that he’d sail back to England on the first ship available.

  “ ’Twill be my greatest delight to devote myself entirely to the task, Lady Natasha,” he declared magnanimously.

  The woman patted his arm almost in sympathy. “Take care of yourself, Tyrone.”

  He gave her a clipped nod that sufficed as a bow. “I can assure you, Lady Natasha, that I’ve tried my best to do that for most of my life.”

  “Please continue,” she said encouragingly and tossed a meaningful glance toward Synnovea. Turning from the couple, she joined the pair of elderly ladies who were now giggling like adolescents as they sipped wine and reminisced on days of old.

  Tyrone was fully conscious of the long-coveted gift he had just been granted. Having been restricted from Synnovea’s company until now, he found himself feasting upon her stirring beauty. “ ’Tis true enough that you’ve held my thoughts and dreams entangled, Synnovea,” he breathed softly. “Any man would be hard-pressed to forget what I have seen.”

  Synnovea groaned inwardly at his audacious reminder. “I’m not accustomed to flaunting myself in front of men, Colonel, and I would take it much amiss if you were to speak to anyone about the incident in the bathhouse or anything else that would cause me shame, including your visit to my chambers.”

  “No need to fear, Synnovea. I shall continue to guard our secrets with utmost diligence,” he averred softly.

  Synnovea’s qualms were eased by his gentle pledge, allowing her to sip her wine. “I fear I’ve been much beset by worry, Colonel,” she admitted. “My mother was English, you see, and she instilled within me an aversion to bathing in public. You were my first encounter to the converse.”

  The blue eyes kindled brightly. “I’m glad no other man has seen the treasures I’ve beheld.”

  In all of her trips abroad and those taken within the borders of Russia, Synnovea couldn’t remember a time when she had beheld more beautiful eyes. They were definitely not the gray she had first supposed when she had glimpsed them in the forest and then later probed in the shadowed bathhouse. In the glow of the nearby candles they seemed almost an azure hue rimmed by deeper sapphire. In contrast to his warmly bronzed face, they were all the more vivid, but the same sun which had darkened his skin had also bleached his neatly clipped hair. Lighter strands capped the top of his head and streaked the darker tawny brown at his temples. The bruises and swelling were no longer in evidence, and what Synnovea now saw before her made her realize that Ali’s declaration could no longer be challenged. Tyrone Rycroft was an exceptionally handsome man.

  Synnovea offered him a beguiling smile. “I was certain Anna had been successful in frightening you off.”

  The blue eyes twinkled back at her. “She only made me more determined to impress His Majesty.”

  “Pray tell me, sir, how have you fared in that endeavor?” Synnovea asked, deliberately positioning her battery of arms as she leaned forward to set her half-filled goblet upon a nearby table. A candelabra sitting atop the gleaming wooden surface cast forth the radiance of a dozen tapers, the warmly flickering flow of which pierced the scalloped white lace that lay like a hazy veil over her bosom.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Tyrone replied huskily as his gaze probed the translucent cloth. Her young breasts seemed to glow with a luster of their own and were just as tempting as he had recalled. “His Majesty has yet to grant my request.”

  Though Synnovea had been admired by men in the past, this was like some potent nectar she had never sipped before, a full, heady draught that made her breasts tingle and her senses come alive. Basking in this new, indescribable awakening, she traced a slender finger around the rim of her glass, averse to curbing the titillating excitement he had awakened within her. “And what request was that, Colonel?”

  “The very same that I declared to you when Princess Anna turned me away from her door—to pay court to you.” Tyrone replenished his memory with a more rewarding view into her decolletage as he bent forward to claim the goblet she caressed. When he lifted the glass and his gaze, his warmly glowing eyes delved into hers as he sipped the brew. “In truth, my lady, you’ve become my heart’s desire.”

  Synnovea smoothed his lace cuff, allowing her fingers to lightly caress the back of his lean hand. “Do I dare ask how many maids you’ve sworn the same to, Colonel?”

  “Ask on,” Tyrone whispered, advancing a step closer, “and I will answer ‘None.’ ”

  “How is it that you’ve escaped the banns of marriage so long, then? I’d guess you to be of an age….”

  “A score, ten, and two, my lady,” he murmured, sampling her fragrance.

  “Old enough to be properly wed, then…if you’ve lent as much heed to other maids as you’ve recently bestowed upon me. Or mayhap you’ve been the one pursued and have denied any the chance to catch you.”

  “I must admit that I enjoy initiating the chase, my lady.”

  “Ah, then there have been other ladies whom you’ve fancied,” Synnovea gently prodded. Under his close attention, she felt as flighty as a bird in hand.

  “Are there other maids as worthy of a man’s attention as you are?” Tyrone breathed warmly. “I haven’t noticed any, if they do indeed exist.”

  “Are you really so intent upon courting me?”

  “Aye,” he whispered without hesitation, moving forward until his thighs pressed into the fullness of her wide skirts. The smoldering blue embers touched her lips, and unwittingly Synnovea yielded their softness to his visual caress, parting them as she drew a shaky breath. She had no idea what sorcerer’s enchantment he used upon her. Beneath his lingering stare, she could almost feel his mouth moving upon hers. Much entranced, she watched again as he tasted the edge of the goblet where she had sipped.

  “Ah, a most delectable brew.” He sighed above the rim. “It seems as if years have passed since I tasted its equal in your coach.”

  Synnovea mentally shook herself free from the fascination of his unswerving gaze and flicked a glance about the room in an effort to subdue the delicious tumult within her. Had she quaffed several glasses of wine, she would have felt no less giddy.

  All around them, guests were involved in animated conversations. It didn’t seem to matter that some
were no more than a score in age, while others were three times as old; each seemed imbued with a zeal and a passion for life. Those who were more mature had certainly made the most of their lives, as well as of their fortunes, and had no need to draw succor from the adventures, accomplishments, or affairs of others. The younger ones were on their way to making their own lives noteworthy and were eager to learn from the experiences of the elders. Comfortably absent from the affair were the gossipmongers who were ravenous for any delectable tidbit.

  Her companion reached past her to set the goblet on the table, causing Synnovea to catch her breath and stumble back in surprise as she felt his velvet-clad arm brush boldly across her breast. Though it might have been a chance encounter, every instinct within her denied the possibility. More disturbing was the delicious thrill that catapulted through her, searing holes in her carefully contrived facade of cool restraint.

  Synnovea’s widened eyes chased upward to meet the colonel’s closely attentive regard. As she searched his visage, a tawny brow rose in challenging amusement, as if he dared her to accuse him of some dastardly crime when both of them were aware that she had intentionally teased him. For Synnovea, it was like coming up against a cold, hard reality. The Englishman was no untried youth whom she could blithely lead along with engaging words and flirtatious smiles. He knew the game far better than she and had accepted her ploy as an invitation. That realization made her question her own wisdom in selecting such a man for her gambit. When Tyrone Rycroft was able to see clearly through her subterfuge, how could she hope to successfully maneuver him into a compromising situation and still expect to remain unscathed when it was obvious he had every intention of ushering her to a fate she fervently wished to avoid?