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.
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.
11
Synnovea 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 he
r 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.