Forever in Your Embrace

  “I’m here now, madam, and I can assure you that you have my complete and undivided attention.” Stepping near, Tyrone braced a hand against the jamb above her head and leaned down to nuzzle her throat, unintentionally bearding her as he smeared a fair measure of soapy froth over the long, graceful column.

  Synnovea squealed in protest and sought to escape, but he clamped an arm around her to hold her secure. One broad hand clasped her buttock, snuggling her up against him, while his other slipped inside her robe to cup an unfettered breast, but she slapped at his wrist playfully. “If by that remark you mean to make love to me again, sir, you’ll have to get rid of that awful beard. I swear you’ve drawn blood.”

  “My apologies, madam,” Tyrone mumbled in chagrin as he stepped back. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Her eyes glowed back at him. “I know that.”

  He stepped to the washstand again and picked up the razor, but she followed and, taking it from his hand, carefully pronounced, “YA khaCHU paBRItsa. I want a shave.” She urged him to repeat the syllables as she drew him to a straight chair in the bedchamber and pressed him down upon it. Plying the sharply honed edge slowly along his cheek, she shaved away both the stubble and the lather as he eyed her warily. “YA khaCHU paBRItsa. Now repeat it.”

  “YA khaCHA paBRItsa.”

  “CHU!” She took his chin firmly in hand and, lifting it up, forced him to look into her face. “YA khaCHU paBRItsa. Say it right this time.”

  “YA khaCHU paBRItsa.”

  “Excellent!” Synnovea smiled as their gazes melded. Then she leaned forward and carefully whisked the razor over the rest of his face.

  Tyrone raised a dubious brow as she laid aside the razor and picked up a pair of scissors. She brought them threateningly near, prompting him to lean back in sudden distrust of her intentions.

  “YA khaCHU paSTRICHsa. I want a haircut,” she stated, her lips twitching puckishly as she snipped the air in front of his nose.

  “How do you say ‘I don’t want a haircut’?” he inquired dryly.

  A giggle punctuated her answer. “NYE NAda paSTRICHsa.”

  “NYE NAda paSTRICHsa,” he repeated with a grin.

  “Coward!” she accused through her laughter as she ruffled his short locks. With another playful roar, he moved forward out of the chair, dipping a shoulder and sweeping her onto it as he surged upward.

  Synnovea laughed in glee and braced her hands upon his back as she tried to right herself, but Tyrone whirled her about the room until it seemed to sway and dip around her. Upon halting, he let her body slowly slide down the length of his as his hand slipped the tie on her robe free. With a shrug of her shoulders, Synnovea banished it to the floor and sighed softly in rapturous bliss as his mouth feasted upon her bosom. The towel was tugged free, and with stunning results, her hips came to rest against his loins.

  Synnovea stared into her husband’s sharply chiseled features, feeling his throbbing excitement. The bed was conveniently near, and Tyrone moved to its edge, where he laid her back upon the mattress. His hands swept down her lithe body in a long caress until they clasped her thighs; then he gently parted them and settled into the welcoming warmth of her. Synnovea caught her breath as his loins began to caress hers, and his mouth covered hers in a heady kiss. She dug her heels into the edge of the mattress as she lifted herself to meet his leisured thrusts, and soon she was gasping and writhing. Their breathing grew harsh and ragged as the rushing spasms washed over them, sweeping them out into a sea of ecstasy where they floated detached from the world of reason and reality.

  A light rap sounded on the door, evoking a startled gasp from Synnovea, but Tyrone held her fast in a gentle embrace and, lifting his head, called out to the outer portal. “Who is it?”

  “ ’Tis Ali, master,” the maid announced through the thick wood. “I’ve brought yer victuals, but there be a messenger awaitin’ yer instructions downstairs. He says yer scout returned wit’ word that he’s found Ladislaus’s camp an’ wants ta talk wit’ ye about it. The messenger wants ta know, sir, if’n ye’d be wantin’ Avar to come here or if ye’ll be returnin’ ta camp any time today.”

  “Leave the tray beside the door, Ali,” Tyrone instructed. “Then go down and tell the messenger that I’ll ride over and speak with the scout.”

  Leaning down to Synnovea, he grinned and caressed her mouth with a most ardent kiss. “As much as I hate to leave you, my sweet, I must, but at least we’ve started the morning off in a most eventful way.” He slid his hands up to cup her breasts and drew a trembling sigh from his wife as he slowly plied a nipple with a languid caress of his tongue. “I’ll return as soon as I can. Will you wait for me?”

  “I must,” she crooned, threading her slender fingers through the hair on his chest. “You’ve lit another fire within me, and it must be quenched.”

  His loins moved against hers again, quickening her blood as well as his own. “This will never do,” Tyrone said in some amazement, feeling himself growing hot and hungry again. He kissed her again and reluctantly withdrew, shaking his head at the wonder of it. “I swear you’ve bewitched me, madam, or at least given me some strange potion to keep me always eager for you.”

  “Aye, husband o’ mine,” she warbled through silken laughter. “And I’m the only one who can ease your plight, so be warned. Lifting the skirts of other maids will do you little good.”

  “You tell me nothing new, sweet spouse. I’ve known that from the first moment you blinded my eyes to other women.”

  Synnovea gave him a pert nod. “Good! Then I command you to hurry back to me.”

  Tyrone kissed her passionately, holding nothing back, and then drew back to whisper, “I will, my sweet, just as soon as I can.”

  A short time later, Synnovea waved to him from an upper-story window where she solemnly watched his departure. It was not within her capability to describe the anguish that now weighed down her heart. She knew by the message he had just received that he’d soon be leaving her and going out in search of Ladislaus. She could not be sure what might happen or if he would even come back alive. She had no doubt that she’d be in constant fear for his safety until he returned hale and hearty from that quest.

  The darkening brumes of gloom descended much sooner than Synnovea had expected. The dreaded harbinger came in the form of Major Nekrasov, who, after passing Tyrone in the square, finally deemed the time was ripe to inform the lady of her husband’s plan to leave her. Thus it was that Nikolai presented himself at the Andreyevna manse and politely made a request to speak with the Lady Synnovea in private. He was allowed entrance and then bidden by a servant to wait in the open area of the great hall until the lady could be summoned from his mistress’s chambers. A moment later, Synnovea entered the room and came forward, graciously extending her hands to the major, who clasped them and eagerly bestowed a kiss upon her fingertips.

  “How good of you to come to see me, Nikolai,” she murmured with a smile. Indicating an oriel where they could be observed but not heard, she led the way there. “I trust you’ve been well.”

  “Well enough, my lady,” Nikolai replied, awed by her beauty. Delicately hued shards of light streamed in through the translucent mica panes, bathing her in a pale pink light. He was certain that no angel from heaven could have looked as radiant, or as appealing. “But I must confess that I’ve been much distressed by your marriage, so much so I haven’t had the heart to seek solace in the company of another woman.”

  “Oh, but you must try, Nikolai!” Synnovea encouraged. “There can never be anything between us, and it grieves me to see you saddened by my marriage to the colonel.”

  “How can you be happy with him?”

  The question startled Synnovea, and though some instinct deep within her warned her not to ask the major to explain, she stared at him in growing confusion, goading Nikolai to continue.

  “Does he treat you as a husband should?”

  “Of course,” she replied cautiously. “I’m his wife. Wh
y should he not?”

  Nikolai rushed on, fearing the Englishman had already yielded to the temptation of her beauty. “I must bare my heart, my lady, as much as it grieves me to do so. Your husband had the effrontery to ask His Imperial Majesty to grant him an annulment from your marriage ere his return to England.”

  “You must be mistaken…” Synnovea began, feeling a coldness seeping into her heart.

  “I heard him myself!” Nikolai insisted.

  “But how can that be?” she queried, her heart constricted by pain. “We’re man and wife.”

  “Has the marriage gone that far…or is it still a sham, Synnovea?” Nikolai probed with care. “Colonel Rycroft said he would hold himself from you until the time came for him to leave. Did he lie?”

  Synnovea was suspicious. “Why have you come to tell me this thing now? What is your purpose?”

  The major detected a note of irritation in her voice and rushed to allay her distrust. “I came here to pledge my loyalty should such an occurrence happen. If you’d consider accepting my proposal, I’d be honored to exchange the vows with you once your present marriage is dissolved. I’d cherish you as no man could.”

  Struggling to hold back an eruption of tears, Synnovea stiltedly faced the window. She had no idea what Tyrone meant to do now that their marriage had been solidified by their intimacy. That uncertainty evoked visions of her being left behind on the docks as he boarded a ship bound for England. Would she be carelessly discarded as a wife? Would he, after he reached his homeland, replace her with another light-o’-love and, in time, forget her?

  Casting a glance over her shoulder, she questioned in a voice fraught with emotion, “How long does my husband plan to remain here?”

  “A little over three years—until his tour of duty is fulfilled.”

  “Three years?” she repeated in a tiny voice.

  “And some months, my lady,” Nikolai added.

  “So much time betwixt now and then,” she murmured reflectively.

  “The colonel was adamant that the tsar grant his petition at that time,” the major insisted.

  “When was this?”

  “When you came to see His Majesty shortly after the colonel’s whipping, and it was announced that you and the Englishman would be wed.”

  “Colonel Rycroft was very angry, as I remember,” she rejoined in muted tones.

  A brief, scoffing laugh evidenced Nikolai’s ridicule. “Enraged would better describe the colonel’s emotional state that day, my lady.”

  “You’re saying that he was deeply outraged by the tsar’s decree that we wed?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That was to be expected, considering what I did to him,” Synnovea stated quietly. “I used him to escape marriage to Prince Vladimir, and he was brutally whipped for it. Wouldn’t you be irate if you were treated in such a fashion?”

  Nikolai preferred not to excuse the colonel for his offenses and gave no answer.

  Synnovea faced him with sorely strained pride. “Thank you for your warning, Nikolai,” she murmured graciously, “but I’m afraid I cannot promise my hand to you when no one can predict what three years and some months may bear. Perhaps you’ll fall in love with another and regret any troth you pledge to me now.”

  “Never!” the major cried emphatically.

  “Nevertheless, ’tis best to bide our time till that day Colonel Rycroft leaves for England. I wouldn’t have him think me unfaithful to the vows we exchanged until they are truly severed.”

  “You’d hold true to such oaths when you know they mean nothing to him?” Nikolai inquired in amazement.

  Synnovea met his incredulous stare with all the dignity she could muster. “There is still a lot of time for my husband to change his mind. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that possibility.”

  “But why?” Nikolai insisted, unable to understand. “Surely any other maid, upon hearing what I’ve just revealed, would be sorely offended by her husband’s plans to annul their marriage.”

  A restrained shrug preceded Synnovea’s rejoinder. “I believe the colonel spoke in the heat of anger when he begged leave to dismiss me from his life. The hurt that I had caused him wounded him more deeply than the whipping he had received.” A sad smile curved her lips as she added, “But then, I love him too much to give up the battle ere it has barely begun, Major.”

  Nikolai’s shoulders slumped suddenly in defeat. Unable to find an effective argument against her declaration, he sadly took his leave.

  He was in the process of gathering his horse’s reins from the iron hitching post when he espied the lady’s husband riding down the lane toward the manse. Though he hurried to mount and be on his way before the man reached him, his haste lent incentive to the colonel, who nudged his heels into the flanks of his own steed, sending the animal racing forward.

  “Major Nekrasov!” Tyrone nearly gnashed his teeth as he forced a smile. “What brings you here? Should I assume that you’ve come on some errand from the tsar, or have you taken leave to visit my wife in my absence? I saw you earlier in the square, and it comes to me now that you did pause and watch me pass. What should I think? Have you come on my heels again to claim a chance to have my wife for yourself?”

  Nikolai’s face reddened with ill-suppressed ire. After his disappointing meeting with Synnovea, he was in no mood to give banal excuses. “I did indeed come here to see your wife, Colonel, but what does it matter to you? Wouldn’t you be relieved to have some other man take her off your hands?”

  Tyrone snarled and, jumping off his horse, flung himself toward the other’s mount. Catching the major’s coat, he dragged him from the saddle and gave him a harsh shake. “If it’s your intent to try and take her from me, Major, then we’d better settle it right here and now. I’m tired of you going behind my back in your efforts to steal her from me.”

  Angrily Nikolai thrust the colonel away from him. “The matter has already been settled,” he stated sharply. “The lady obviously wants to believe that you won’t leave her behind when you return to England.”

  Tyrone’s brows shot up in surprise. Then he abruptly recalled that the major had been in attendance when he had finagled his foolish commitment from the tsar. He sneered at the man. “Now I understand why you came slinking here behind my back like some defeated cur. You hoped, by telling Synnovea about the commitment that I had gained from the tsar, that you could advance your own cause and console her like some infatuated swain in my absence. You didn’t care how you’d hurt her with your revelation. All you wanted was to have her for yourself. Well, Major, let me be the first to tell you that I’ve already retracted my petition from His Majesty. I’ve consummated our marriage vows, and the only way you’ll ever have her is if I’m struck down and she is widowed. In other words, I don’t have any intention of leaving my wife behind for you or any other swain when I return to England. I intend to make love to her every chance I get and keep her belly so fat with growing babes that you’ll have no chance to interfere again. Now be gone from here before I thrash you to a bloody pulp.”

  Nikolai was not one to back down in the face of threats. He retorted with a warning of his own. “If I should hear one whisper of your mistreatment of the lady, Colonel, be assured of one thing. You’ll rue the day you ever came to Russia. That much I promise you. Do I make myself clear?”

  “ ’Twill be a bloody cold day in hell ere you hear such rumors,” Tyrone growled.

  “Good!” The major nodded crisply. “Then perhaps you’ll live long enough to return to England.”

  Nikolai swung into his saddle and, reining the horse about, sent him down the road in a thunderous departure. Tyrone watched him for barely a moment. Then, with a muttered curse, he whirled and raced into the manse. Finding no evidence of his wife’s presence in the lower rooms, he leapt up the stairs to seek her out in their apartment. The door rebounded against the wall in his haste to gain the bedchamber.

  Synnovea turned from the windows with a start of surpri
se and quickly brushed at the tears streaming down her cheeks as he came toward her.

  “Major Nekrasov was here.” Tyrone spoke the obvious as he searched her face.

  “He came to see how I was faring,” Synnovea replied stiltedly. Sensing his intention to discuss the details of the man’s visit, she moved past him to the open doorway. “Natasha has delayed the meal until your return and is awaiting our presence down below.”

  Tyrone tried to curb his impatience, knowing the issue would have to be discussed at length in the privacy of their chambers. It couldn’t be aired before others. Lifting his arm in invitation, he watched his wife carefully as she, in turn, slipped a hand into the bend of his elbow.

  “You look especially beautiful tonight, Synnovea,” he murmured in an effort to break her strained silence.

  “Do I?”