Forever in Your Embrace

  “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.

  “I’d best get in while it’s hot,” Tyrone mused aloud, sweeping the kaftan over his head.

  “Ali, leave us!” S
ynnovea 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 w
ouldn’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?”