Forever in Your Embrace

  A long, pleasurable sigh wafted from Synnovea’s lips as she lowered herself into the scented bath. A delightful interlude passed in which she allowed the steaming water to relax and soothe her aching muscles. After a time she began to wash and lathered soap over her shoulders and bosom before progressing to her limbs. Lifting first one and then the other, she worked the suds up along their sleek lengths until she was nigh covered with a whitish foam. Dallying at the task allowed her tensions to fade to near oblivion.

  Once her hair was washed, Synnovea leaned her head over the edge of the tub and arched her back as she rinsed away the soap with fresh water from a bucket. When she relaxed again in the tub, she leisurely dribbled the contents of a dripping sponge over her shoulders. The dispersing runnels cascaded in eager channels through the white frosting until the rounded orbs glistened wetly in the rosy firelight.

  Synnovea indulged herself in the luxury of the bath until she realized the hour was growing late. But she refused to leave until she had sampled the relaxing pleasure to be found in the pool. Bracing her hands on the rim of the tub, she pushed herself to her feet with an energetic heave, momentarily setting her breasts a-bounce. An odd sound, much like a watery gulp, came from the direction of the pool, and in deepening trepidation Synnovea carefully probed the swirling vapors hovering above the water. A movement near the steps caught her eye, and she jerked her head around with a startled gasp, only to laugh in relief as she espied a frog that squatted there.

  “You intrude, my little friend,” she laughingly scolded and tossed the contents of a bucket his way, sending him leaping away.

  Reassured that her privacy was secure, she finished rinsing herself, pouring warm water over her body and sending the lather flowing back into the tub. By now, the heat of the room was enough to have drawn a fine mist of sweat from her pores, and she left the tub, eargerly anticipating the cooler water of the pool.

  Descending the stone steps at its edge, Synnovea nearly crooned with pleasure, feeling immediately refreshed by the cool liquid into which she sank. She deemed the innkeeper especially clever to incorporate a pool of such depth inside a bathhouse, when it was most often the practice of bathers, after steaming up in heavy humidity, to scamper outside and cool themselves in a nearby stream or banks of snow, whatever the weather and location permitted. In the coldest months some would even dare the chill for such an experience. Her English mother, however, had instilled within her father the need for a private bath in their home, and throughout the years Synnovea had clung to the modesty of that custom. Whenever the occasion had warranted her making use of a public facility, Ali had always made the necessary arrangements and paid out coins to secure her solitude, while Jozef and Stenka had stood guard outside. Under the circumstances, Synnovea had been reluctant to disturb her servants, nor had she felt a need to do so, for Captain Nekrasov kept himself and his men well in line.

  Leisurely Synnovea stroked through the water, letting the thickening haze envelop her as she swam toward the far side. Her long hair flowed behind her on the surface, much like an opening fan of ebony hue, the ends becoming lost in the shadows behind her.

  Of a sudden, Synnovea gasped and recoiled in astonishment and dread as her hand made contact with something human and very manly. A wide, furry chest, to be exact! She sank abruptly in surprise until her thigh brushed against the fellow’s loins and then, in rising panic, she struggled to propel herself away from the offending nakedness. Lurching backward with as much grace as a floundering cow, she plunged below the surface and promptly came up choking and coughing. Strong hands reached out to lift her up by the arms, but she fought them off, certain she was in impending danger of being ravished.

  Having successfully escaped the helping hands, Synnovea began to sink again, this time against the man. She hardly noticed the muscular torso as her head went under the surface again, for in sudden alarm she realized she was taking in more water than even a competent fish should. This time when the man clamped an arm around her waist and drew her up, she flung both of her own about his neck and gasped for air between strangling, wrenching coughs. So great was her dismay that she gave no heed to the fact that her breasts were pressed tightly against the stalwart chest of the man or that her thighs rested intimately against his maleness. The fleshly heat he displayed failed to impact her consciousness, for she was far too anxious about drawing a normal breath.

  Her anxiety ebbed to some degree when she managed to clear the water from her nose and throat. Carefully she inhaled, sucking in deep drafts to fill her lungs. Finally it dawned on her that the man was watching her with an amused yet dubious frown. Highly indignant that he should find some humor in her predicament, she leaned back to consider him with a haughty stare, disregarding the fact that she was completely naked in his encompassing arms. Water dribbled from her hair and trickled downward across her brow into the wetly spiked lashes, leaving her vision somewhat impaired. The thick vapors lent a strange bewitchment to the moment, yet she was sure the distortion she saw in the man’s face hadn’t been conjured through her own faulty perception or hindered sight. A seer would have been needed to accurately determine if the man was even human.

  Lacking such perception, Synnovea briefly perused his badly lacerated visage. A large bump grossly elaborated the curve of his brow where the skin had been split open. The swelling extended downward into his eye, nearly closing it. His upper lip was also distended, and above this protrusion another ugly bruise darkened his cheek. Providing some evidence that his face wasn’t totally misshapen, his jaw appeared carefully hewn of granite, while his nose was shaped with a noble, aquiline leanness. Short, wetly spiked strands of hair shaded eyes that seemed of a steel-gray hue rimmed with a deeper blue. Even in the shadowed room, softer lights twinkled within the shining depths as a lopsided grin lifted the smaller corner of his lips.

  “Forgive me, Countess, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he murmured. “Nor was it my intent to cause you embarrassment. Indeed, my lady, I never in my wildest yearnings ever imagined that my bath would be interrupted by such flawless beauty. I was no less than bedazzled by the sight and reluctant to see it come to an end.”

  Synnovea scarcely noted that he had spoken to her in English, but in a heated rush, she replied in kind. “You spied upon me without making me aware of your presence,” she accused. “Simple truth, sir! Why are you here? Should I assume that your intentions are to accost me for your own evil purposes?”

  “Banish the thought, my lady. I merely came here when my duties permitted it. Several of my men needed attention. By the time I had dressed their wounds, most of the soldiers had left the bathhouse, and after the departure of the cleric, I was certain I’d be alone and was much amazed when you joined me. I fear I was momentarily confounded and struck dumb by your entrance. Then it became clear to me. Though I could see you, you were unable to see me.” He lifted wide, sleekly bulging shoulders in a casual shrug. “I fear the sight of you proved too much of a temptation for an officer in need of feminine companionship.”

  “Indeed, sir!” Synnovea fairly flung the words at him. “I can understand why you’re in want! Have you no ken that a gentleman would have informed a lady of his presence ere her disrobing?”

  His bruised lips twitched with amusement as his eyes glimmered back at her through the shadowed gloom. “Alas, Countess, I do not claim to be a saint. I greatly enjoyed the interlude and the perfection you displayed and, for the life of me, couldn’t bring myself to interrupt. Were I any less a gentleman, I’d surely take advantage of this most provocative embrace….” He settled her a bit closer as she, in some irritation, tried to push herself free again. Her thighs brushed hard against him, snatching the man’s breath and flicking a fiery brand across the fibers of his senses until he dared not move lest he lose control of his hard-won poise. With some difficulty, he drew rein on his hotly flaming passions and continued in a warm, mellow voice, stilling her struggles as his words struck home. “Since I’ve already saved yo
u from one ravishment this evening, ’twould seem I’m honor-bound to carry you to safety again.”

  “Saved me?” Synnovea’s lips pursed in a silent Oh! as it came to her just who the man was. “You mean…”

  “You left ere we could be properly introduced, my lady,” he reproved, distracted by the slick, wet feel of her soft breasts against his chest. He doubted that there had ever been such a moment in his life when he had been assaulted by such exquisite torture or when the need to maintain a ruse of imperturbable calm was absolutely crucial to his aspirations. He was certain she’d have flown his embrace posthaste had he foolishly revealed the full extent of his admiration. But then, she had to be an innocent not to be aware of his awakened passion. If not, then she was a woman well-versed in the art of tempting men and was merely being coy. “And though you are a delicious sight to behold and even more delectable to enfold, I must admonish you for your bad manners.”

  “Sir, this is hardly the time to discuss bad manners, either mine or yours! Now let me go!” Synnovea struggled briefly in the circle of his arms and was surprised when he spread his arms wide. The imminent threat of going under once again made her throw her arms about his neck and tighten her grasp. She reddened profusely beneath his deepening grin, and with a stifled groan, she dove away from him. Swimming back to the edge of the pool, she tossed a glance over her shoulder to find him stroking leisurely through the water behind her. In urgent haste, she leapt up the steps and made a flying dash across the room to fetch her robe. Shaking it out, she quickly sought its protective covering.

  Thus armored, Synnovea faced the officer as he climbed those same stone stairs. Wondering what the next moments would bring, she watched him cautiously lest she be taken by surprise. Though obviously far from handsome, the man was exceptionally well-formed. He was as tall as Ladislaus but not nearly as thick or bulky. Even so, he had a hard-muscled look about him. Recalling the agility and easy strength he had displayed battling the outlaws, she could only guess at the discipline he practiced to maintain a good fighting form. His ribs were tautly fleshed, his chest firmly muscled beneath a matting of crisp hair, his waist lean and hips narrow—

  A gasp escaped Synnovea as his loins came fully into view, and she whirled with burning cheeks, shocked to the depths of her virginal innocence. Though well traveled, she had been carefully sheltered throughout the span of her life. Even with a score of years behind her, this was her first glimpse of a completely naked man. Yet he didn’t seem the least bit abashed by the boldness that he exhibited in her presence.

  Synnovea heard his soft, chuckling laughter coming near and faced him in sudden apprehension, fearing that she’d have to fight him off. But he only fetched the robe which had been left on the bench. Careful to keep her glance brief and well-elevated, she gave him a seething glower before she jerked around again. For several moments she stood in mute silence, fuming over the fact that he hadn’t made his presence known before she had disrobed.

  “You can turn around now,” he informed her, mirth liberally imbuing his voice.

  “Then I shall make haste to leave!” she declared irately, incensed by his obvious enjoyment of a situation that, for her, had been a horrendously embarrassing experience. Tossing him another glare to convey her outrage, she began to gather up her possessions. “The very idea! Spying upon me like some sneak thief! You’re the most despicable knave I’ve met in some time!”

  “Not since this afternoon, at least,” he responded with a lopsided grin. An indolent shrug lifted his wide shoulders as he queried, “Or did you appreciate that thief’s company more than mine?”

  “Ha! I’d venture to say, sir, that Ladislaus has much to learn from you about boorish manners!” Her curiosity got the better of her, and Synnovea paused to peer up at him with narrowed eyes. “What happened to the blackguard anyway?”

  The officer emphasized his supreme displeasure with an angry snort. “The cowardly wretch fled when you raced off. And he took my horse! A most worthy steed it is, too. Believe me, I haven’t a ken which vexes me more, letting that rogue escape or losing my horse! Had I not tried to help you when his stallion reared, I might’ve been able to capture the brigand. But were you grateful? No, indeed! You gave no slightest thought to my welfare and obviously made no effort to send out any of your escort in search of me. If not for my men beating the woods for me, I’d still be out there! Believe me, Countess, I’m here with no special thanks to you!”

  Synnovea raised a dainty chin, pricked by his admonishing tone and her own condemning conscience. “You seem dreadfully rankled by your loss.”

  “And well I should be! I’ll not likely find another steed half as gifted in the field as that one!”

  “On the morrow I shall instruct Captain Nekrasov to leave you Ladislaus’s stallion,” she stated loftily. “Perhaps that will mollify you.”

  The man scoffed sharply. “Hardly! It cost me a goodly sum to have my own stallions shipped here from England….”

  “From England?” she repeated in surprise, and then realized she had overlooked the obvious. His subtly clipped speech clearly betrayed his place of origin. “You’re an Englishman?”

  “I thought it might have been apparent to one who also speaks the language!” he quipped with rampant sarcasm.

  “But you led a Russian troop…” Synnovea began, clearly bemused. Then she recalled Ladislaus’s comment about foreign cavaliers being hired to teach their fighting skills to the tsar’s troops. “You’re an English officer in His Majesty’s service?”

  Though he wore nothing more dashing than a long robe, the man gave her a debonair bow, a gesture which might have been accompanied by the clicking of heels had he worn something more substantial. “Colonel Sir Tyrone Bosworth Rycroft at your service, Countess. Knighted in England and now Commander of the Third Regiment of the Tsar’s Imperial Hussars. And you are…”

  “This is hardly the place for introductions, Colonel,” Synnovea replied hurriedly, reluctant to provide him with a name. She could imagine him spreading lurid tales of their watery meeting among his troops and friends, leaving her reputation hopelessly besmirched.

  A grin slanted across his swollen lips. “And you are the Countess Synnovea Altynai Zenkovna,” he continued smoothly, “en route to Moscow, where you’ll be under the tutelage of Princess Taraslovna, the tsar’s cousin.”

  Synnovea felt her chin sagging in surprise and made haste to close her mouth. Breathlessly she whispered, “You know a great deal about me, sir.”

  “I wanted to know,” Tyrone replied with an air of confidence that shattered her own. “When we arrived here this evening and I found that you had also taken shelter in the inn, I made inquiries among your escort. Captain Nekrasov refused to accommodate me, but his sergeant proved far more generous with the facts. I was relieved to hear that you’re unmarried, especially to that pompous little upstart who serves as your companion and who had the audacity to ask me to leave the bathhouse to him! He obliged me by his own departure. From his obvious contempt, I gathered he thinks much of himself or his station in life. Or perhaps he sees some hope of elevating himself through his association with you.” The colonel arched an unmarred brow as he looked at her pointedly, awaiting some declaration as to her relationship to the man.

  Though desirous of denying any attachment to Ivan Voronsky, Synnovea refused to appease the officer’s curiosity. It seemed prudent to keep the man from gaining further knowledge of her lest he prove bothersome or an embarrassment in the future.

  Gathering her satchel, Synnovea moved toward the door but found her progress promptly thwarted by the colonel, who stepped in front of her. His uneven lips eased into a gentle smile. “Will you allow me to see you again, Countess?”

  “That’s impossible, Colonel,” she declined coolly. “I shall be traveling on to Moscow on the morrow.”

  “But so will I,” Tyrone assured her softly. “I’m here in this area only because I led my men on an exercise in the field. We’re schedul
ed to return by the morrow’s evening.”

  Synnovea refused to give way to his arguments. “Princess Anna would hardly approve.”

  “You’re not…betrothed?” Tyrone held his breath in anticipation of her answer. He couldn’t understand why he should suddenly forget the ache of his shattered life and once again allow a woman to strike sparks in his mind, yet he could keenly perceive the depth of his disappointment if he had to give her up to some other swain.

  “Nay, Colonel Rycroft, of course not.”

  “Then, with your permission, Countess, I’d consider it an honor to pay court to you.” Tyrone was crushingly aware of his own impatience to settle the matter. In spite of his score, ten and two years of life, he had been caught in a rutting heat over this beauty and was comporting himself like some eager young whelp. True, it had been some time since he had made love to a woman, yet he couldn’t remember another, even that fair and comely Angelina, who had looked as ravishing either clothed or completely devoid of raiment.

  “Your proposal overwhelms me, Colonel.” Synnovea was more than a little astounded by his petition, yet she was grateful for the shadows that masked the heat flooding into her cheeks as she recalled how his warm, well-defined body had pressed against her own in the pool. His entreaty was out of the question for a variety of reasons, perhaps the most pronounced being her guardian’s sharp aversion to foreigners, yet for the sake of caution, Synnovea deemed it fitting to soften her rejection. “I shall have to consider your request, Colonel Rycroft. And then, of course, I must seek Princess Anna’s permission.”