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 her 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.
Having foreseen a need to preserve a reasonable facade of decorum in Natasha’s presence, Synnovea had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to hide from view any telltale blush that might have remained on her bosom.
As prudently as she had guarded the secret of her first encounter with Tyrone, so she deemed it necessary to maintain her reticence about everything that had transpired between them in the garden.
Otherwise the woman would refuse to help her.
Synnovea allowed Natasha to tighten the laces of her bodice and then she helped the woman out of her sarafan .
As she did so, she recognized the soft tinkling of tiny bells that heralded the approach of her coach.
“That must be Stenka returning from the Taraslovs’.
I’ve given him instructions to wait in front until he sees me come down.”
Natasha expressed her own apprehension in a worried question.
“Do you actually think he can be fooled into believing that I am you?”
To blandly say that Natasha was nervous about this ruse would clearly have been an understatement, especially after she had heard from the colonel’s own lips that he had been involved in a deadly duel.
He hadn’t explained how the woman he had fought over had died and that uncertainty clearly worried her for Synnovea’s sake, but Natasha knew the girl was dedicated to having this travesty accomplished.
Indeed, it might do more harm than good to frighten her now with such revelations.
“There’s no reason for Stenka to suspect that you’ve come in my stead.
Since we’re the same height, I rather doubt he’ll notice the difference.
I’ve already told him that I wish to see the city by moonlight, so there’s no need for you to say anything.
The game will certainly be lost if he recognizes your voice while Aleksei is at hand.”
“Adolphe has promised to serve as host in my absence,”
Natasha informed her.
“I gave him the excuse that you’re indisposed and need my attention, so he won’t be surprised by my delay in returning to the hall.
As long as no one sees us depart, we should be reasonably safe.
Where did you leave Tyrone?”
“He’s waiting for me in the garden.
He hired a coach for this evening, so there’ll be no need for me to use yours.”
Natasha held up her arms expectantly as Synnovea lowered her own deep blue gown over the woman’s head.
“Naturally he was terribly agreeable to all of this, taking you to his quarters and all the rest, I mean.”
“Reasonably so.”
Synnovea refused to elaborate and began tightening the laces at the back of the woman’s bodice.
A moment later, Natasha perused her newly revised appearance in the tall looking glass.
“From a distance, even Aleksei may not be able to tell us apart.”
She swept her fingers across the sapphire necklace admiringly, but when her eyes lifted to her hair, she frowned testily as she plucked at a strand.
“I fear this graying thatch will give me away.
Have you a veil to cover my head?”
“This one will serve that purpose.”
Having already considered the matter, Synnovea lifted a white lace mantle which she had worn in Aleksei’s presence and draped it loosely over her friend’s head to cover the silver-streaked tresses.
Turning with a smile, Natasha submitted herself to Synnovea’s inspection.
“How do I look?”
“As beautiful as always,”
Synnovea avowed with an eager nod.
“Now stand in front of the window as if you’re searching for the coach and wait there until Aleksei makes himself known to you.
Once you’re outside, don’t let him get close enough to recognize you.
He may try, but as long as he thinks that I’m the one climbing into the coach, he’ll probably be curious enough about my destination to follow along behind with that rabble he has hired.
By the time Stenka halts the coach, I should be at Tyrone’s quarters.”
“Does Aleksei know where the colonel lives?”
“If he doesn’t, I’m sure he’ll make a point of finding out ere long,”
Synnovea replied ruefully.
Natasha heaved a pensive sigh and reached out to pat the younger’s cheek.
“The way Tyrone doted on you this evening, he’ll not likely want to delay having his pleasure too long.
You may have difficulty holding him off until Aleksei arrives.”
“If I can’t, then I’ll have no one to blame but myself,”
Synnovea murmured, averting her face.
She was rather amazed by her own dwindling resolve to hold herself aloof from the man.
Somehow she’d have to renew her waning dedication or there’d be no hope of producing the results she had earlier aspired to attain.
“I must go.”
Natasha sighed and tried to console herself as she mused on her lonely carriage ride.
The corners of her mouth lifted puckishly as she proposed a more attractive arrangement than Synnovea had planned for her.
“Perhaps I could trade places with you and go with Tyrone while you tour the city alone.”
Synnovea laughed at the impossible suggestion.
“I doubt that such a change of plans would bring about the same results.”
Feigning a pout of disappointment, Natasha protested her solitary task.
“But ’twill be so dreadfully boring riding alone, and the colonel is so handsome.”
No reprieve came, and with a dramatically heaved sigh of resignation, Natasha readjusted the mantle over her head.
Bracing herself for carrying out the deception, she lifted her chin in an elegant manner and stepped in front of the window to look out.
Synnovea pressed close against the wall, keeping well out of sight until the silken panels were again closed to the outside world.
Natasha brushed a kiss upon Synnovea’s cheek, bade farewell while staring intently into the green-brown eyes.
Then swept from the chambers with a desperate plea.
“Be extremely careful, my dear.”
Synnovea waited in the silence of the room until she heard the carriage departing.
Several moments passed before she considered it safe to peer through the draperies.
Her heart leapt in a triumphant rush when she espied Aleksei and his hirelings leisurely following the coach down the thoroughfare.
“No doubt the lecher thinks to catch me unawares and unattended.”
Synnovea vented the supposition smugly.
“’Twill serve his pride well to be made the fool.”
Sweeping a black velvet cloak around her shoulders and lifting the hood carefully over her head, Synnovea readied herself for her own departure.
She made her descent by way of the private stairs near Natasha’s rooms and, gaining the garden, flew into Tyrone’s welcoming arms.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to return,”
he gasped in relief as he snatched her hard against him.
Synnovea tilted her head back to meet his searching lips and returned his kiss with matching zeal, clinging to him for support as her limbs weakened apace.
Finally Tyrone drew back and, catching her hand, pulled her along with him to his waiting coach.
He addressed the driver in Russian, having learned enough of the language to get him to and from his quarters.
Then he handed his beautiful companion into the interior.
“You’re progressing very well, Colonel,”
Synnovea commented with a smile.
“It doesn’t take nearly as much imagination to understand you now.”
Tyrone chuckled before he addressed himself to the task of lowering the shades over the windows and lighting the tallow lantern afixed on the wall near the door.
“Had I foreseen the likelihood of my coming here to this country, I would’ve started learning Russian three years ago.
If I had, I might have been fluent in it now, but it’s not the easiest language I’ve ever tried to learn.
I can speak French fairly well, but my attempts to understand the language here have failed for the most part.”
Leaning back in the seat beside her, he searched the shining luster of her eyes.
“But as long as you and the tsar can understand me, it really doesn’t matter how crude my efforts are.
Discovering you here, fairest Synnovea, has been worth it all.”
“Oh, but didn’t Natasha tell you that I’d be at her home tonight?”
Tyrone realized she had mistaken his meaning.
“Meeting you was worth my tour in Russia,”
he corrected.
“As for tonight, I was informed in advance that you’d be at Natasha’s soiree.
I was most eager to attend and even considered mutiny when General Vanderhout tried to find duties elsewhere for Grigori and me.
The general seemed quite taken aback when I refused his directive, but he didn’t dare order me out on maneuvers as punishment, fearing my influence with the tsar.”
A grin flashed briefly across Tyrone’s lips.
“Of course, I didn’t dare explain that I’m no more able to sway the tsar’s opinion than I can demand the moon to change course.”
“Why didn’t the general want you to come?”
“He seems to be suspicious of any underling who might seize a bit of fame and honor from his grasp.
When he heard that we’d be associating with Russian nobility, he was sure we’d do just that.
I could’ve eased his qualms by telling him that my only reason for attending was to pay court to a certain boyarina with whom I’ve become enamored.
Had I done so, he might have felt more at ease letting me go, but by then, he had sorely tested my temper, and I refused to assuage his concerns.”
“Should I assume this general is your immediate superior?”
“Aye, a position he jealously guards.”
Curiously Synnovea searched his face.
“Should I also assume that he has good cause to be wary of you?”
Tyrone canted his head thoughtfully.
“I believe the man imagines me a serious threat to his ambitions, but as yet, I’ve done nothing to undermine his authority.”
“Perhaps he’s aware of his own shortcomings and is afraid that he’ll be found wanting if people begin to discern a difference between the two of you.”
Tyrone was hardly desirous of discussing General Vanderhout when he was cozily ensconced with such a beautiful companion.
Sweeping an arm behind her shoulders, he drew her near.
“I nearly despaired of your return to the garden,”
he murmured huskily.
“I even considered how successful I’d be if I went in search of you.
I had no idea how long a century could be until I found myself waiting for you.”
Reaching up a hand, Synnovea swept a finger down the bridge of his lean, aquiline nose, following its noble descent before tracing the lines of laughter at the corners of his mouth and then brushing her fingers caressingly across his lips.
“How goes the time now, sir?”
“Much too swiftly, I fear.”
Her thumb smoothed a tawny brow before the tips of her fingers stroked down a lean cheek once more.
“What must we do to keep it still?”
“Stay with me forever.”
Her hand paused in flight as she searched the unrelenting blue eyes that watched her closely in return.
“I have only a pair of hours to spend with you, Tyrone.
I must return before midnight.”
“Then each moment that flies past is forever lost to me,”
he breathed, turning his face into her palm and pressing an ardent kiss into it.
He lifted his head and, leaning near, caressed the beautiful visage with the soft, gentle brush of his lips.
“I must make haste to make you mine.”
“I pray you nay,”
Synnovea said with a sigh as his mouth came to play upon hers.
“Rather, I would urge you to relish the time we spend together and make of it a lasting memory that we can both treasure.
Is it not better to savor love slowly to glean every measure of delight from its offering?”
Tyrone moved his mouth to where he could feel the pulse quickening in her temple.
“Your wisdom astounds me, Synnovea.
If not by experience, where do you attribute its source?”
“My mother,”
she murmured, fingering the silken closures on his doublet.
“An intelligent woman.
She must have loved your father dearly to have given up her homeland and all that she had ever known to come and live here with him.”
“’Twas no great sacrifice for her, considering what they had together.
They were very much in love.”
Another plaintive sigh slipped from Synnovea’s lips.
“I wish I would’ve had them with me a while longer.
Princess Anna was a poor replacement, and Prince Aleksei proved himself a ravenous rake.
I tell you truly, any woman is better off fleeing from him ere they’re introduced.
I lived in constant dread of him catching me unawares.
Though I was hampered by his threats, I consider it something of a miracle that I have thus far escaped his prurient bent.”
Tyrone peered into her lovely visage.
“Prurient bent?”
Beneath his searching gaze, Synnovea was unable to hold back a blush.
“Prince Aleksei made it obvious that he wanted me in his bed and threatened me with dire consequences if I denied him.”
“Though I can’t blame him for wanting you, his methods are to be abhorred.”
“Truly, I’ve come to loathe the man.”
Tyrone’s open mouth hovered closely above her soft lips.
“I’d rather have you come to me willingly, my sweet.
If a man coerced you against your will, he’d lose the joy and pleasure of your willing participation.”
Synnovea’s lashes trembled downward as she yielded her lips to the fiery heat of his kiss.
His mouth was warm and gentle, bestirring her eager response.
A long moment passed before Tyrone straightened, leaving her sighing with bliss.
In a shaky whisper she acknowledged, “Your kisses make me willing.”
“Do you find them satisfying?”
“Nay, not satisfying,”
she complained, leaning toward him again with eagerly parting lips.
“They only make me want more.”
He indulged her growing enthrallment with his kisses, allowing his mouth to slowly feed upon the sweet nectar of her response.
Even while their lips played, his lean fingers searched out the ties of her cloak and plucked the silken cords free.
Sweeping the deep hood from her head, he aided its descent as he slipped the enveloping velvet from her shoulders.
The garment fell unheeded to the seat behind her, and for a moment he leaned back to relish her beauty with eyes that glinted with hotly smoldering desire.
The swelling mounds of her bosom came nigh to overflowing the shallow bodice and, in the flickering candlelight, glowed with a luster of their own.
He now considered the long wait in the garden well worth the results.
Evoking a riotous rhythm from her swiftly beating heart, Tyrone traced a lone finger downward from her shoulder and then along the edge of her bodice, sketching across the fullness of a breast before moving into the crevice and rising again to the far peak barely hidden by the cloth.
Once again Synnovea was confronted with her own dwindling reserve as her nipple grew taut beneath the playful strokes of his thumb.
Luxuriating in the delectable pleasure awakening within her, she sat in quiescent silliness until a sultry heat began to quicken in her loins, and she realized she was becoming much too involved in his game of seduction.
In an earnest effort to halt his exploration of her bosom and to bestir some small fiber of her determination, she leaned toward him with lips eagerly seeking to ensnare his, but it was like fighting fire with kindling.
His arm came around her like a band of steel, catching her close against the solid bulwark of his chest.
His mouth slanted across hers as his tongue greedily plumbed the dewy sweetness, flicking awake her senses and arousing an ever-heightening hunger in the depths of her being.
Tyrone slipped a hand beneath her and lifted her effortlessly across his lap, but it wasn’t until Synnovea drew back for a trembling breath that she realized her skirts and petticoats no longer separated them.
Her bare buttocks were resting atop his velvet-clad thighs, making her aware of a bulging hardness pressing snugly against her thigh.
Fully comprehending the precariousness of her situation, Synnovea sought to leave his lap, but Tyrone gently detained her within an encircling embrace.
Nothing was quite as arousing to his senses as having her bare backside against him, except perhaps having his own equally naked beneath hers.
“I like the way you feel against me,”
he breathed near her ear.
“You’re soft and womanly.
Even with all your clothes on, you’re as beautiful as you are in all of your naked glory.”
He kissed her again, holding nothing back as his open mouth ravished hers in frenzied greed, devouring her intoxicating sweetness while demanding that she answer him in kind.
By slow degrees, Synnovea dismissed the danger of sitting on his lap and gave him what he sought, tentatively at first as she allowed her tongue to be drawn into his mouth and then with passion as she met his daring thrusts with quickening fervor.
When Tyrone lifted his head a century later, the flaming blue orbs burned into hers.
Once more his hand moved across her bosom, roaming the hills and vales, but this time his thumb slipped beneath the seam that joined the top of the bodice to a sleeve and gently tugged it down, baring a shoulder.
His eyes flicked downward, delving into the gown that now gapped away from her.
Synnovea had become passionately intrigued with his kisses and leaned forward to caress his softly yielding mouth with timid strokes of her tongue.
Much to her dismay, however, he seemed to hold back, meeting her playful kisses with pondered care.
Experiencing some confusion at his lack of zeal, she locked her fingers behind his neck and, resting her forearms upon his chest, peered up at him in the meager light.
“Are you bored with my novice kisses?”
she questioned in a tiny whisper, confounded by his lagging participation.
Tyrone chuckled at such an absurd notion.
Shaking his head, he lowered his gaze to the rich fare swelling above the shallow bodice.
“I’m entranced by every part of you, Synnovea, though at the moment, I find your bosom especially captivating.”
His eyes smoldered like brightly burning coals as they rose to meet hers, and just as Synnovea had wanted, his open mouth came upon hers with the same urgency that only moments earlier had worn away the outer perimeters of her will.
Tyrone was eager to progress far beyond impassioned kisses and, with a subtle tug, encouraged the descent of her second sleeve.
Slipping a finger beneath the neckline, he lowered the shallow bodice and chemise beneath her bosom, allowing him to clasp the fullness of a creamy breast within his hand.
Synnovea caught her breath at the thrill that catapulted through her as he gently fondled her.
When he drew back to appease himself with a lingering perusal, she watched him with bated breath, her heart thudding a new, chaotic rhythm.
Tyrone was nigh famished for want of such soft, delectable sweets.
Her breasts gleamed like satin in the faint light and were as enticing as a lavish feast after a lengthy famine.
Since their meeting in the bathhouse, he had been unable to forget the perfection he had seen there.
More than a few times he had been snatched from lusting dreams with his body tense and filmed with sweat, his breathing harsh and ragged as he suffered through recurring pangs of unrequited passion.
Now his arm tightened around the small of her back, arching her spine until her bosom was thrust forward into the luminous glow of the lantern.
Synnovea struggled to draw breath as he lowered his head and devoured the soft mounds with rapacious greed.
The fires pulsing within her loins were now flaming upward, growing ever hotter, drawing soft mewling sighs from her as his tongue licked across the soft pink pinnacles.
With each flicking stroke, she was being swept closer to the steep precipice which would eventually lead to her doom…and yet, strangely, that singular fear had dimmed.
Caught up in the thrilling excitement elicited by his mouth and swirling tongue, Synnovea gave no notice to his hand leaving her breast and slipping beneath her skirts, until the shock of his intrusion wrenched a startled gasp from her.
She caught his wrist and struggled to rise, only to find his mouth covering hers again.
The fiery heat of his kiss bespoke of his lusting need, but when she was being shaken by jolts of fire that leapt upward with ever-increasing intensity through her being, she couldn’t think of anything beyond the need to stop his caresses before she melted in pure bliss.
Tearing her mouth free, she begged in a trembling whisper, “Please! You mustn’t! Not here!”
The dewy softness was too delectable, too tempting for Tyrone to resist.
Every manly instinct he was capable of feeling had coalesced into a lusting eagerness, urging him to press on until, hopefully, she would acquiesce and allow him to advance.
Yet when she began to writhe and turn aside in an attempt to get away from his encroaching hand, he could only foresee the possibility of hurting her if he persisted.
He was no fool to think he could force her and still give her pleasure.
He’d have to bide his time, at least for a little while longer.
It took every fragment of restraint that Tyrone could ransom from his floundering will to retreat from her softness.
The idea was paramount in his mind that with a little patience, Synnovea could become a mistress he could cherish as much as any wife.
He yearned to bring her to such heights of rapture that she would find it hard to withhold herself from him, but as he now knew, she was a virgin and no doubt fearful of the bridge between pain and pleasure.
“Come, Synnovea,”
he coaxed as she clutched an arm across her naked breasts to shield the rounded curves from his gaze.
He lifted her cloak and spread it protectively around her shoulders, allowing her the covering she appar ently sought.
“Calm yourself, love.
I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Synnovea still quaked from the shock of his invasion and was unwilling to yield to his pleas while he encouraged her to relax against him.
Refusing to look at him, she pulled her bodice up over her breasts and shoulders, fearing he would glimpse a different kind of fear than what he might have expected.
When his hand had made its claim on her, she had felt as if she had just been flung face-to-face with the stark reality of his single-minded goal to make her his.
The proud hawk, whom she had chosen to carry her through her soaring quest, was becoming increasingly difficult to handle.
Unless she could find a way to escape the sharp descent of his plunging flight, she’d be devoured for a succulent morsel ere the hour was out.
Tyrone freed a softly curling strand of hair that had become entrapped beneath her cloak and laid it within the velvet cowl.
“The way I touched you, Synnovea, is no different than what every husband and lover does with the one he adores,”
he murmured soothingly.
“’Tis common in marriage.”
“We’re not married!”
Synnovea groaned, suddenly haunted by an image of her mother’s deeply distraught visage.
“Would you feel any differently if we were?”
he queried and, after a moment of silence, continued with disarming candor.
“You seem to want this union as badly as I do, and yet you apparently have no idea what to expect.
Dearest Synnovea, were you to return the caress in like fashion, it would be a delicious sweetmeat I’ve yearned to savor ever since we came together in the pool.”
Synnovea’s eyes chased upward, and she stared at him in astonishment, drawing a smile from Tyrone.
“Do you think me untouchable, Synnovea? Nay, love, I’m a man and I want you as much as any husband wants his wife.
I want to touch you, love you, and do yearn that you do the same.
The giving of pleasure is only natural during a time of intimacy.”
He laughed as she relented and allowed him to pull her close against him.
“I thought you knew what to expect.”
“I’ve never been with a man before,”
she replied in a small voice.
“I know that with a certainty now,”
he breathed.
Though he had guessed as much from their first meeting, the past few hours had made him wonder if she was truly chaste.
The fact that she was both pleased and excited him, for it was an honor he hadn’t been entirely expecting.
“I was too hasty in my zeal to claim you.
I didn’t mean to shock you.”
“My mother told me what to anticipate in marriage, but her instructions were rather general and definitely lacking in detail,”
Synnovea whispered.
“But this is hardly the kind of situation she desired for me.
An honorable marriage was what she assumed I’d have someday and no doubt thought my husband would fill in the particulars.”
“I’ll be as careful as any husband,”
Tyrone promised with compelling warmth.
“You needn’t be afraid that I’ll misuse you, Synnovea.
’Tis much more enjoyable for a man when a woman responds with matching ardor”
Tyrone leaned back in the seat, and tentatively she relaxed against him.
In the stillness of the evening, the soft tinkling of silver bells accompanying the leisurely clip-clop of horses’ hooves helped to soothe the senses to some degree.
He made no further effort to advance his cause in the carriage, though it was difficult for him to ignore the tantalizing softness within his arms and to thrust from memory the silkiness of her woman’s flesh.
Still, his patience seemed to assuage her fears, for it was she who snuggled against his chest with a soft sigh.
He smiled with pleasure, pressing his cheek against her brow, and was satisfied for the present moment to nurture her affection.
The coach swayed to a halt before the two-story, narrow-framed structure which Tyrone rented within the German district of Moscow.
Had there not been such a shortage of available housing in the community at the time of his arrival, he would have secured smaller quarters for himself, thereby saving on rents and perhaps even a few of the coins that went toward cleaning the house.
The rooms were sparsely furnished yet neat enough for his tastes, thanks to the efforts of a bovine widow who came on a regular basis to keep them so.
Yet having to continually deal with the city’s segregation of foreigners had proven a tiresome inconvenience.
It was a lengthy jaunt to where his Russian recruits were quartered and an even longer one to the mansion where Synnovea was ensconced.
Tyrone alighted from the conveyance and handed Synnovea down before he stepped around to pay the coachman.
With her assistance in translation, he promised the driver a goodly sum for his time if he’d consent to wait at the end of the thoroughfare for the space of two hours.
As the carriage rumbled off, Tyrone swept Synnovea within his arms and kissed her with all the passion he had been holding in check.
Nuzzling her cheek, he staggered haphazardly toward the door, provoking her giggles.
“You make me drunk,”
he crooned near her ear.
“Then I pray you sober quickly lest you stray too far from the path,”
she urged, casting a glance over her shoulder to see what risks lay ahead.
He tottered precariously along the edge of the walk, and with a disconcerted groan, she locked her arms around his neck, bracing herself for a fall.
Tyrone’s laughter rang out suddenly, and Synnovea gasped in surprise as he whirled her about, affirming the fact that he was in full command of his faculties and had only been teasing her.
Even as he came to a halt, Synnovea’s only reality seemed to be his hotly flaming lips searing hers as the world careened crazily around her.
At the front door, Tyrone bent slightly aside to unlock the latch while he complained about its temperamental tendency to come apart if not carefully worked.
Issuing a grateful sigh at his success, he disengaged the bar and then nudged the stout plank open with a shoulder.
Spinning inward with a chuckle, he kicked the door closed behind him and swept Synnovea around into the dark room.
His mood grew serious as he braced back against the front wall and withdrew his arm from beneath her knees.
Her voluminous skirts were snared upon his velvet-clad thigh as her feet settled between his on the floor, but she hardly noticed as she searched the shadowy face above her own.
The uneasiness that had plagued Synnovea since she had launched her peculiar campaign came back to haunt her now that she was in the hawk’s nest.
Though the threat of becoming his prey would have unsettled a prim and proper virgin, she was becoming increasingly wary of the pleasure she derived from his manly pursuits.
Even as he lowered his lips to hers, she had to brace herself against the delicious assault of her senses.
His kisses were truly succulent morsels that could lure her into his bed with unmeasured haste.
His gently stroking tongue moved provocatively inward and around her mouth, creating a sensual lushness within her that no artist’s brush could have produced.
With incredible care he applied a profusion of warm pigments to the canvas of sensual pleasure, lulling her until he could feel her leaning into him with growing eagerness.
Suddenly their bodies were straining together as their mouths melded in a crushing, devouring search.
Vaguely Synnovea was aware of her intentions being turned topsyturvy as he dragged up her skirts and lifted her astraddle his loins.
In truth, keeping her wits well aligned to her goals was becoming more difficult with each passing second, for she was growing increasingly conscious of a hungry void that yearned to be sated as her soft flesh rested vulnerably upon a steely hardness.
If she had any hope of coming through this evening unscathed, she needed desperately to cool the hot blood flowing upward from that area or she’d find her objective completely cindered by her own passionate fervor.
“Give me a moment to catch my breath,”
she pleaded faintly, withdrawing from his lustful embrace.
Her rumpled skirts fell into place, allowing her to reclaim some degree of composure.
She patted his chest as if cajoling an impatient stallion to ignore a mare in season, but there was now no satisfying the ravenous throbbing at the root of her being.
If anything, she wanted to do more than just feel that hard bulge nestling against her womanly softness.
By dent of will, Tyrone curbed his rutting instincts and, capturing her hand, bestowed a gentle token of his admiration in the form of a kiss upon her slender knuckles.
Upon leaving her, he moved about the parlor, lighting several tapers and bringing into view a room that was rather stark and bare.
Synnovea’s eyes swept around the furnishings, seeing nothing more grand and comfortable than several straight chairs, a small table, a desk, and a pair of tall cabinets…as well as the man who had risked his life to save her from an unprincipled rogue.