“Hurry,” she begged in an urgent whisper, snatching Tyrone’s breath as her fingers closed around the hard shaft again. What propelled her now had nothing to do with a fear that Aleksei would discover them. It was a desire for appeasement, pure and simple.
“Have a care, Synnovea,” Tyrone cautioned, knowing he was being dragged too close to the brink of expulsion as she drew him back with her to the bed. “The pleasure is too sweet.”
Synnovea couldn’t think of anything but the bedlam that had been created within her loins. Relinquishing her claim on him, she sank back upon the bed and wriggled across the freshly scented sheet until she reached the pillows near the headboard. Tyrone followed and, bracing on a knee beside her, slipped an arm beneath her waist and lifted her across the feather ticking to the middle of the bed. Caressing her cheek and lips with wanton kisses, he lowered his loins between her eagerly parting thighs and reached down a hand to gently part the silken folds. Synnovea turned her face aside and bit her lip as the unyielding hardness intruded, gently testing the delicate shield. Her breath was snatched from her as the long saber surged forward, piercing her with a pain that made her pitch upward. Tyrone lost whatever ground he had gained, and though it took every speck of willpower he was capable of gathering to maintain a gentlemanly forbearance, he drew back, allowing Synnovea a moment to calm herself as he kissed and caressed her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully beneath his lingering kisses. “I didn’t think I was such a coward.”
“Shhh, love,” Tyrone soothed, stroking her womanly softness.
This time Synnovea surrendered herself completely to him, totally abashed that she had acted like a spineless chit when she had desired the consummation as feverishly as he. Her hand came up to rest tentatively upon his chest. “May I touch you again?”
“Not yet, love,” Tyrone answered, too shaken by the pain of his mounting desires to accept such sweet, excruciating enticements. “Let me pleasure you; then I’ll seek mine.”
It seemed only a passing of a moment before Synnovea found her embarrassment eclipsed by new, rapidly expanding sensations. Overwhelmed by the waves of effervescent bliss that began washing over her in crescendoing rapture, she began to twist and writhe beneath his persuasive fondling. Arching her hips upward against him in an invitation he could not resist, she was soon leading the stirring hardness to the tender breach.
Tyrone was shaking nearly as much as she as his hands clasped her buttocks for the final thrust. The hardened shaft plunged inward, drawing a sharp gasp from her as the membrane split. Just as quickly, Synnovea was searching out his mouth, seeking the sultry kisses that would sweep her beyond the pain. He indulged her with tantalizing exchanges of lips and tongues, yet he was now sheathed in her warmth, and a spiraling ecstasy began to goad him. His thrusts were long and sure, stirring her ardor until she began to rise up to meet him. Beneath his kisses, soft mewls were transformed into astonished gasps as she soared ever higher toward that delectable culmination of their union. Tyrone was not far behind. His breath rasped harshly in her ear when the first, thrilling fruits of ecstasy began to wash over him. Then suddenly a rapidly approaching sound intruded, wrenching his mind clear with a brutal abruptness.
“What is it?” Synnovea whispered as he lifted his head to listen. Her eyes widened when she heard the clattering hooves of many riders thundering toward the house.
“Someone’s coming!” Tyrone muttered.
Synnovea moaned in despair as he snatched away and rolled to the edge of the bed. Grabbing up his clothes, he thrust his feet through a pair of chausses and, jerking the close-fitting hosiery up over his narrow hips, hurriedly knotted them at his waist.
“Get your clothes on, Synnovea!” he bade anxiously as the hoofbeats came to a halt before his quarters. “Hurry!”
She just stared at him, frozen by the realization of what she had done. Despite her change of heart, everything was occurring just as she had planned. In another moment Aleksei would be ordering his men to break down the door, and Tyrone would be caught in the middle, exactly where she had contrived to place him.
Seeing her horrified stare, Tyrone seized her by the arms and gave her a shake. “Good Lord, woman, what ails you? Do you not ken? There are men outside the house, and in all likelihood they’ll be coming in here! I cannot defend the two of us with you stark naked! They’ll likely kill me to get to you.”
Sweeping her off the bed, he set her on her feet and then gathered up her clothes. He dumped them on the bed near at hand and shook out her chemise just as a heavy fist pounded on the front portal and a mumbled voice called through the barrier.
“Colonel Rycroft! I must speak with you.”
“Lift your arms!” Tyrone commanded in an anxious whisper, for the moment ignoring the summons. As Synnovea complied, he yanked the chemise down over her head and settled it into place around her slender waist.
“I can dress myself!” she declared, coming to her senses as she felt his lean fingers fastening the tiny buttons between her breasts. “You’d better get your own clothes on and get out of here!”
“What! And leave you here by yourself to confront those men alone?” Tyrone laughed harshly, denying the possibility. “If I leave at all, Synnovea, I’ll be taking you with me.”
From down below came the rattle of the broken latch accompanied by a garbled question. “Colonel Rycroft, are you there?”
It was obvious after another testing of the lock that the portal would not yield to the intruders’ attempts to open it. Heavy fists began to pound the planks, demanding entry.
“Colonel Rycroft, we know you’re in there!”
Tyrone stepped to the door of his bedchamber and yelled down the stairs, “I’ll be down in a moment. I’m getting dressed.”
“You must come now, Colonel!” came a reply. “I know the Countess Synnovea is with you. If you don’t open this door immediately, my men will break it down.”
“Aleksei!” Synnovea whispered. Meeting Tyrone’s questioning glance, she blushed and lifted her slender shoulders in a disconcerted shrug. “He hired men to watch Natasha’s house.”
“Good Lord, Synnovea! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We could’ve gone elsewhere.” Tyrone gave her a gentle shove toward the bed. “Put your gown and shoes on. We’ve got to get out of here! And fast!”
His statement was promptly underscored by the sudden contact of several stout thuds against the front door. Another crashing blow soon followed, testing the sturdiness of the formidable barrier.
Seeing now a chance to escape the consequences of her ploy, Synnovea quickly obeyed as Tyrone yanked on a pair of hide breeches, boots, and a shirt. Belting on his sword, he seized her hand and led her in a brisk descent of the stairs. He paused briefly in the lower room to judge the strength of another assault against the front portal and roughly estimated the time they had remaining before the sturdy planks would give way. Scooping up her cloak from the floor, he wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her along with him to the back door.
Tyrone drew forth his sword and laid a silencing finger across his lips before he motioned her to stay where she was. Receiving her nod of compliance, he slid the bolt back carefully, quietly from the lock and then pulled the door open. His cautious tread was just as noiseless as he slipped through the portal. Pausing just outside with his sword held ready, he scanned the shadows, slowly turning until he glanced up suddenly to his right, where a burly fellow squatted atop a wooden barrel residing in the corner of the house, only a couple of steps away from the back door. Like a flash of quicksilver in the night, Tyrone’s blade whipped upward to block the descent of the other’s ax. A shout from the man brought the sound of running feet around the end of the house as Tyrone parried the next blow, but any hope for his escape with Synnovea dwindled rapidly when a dozen more stalwarts came charging toward them with swords and weapons drawn. Tyrone swiftly retreated, slamming and bolting the door behind him.
“Get upstairs!”
He jerked his head in the direction of his bedchamber as he faced Synnovea. “I’ll try to hold them off down here!”
“You must leave me and escape!” she cried frantically.
“Woman, do as I say!” Tyrone barked. “I’ll not leave you to your own defense!”
Frustrated by his commanding tone, Synnovea clenched her fists at her sides and tried again, this time in a louder tone so she could be heard above the jarring jolts that were now bombarding both doors. “Will you please listen to me, Tyrone Rycroft! I know what I’m saying!”
“What? And allow Aleksei a chance to rape you before he takes you to safety? Go, I said!”
Groaning in despair, Synnovea whirled toward the stairs just as the front portal crashed inward, sending several stout hearties stumbling in on top of it. Their entry hastened Synnovea’s flight even as she heard Aleksei bellow her name from a safe distance behind the first battery of men. Tyrone leapt to cover her retreat with the long blade boldly in evidence.
“Seize him!” Aleksei railed out the command, thrusting a long finger toward the colonel.
Tyrone chortled as he mocked the prince. “Have you no heart to do it yourself, my lord?”
A half-dozen men plowed forward to accomplish the prince’s bidding and promptly yelped and stumbled back, suffering the pain of newly inflicted wounds.
“A weighty purse to the one responsible for that rascal’s capture,” Aleksei promised, incensed by the colonel’s tenacity. “You wanted him! Now here he is! Do with him what he did to you and those who rode with you! Seize him!”
Tyrone had no chance to answer as a full dozen toughs raced toward him, forcing him to retreat up the stairs. Upon gaining the upper level, he dashed into the bedchamber and slammed the portal closed behind him. He tossed the sword onto the bed and then pulled the tall, weighty armoire in front of the door to bolster the strength of the heavy planks. Synnovea watched in helpless bewilderment while he grabbed a small chair and raced across the room to throw it through a window. He returned to the bed and, whipping the top sheet away, tied a knot in the end before he stepped back to the window. A small ledge, wide enough to comfortably accommodate a man’s boots, jutted out from beneath it. Then his gaze flicked outward and carefully searched the shadows enclosing the house.
Turning, Tyrone beckoned for Synnovea to draw near. “I’ll lower you to the ground with the sheet and then climb down behind you.” He glanced toward the door as the ponderous blows strengthened against it and was forced to speak over the din. “If I don’t make it, run to the carriage and have the driver take you back to Natasha’s! Do you understand?”
“Clearly, Tyrone, but I plead with you. Flee before you’re taken.”
Sweeping her into his arms, Tyrone thrust her through the window and clasped her hand tightly as she balanced on the ledge. Loud, booming laughter came from below, prompting Tyrone to lean out through the opening. A huge fellow with a long, shaggy mustache and a lock of hair sprouting from a bald pate strode forward with arms widely outstretched.
“Oh-ho! Colonel Rycroft! We meet again, eh? So good of you, my friend, to toss the wench down to me.” The huge man chortled in uproarious mirth as he held out his arms expectantly. “The little pigeon is tasty sweetmeat, eh? Now I taste for myself what you have feasted upon.”
“Petrov!” Synnovea gasped in shock and glanced back at Tyrone. “That means Ladislaus is here!”
Tyrone cursed beneath his breath, then muttered derisively, “I must question the sort of friends Prince Aleksei consorts with!” He helped Synnovea back through the window and swept her to her feet. “I fear the prince has made the place secure against our escape if he’s hired those thieving miscreants to seek me out. You can be certain they’re hungry for revenge, a fact which I’m sure Aleksei was cognizant of ere he went searching for them.”
“How would he have known where to find them?” Synnovea asked in confusion.
“That is a question I’d like to ask Aleksei if I’m given the opportunity.”
“You’ll have a greater chance of escaping without me,” she replied, laying a hand upon his furred chest. “Will you not try? I promise you, Aleksei won’t let these men take me, not when there’s a chance the tsar will find out.”
Tyrone scoffed at the idea. “Aleksei may not even have a choice with Ladislaus and his men breathing down his neck. That brigand wanted you before. This time he may not stop until he takes you.”
“Please listen, Tyrone,” she pleaded desperately. “I’ve no liking for Aleksei or Ladislaus, but if you leave me and seek your freedom, then you may be able to arrange an assault on those brigands and take me back. You all but snatched me out of Ladislaus’s hands before. Can you not do so again?”
Tyrone musingly lifted a brow as he considered her suggestion. If they were both captured, he’d be confronting an overwhelming force anxious to kill him. The thieves would probably keep him shackled or so busy trying to protect the two of them that he wouldn’t be able to carry out her rescue. “I might be able to arrange such an event within the hour,” he replied thoughtfully. “I have friends living nearby. English officers. If I can get through Ladislaus’s men, I know they’ll help me.”
Beneath the ramming bombardment of the door, the wood facing around the bolt began to splinter away, motivating Tyrone to take up his sword again. As he sheathed the weapon, the splotches of red marring the whiteness of the bottom sheet caught his attention. He paused briefly to consider the stains and then, facing Synnovea, pressed a hurried kiss upon her lips.
“I’ll finish what I started ere long,” he promised in a warm whisper. “Save yourself for me.”
Fighting back a rush of tears, Synnovea braved a smile. “Just be careful!”
“Tell Aleksei and Ladislaus that I’ll kill them if they harm you in any way,” Tyrone said before he strode to the window. With a casual salute, he ducked through the opening, bringing her forward on flying feet.
Synnovea watched, fear throbbing in her throat, as Tyrone climbed out onto the ledge. There he braced his feet wide to balance himself and, tucking two fingers into his mouth, whistled loudly, drawing an astonished gasp from her. At the shrill summons, Petrov came racing back to serve as the colonel’s audience of one. The brawny giant leaned his head far back and gaped upward with jaw aslack as Tyrone swept him a jaunty bow.
“So good of you to come when I call, Petrov. Now catch me if you can,” he taunted with a chuckle and, springing lightly from the ledge, somersaulted once through the air and then dove directly toward the burly one, who staggered backward in rapidly expanding amazement. Synnovea clapped a hand over her mouth to squelch a frightened scream, but any sound that might have escaped was quickly overshadowed by the loud, wavering warble that issued forth from Petrov’s thick throat. His scream strengthened to a deafening roar until it was abruptly squelched beneath the falling weight of the colonel.
As Tyrone had hoped, his daring dive had been sufficiently broken by the thief’s bulk, and, no worse for wear, he drew back a clenched fist and delivered a powerful blow to the stout jaw of the dazed man, knocking that one completely senseless. The large head lolled limply as Tyrone tested the brigand’s lack of response. Satisfied, he jumped to his feet and dusted off his clothes as if on a casual errand. Turning with a lopsided grin, he swept into another debonair bow, this time for his lady love, who still stood at the window with her hands clasped tightly over her mouth. It was a full second before the shock faded, and Synnovea clapped her palms to her cheeks, laughing in relief.
Briefly she acknowledged his daring feat with applause and blew him a kiss before he whirled and raced toward a nearby house. She observed his flight, peering after him intently as far as she could see until the darkness consumed his tall form, leaving her strangely disquieted yet relieved by his escape.
The cabinet began to slide inward, and a brief moment later, Synnovea whirled to face the men who burst through. Ladislaus led the brigands with a drawn sword. He halted just inside
the door as his pale eyes scanned the length and breadth of the bedchamber for the Englishman. Dragging the furry cap from his flaxen head, he strode across the room, but paused briefly beside the bed to consider the bloodied sheet. His ice-blue eyes chased to her and then swept beyond her, narrowing to angry slits when he noticed the curtains fluttering at the window. Racing forward to the opening, he leaned out and scanned the area, finding his hulking companion sprawled limply upon the ground.
Synnovea lifted her chin, giving Ladislaus her best attempt at a haughty demeanor as he came back to her. “You’re too late,” she announced. “The Englishman has gone.”
“I can see that for myself, Countess. I’m also aware of the pretty bauble he left behind.” His eyes raked her cloaked form before he reached out a hand and thoughtfully rubbed a soft, dark curl between his fingers. “You’ve allowed my enemy to feed upon your rich treasures, my beauty. I’ll forgive you for that, for there’s clearly enough for me to savor, but I would know where he has gone.”