In the moments following their soaring flight, only the stallion found reason to fret, evoking his owner’s sigh. “Alas, the poor steed still awaits our attention.”
“I liked what you did when you bathed me,” she whispered, cuddling against her husband’s chest. Coyly she stroked her bosom against the muscular hardness of his chest, enjoying the thrills which were readily derived from the caress. “Will you do that again?”
“In the bathing chamber, madam,” Tyrone promised huskily, nibbling at her ear. “Else we may never leave the carriage house.”
“Would you let me wash you, too?” Synnovea asked, unwilling to move on to a different subject.
“As much as you would like, madam…but in the bathing chamber.”
She pouted prettily. “ ’Twas your idea to delay our departure.”
“Aye, I know. I’m very susceptible to the sights. Your derriere is too fetching for me to ignore.”
“Do you suffer a particular fetish with my backside, sir?” Synnovea teased coquettishly, continuing to massage his male breasts with her tautening nipples.
“I like all of you, from your dainty toes to the top of your head, but there are places in between that I’m especially partial to, such as this area here,” he said, catching a hand around her breast and forcing the crest outward to meet his stroking tongue. “These pale orbs are beyond description. Their sweet nectar leaves me fairly besotted.” Though his mouth moved upward to caress her throat, his hand slipped down between them and clasped the dark nest. “But nothing is quite as delectable as the ecstasy I find here in this warm, velvet sheathe.”
“I have a feeling we’re not going to make it to the bathing chamber tonight,” she sighed shakily. “I’m quite besotted from what your caresses have awakened within me.”
“We could spend the night out here,” he suggested with a grin.
“You’ll have to keep me warm.”
“I do that now, madam, every night in our bed, but I’d really enjoy holding you again in a bathing pool.”
“Then shouldn’t we hurry and finish our chores?” Synnovea urged. “Otherwise, we’ll never get there with all the delays we’re wont to indulge in here.”
Tyrone was just as anxious to get there, but he was also wont to linger and enjoy the different views he was presented as he collected his clothing. He was most attentive to his wife’s efforts to shake the hay out of her clothes. The rounded orbs now bore a rosy blush after his light bearding, but it was the way they bounced every time she snapped her blouse and skirts in the air that fascinated him. “Do you think you’re accomplishing anything, my sweet. The hay seems quite tenacious.”
Synnovea paused and smiled back at him. “That’s very nice what you called me.”
“My sweet?”
“I was afraid you wanted to call me worse things.”
Tyrone indicated the horse’s tail. “We’d better get to our chores, madam, or we’ll never get to the pool.”
Synnovea pouted prettily as she sauntered toward him in all of her unadorned glory. His breath hissed outward in a pleasurable gasp as she pressed close against him and fondled him in a way that left his knees weak. She seemed eager to continue, but the stallion whinnied, growing weary of being ignored.
“Later, my sweet,” Tyrone promised thickly, cupping a round breast in his hand before leaning down and taking the peak into the heat of his mouth. Then, because he found such sights totally distracting, he drew her chemise and petticoats over her head and then lowered the skirt and blouse into place before turning her and thrusting her gently away from him. Giggling, Synnovea stumbled backward and rubbed her derriere against him, causing a quick response. Since she seemed to enjoy dawdling at length over her playful temptations, Tyrone reached down and clamped a hand between her buttocks, evoking a startled gasp from his young wife as he prodded her forward.
Tyrone chuckled as he took note of the darker hue now imbuing his wife’s cheeks. “Do you find that offensive, madam?”
“ ’Tis a bit shocking,” she replied candidly, twitching a bit as she plucked her petticoat free of the cleavage.
He grinned while he donned his breeches and shoes. “Then you’d best be warned, my sweet. Now that you’re my wife, every part of you is fair game. Indeed, you may well rue the day you invited my attentions.” He jerked his head toward the stallion. “Now let’s get back to work.”
Obediently Synnovea bent to the task of spreading the horse’s tail as Tyrone supplied a fresh flow of water. After rinsing it, he squeezed the liquid from the strands and began to gently comb through the length as Synnovea picked out the snarls. Finally he snuffed the last lantern that hung near the horses’ stalls and turned in time to see his wife casting a repugnant glance toward the straw-strewn path that led to the door; it had been enriched with several droppings of manure prior to her entry into the barn. Tyrone took pity on her plight and bade her to tuck her stockings and shoes in her apron pocket and to climb on a low stool, from whence he lifted her onto his back.
“I haven’t ridden like this since I was a child,” Synnovea informed him happily as her lips hovered near his ear.
Tyrone slanted a grin at her over his shoulder. “I’ll have to teach you better ways to ride.”
“What other ways are there?” she asked coyly, folding her arms around his neck.
“I’ll show you several before the evening is out.”
“In the bathing chamber?”
“That will do for starters, but I’ll demonstrate others in our bed.” He turned his face in profile as she leaned close over his shoulder. “I’ve been quite hungry for you, madam, and I don’t think I’ll be sated until the last of my energy wanes, so you’ll have to tell me if you get too tender from my attention.”
“I will.” She sighed blissfully, stroking his breast with wifely familiarity. She sang a child’s song in Russian, cooing softly in his ear as she strummed her fingers across a male nipple. Then she paused in the melody to ask, “Is it as much fun for a man to ride a horse astride as I had when I rode you?”
“Nothing equals a good ride between a man and a woman, my sweet,” Tyrone assured her, casting a roguish smile back at her.
“Did you enjoy it, too?”
“Immensely.”
“I like your body,” she whispered, tracing her tongue over his ear. In all honesty she added, “I would have mourned over my loss if I’d been forced to marry Vladimir. You’re so much more handsome and exciting to look at. I regret that you were whipped, Ty, but I’m not sorry you were forced to wed me. I enjoy having you as my husband, and I especially relish the moments when you’re aroused. You make me tremble with excitement just looking at you.”
Not knowing what to answer, Tyrone pinched her buttock, drawing a squeal from the little sprite who rode his back.
“You bruised me,” she complained, rubbing her soft breasts against his back. “You’ll have to massage me there later.”
“I’ll massage you, all right, but not in the way you think.”
“In what way do you mean, then?” she queried teasingly.
“You’ll see soon enough, madam. Never fear. And then your greedy little hands can show me just how much you appreciate my body.”
“Promise?”
“You have my pledge on it, my dear.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Tyrone carried her to their chambers by way of the private stairs, and then, after donning kaftans, they descended to the lower depths of the mansion, where he dismissed the male servant shortly after a bath was prepared in one of the larger tubs. Once the door was securely barred behind the man, Tyrone approached his wife, who was just shrugging out of her robe. His own had been quickly tossed aside, and he grinned as her admiring gaze swept downward. Taking her hand, he led her to the tub, stepped into the warm bath, and then, bidding her to sit facing him within the spread of his thighs, pulled her legs over his and settled her feet behind his buttocks. Leering at her, he began to soap her body
while she, in turn, lathered his. They seemed especially wont to linger over the sensually sensitive areas and grew thoroughly stimulated beneath each other’s lingering caresses. They rinsed with as much care and then, stepping from the tub, descended the steps of the pool. Gazing down into her warm gaze, Tyrone pulled her close and gave her a long, thoroughly provocative kiss before sweeping her into a very passionate reenactment of several of his fantasies.
16
Ali was clearly ecstatic over the idea of being able to view a full-dress parade. Heretofore she had only heard rumors about the exhibitions of horsemanship and colorful uniforms worn by the riders. She had been assured that it would be a lavish spectacle, and now that other cavalry units were competing against her master’s outfit, it promised to be an exciting event, one that she hoped would solidify Colonel Tyrone Rycroft as the best equestrian instructor in all of Russia.
The maid was by no means the only one desirous of seeing the presentation. Synnovea was elated over the prospect of watching Tyrone and his men perform on the field for the tsar, yet she was a bit anxious about it, too, considering His Majesty would be comparing the skills of her husband’s company to others. Now that there were other troops of Hussars eager to win the distinction of being the best and most impressive riders on the field, she was anxious for Tyrone to accomplish a flawless exhibition.
For the occasion, Synnovea had garbed herself in an emerald-green sarafan lavishly embroidered with twining vines and small silk clusters of pale blue flowers. It was one that Tyrone especially liked. Not only did the darker hue accentuate the green in her eyes, but the rich color complimented her fair skin. A matching kokoshniki had been created with tufted ribbons of light blue interspersed among green silk leaves, which had been adorned with dewdrops of translucent beading. Lastly she draped a fringed shawl of iridescent green silk around her shoulders, hoping the weather would stay pleasant long enough to allow her to escape the need for a cloak, which she had prudently brought along in the carriage.
Natasha had also been caught up in the enthusiasm of her companions and vivaciously waved and called greetings to friends and acquaintances as she followed to the reviewing stand to which Tyrone had verbally directed them before taking his leave earlier that morning. Prince Adolphe hailed Natasha from afar and hastened to catch up as she, in turn, tried to keep pace with Synnovea. Arriving at the pavilion where the wives and families of the officers were gathering, the younger woman paused to catch her breath, much to the relief of the two older women, who had lagged behind in spite of their attempts to keep up. Rosy cheeks on all attested to their rapid flight across the grounds in the crisp morning air.
“You should be grateful that Tyrone wasn’t here to witness your arrival, my dear,” Natasha exclaimed breathlessly, dabbing a lacy handkerchief to her cheeks where a fine mist of perspiration now glistened. “Otherwise you might have given him cause to think you’re anxious to see him all spiffed and polished in his uniform.”
Synnovea had taken a measure of delight in withholding news of their new marital relationship from the older woman. Since it was clearly what the elder had been expecting, Synnovea had no doubt that she’d be teased unduly, and was just as certain that she’d never hear the last of Natasha’s gleeful hooting if she even hinted of her growing infatuation with Tyrone Rycroft.
Tossing her head, Synnovea sweetly needled, “And I suppose you just came along to pester me and have no real interest yourself in watching the proceedings. If that’s all you’ve come for, perhaps Prince Adolphe can entertain you while Ali and I watch the festivities.” She inclined her head to indicate the gray-haired man who was hastening up the steps of the pavilion. “He’s here now to save you from the dreadful boredom of this event.”
Natasha chuckled at the girl’s spirited rejoinder. “You should know by now that a team of Adolphe’s finest horses couldn’t drag me away from here today.”
“Of course,” Synnovea answered with a smug smile. “But I just wanted to hear it from your lips.”
Both women swept into deep curtsies as Prince Adolphe joined them. The man’s dark eyes twinkled admiringly as he complimented Synnovea on her apparel, but when they settled on Natasha, a different light glowed in their depths, one that closely resembled adoration. Even after being gently rejected several times, the widowered prince hadn’t yet lost hope that Natasha would someday relent and accept his proposal of marriage.
“Perhaps the two of you should adorn the tsar’s pavilion, where your beauty can be better viewed,” Adolphe suggested with a chortle, “and where I can also benefit from your radiant glow while adhering to my duties.”
The two women laughed at his magnanimous compliment, but Synnovea kindly rejected his gallant invitation. “My husband will be expecting to see me here, Prince Adolphe, and I wouldn’t want him to think that I hadn’t come. Therefore I must forgo the privilege of joining you. But there’s no reason why Natasha cannot.”
The prince was eager to convince the older woman. “So many of our friends are already there, Natasha.” Puckish humor tugged at the corners of his mustached mouth. “But then, there are several who might not be quite as pleased to have you there as I. Princess Taraslovna has made a point of joining her cousin, perhaps in a quest to get back in good stead with him. That sober little cleric she dotes on is also trying to gain favor with the tsar and Patriarch Filaret, but his duplicity seems ill-timed.”
The last time Natasha had seen Ivan, he had been trying to rally support for a second advisor to be appointed for the tsar. She wasn’t at all surprised by the cleric’s cozenage, but she was curious to know why it seemed inappropriate. “How so?”
“From what I understand, the good patriarch got wind of Ivan Voronsky’s efforts to see himself appointed as counselor. Right now, the cleric is rather hampered by a swollen jaw and can’t offer explanations as skillfully as I’m sure he would like.”
“But what happened to his jaw?”
Adolphe chuckled. “Prince Vladimir and his sons got miffed over a remark that Ivan made about a certain colonel’s wife. Well, you know their tendency to pick a fight with anyone they find fault with. I’m afraid poor Ivan didn’t fare too well in the process.”
Natasha cast a quick glance toward Synnovea, whose attention had been snared. The older woman carefully voiced an inquiry. “Was the colonel’s wife anyone we know, Adolphe?”
“None other than your beautiful house guest, my dear.”
Synnovea could imagine the insults that Ivan was wont to lay upon her and gingerly offered a supposition. “I assume the remark was terribly offensive.”
“It was,” Adolphe Zherkof admitted, “but after Sergei nearly fractured his jaw, Ivan has been extremely hesitant about repeating the slur lest that brawling brood come after him. At the time, he probably thought Vladimir would agree with him when he said something about you supposedly being caught with the Englishman soon after the document for your betrothal to the old prince was signed, but from what Feodor told me about his brother’s attack, Ivan’s slander not only incensed their father, it outraged the whole family. ’Twould seem they are still much taken with you, my dear.”
“I knew I liked those boyars,” Natasha chimed in with amused laughter. “I just never knew how much until now.”
Adolphe grinned. “I thought you’d enjoy that bit of news, my dear. In fact, you’ll probably hear more delectable tidbits if you’d consent to join me in the tsar’s pavilion.”
“I’d love to, Adolphe, but you’ll be busy introducing diplomats and foreign emissaries to His Majesty, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll come after the parade, when you’ll have more time.” Lightly resting a hand upon his arm, she asked, “Will you be able to join us this evening for dinner, or must you attend the banquet for the dignitaries?”
“Alas, my services will be needed at the banquet.” He peered at her hopefully. “Tomorrow, perhaps?”
Natasha smiled. “Of course, Adolphe, but we can talk about it later.”
/> His dark eyes gleamed back at her. “After the parade,” he assured her, lifting her hand to bestow a kiss upon her slender fingers. “I’ll return to fetch you.”