Her soft lips curved in a radiant smile as her eyes plumbed the depths of those sparkling orbs. “I suppose we shouldn’t be so forward while we have such a vast audience of onlookers. You seem to be the darling of the parade, sir. Even so, it would be nice to claim you with a kiss. In lieu of that, I must resort to other methods.” Synnovea drew forth the shawl, which she had folded and draped over her arm. “I’ve been told that it’s customary for wives and sweethearts to present their men with tokens of their regard. Would you honor me by accepting my colors, sir?”
“With great delight, madam,” Tyrone breathed warmly. Retreating a step, he spread his arms and waited as she wrapped and knotted the scarf around his waist. When she lifted her head and offered him a loving smile, he could resist no longer. Ignoring proper decorum, he placed a soft kiss upon her mouth, which rapidly slackened in surprise. Astonished gasps were wrenched from older matrons, while giggling twitters were elicited from the younger women who had followed him into the pavilion and then had watched from a discreet distance. Tyrone paid neither group heed as he lost himself in the warmly glowing green-brown orbs. “That will have to suffice until we get back to our bedchamber, my sweet.”
Synnovea’s cheeks brightened with a blush of pleasure. “You make me anxious to return.”
Gazing into those luminous depths, Tyrone had to remind himself to breathe. “ ’Twas thrilling to have you in attendance as my wife.”
“Not as thrilling as it is to have you as my husband,” she murmured with adoration shining in her eyes.
Natasha leaned near and whispered a warning, “General Vanderhout seems to be coming this way at a fast pace, Colonel, and if you ask me, he doesn’t look at all happy. So be careful. He’s almost behind you now.”
Releasing an irritated sigh, Tyrone turned to meet his scowling commander. “Good afternoon, General,” he greeted stiffly. “Did you enjoy the presentation?”
“Blasted waste of time, if you ask me,” Vincent Vanderhout grumbled. “I hope after today you’ll lend your attention to more important matters. It’s about time you took the men out on maneuvers and trained them in warfare. After all, that’s what you came here for, not this flamboyant extravaganza.”
“Your pardon, General, but I have been training my men in military tactics. I started the day I assumed command.”
Vincent scoffed. “I haven’t seen much evidence of that lately.”
Tyrone offered him a blunt supposition. “Perhaps because you haven’t been around to see it.”
The general’s eyes flared. “Are you suggesting that I’ve been ignoring my duties as you seem wont to do?”
Tyrone sought to curb his own rising vexation. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, General, but my men and I haven’t seen you in the last week or so.” He failed to mention that he had enjoyed the man’s absence. “Otherwise, you’d be aware of what we’ve been doing to prepare ourselves for maneuvers in the field.”
General Vanderhout faced Synnovea with a tense smile. “If you’ll excuse us, madam. I’d like a private word with your husband.”
“Of course, General.” Synnovea glanced worriedly at Tyrone, who squeezed her hand reassuringly before he followed his commander from the pavilion. Anxiously she watched them, wondering what insults the general would heap upon her husband this time, no doubt in a tone that everyone could hear.
Zelda had witnessed the general’s approach and the fact that he had claimed Tyrone. Returning to her friend’s side, she offered counsel of her own. “Don’t fret over anything that man may try to do, my dear. He’s like a large bubble ready to pop. If Tsar Mikhail hasn’t noticed, those close to him certainly have, including the field marshal.”
General Vanderhout stalked around the far end of the pavilion to a place well out of sight of the royal pavilion. By the time he faced his second-in-command, it was obvious he had grown even more irate, for his cheeks now bore a florid, mottled hue. “How dare you suggest that I’ve been lax in my duties, Colonel!”
“I didn’t suggest anything of the kind,” Tyrone countered. “I simply said that I didn’t know where you had been.” Then, because he couldn’t resist gently needling the man, he queried, “Were you lax in your duties?”
“Certainly not! I’ve been indisposed.”
“I hope nothing serious,” Tyrone quipped.
Vanderhout glared back at him. “Just what do you mean by that?”
The colonel lifted his broad shoulders in a casual shrug. “Only that if you were ailing, I hoped it was nothing more than a passing malady.”
“Who said I was sick?”
“Actually, no one,” Tyrone replied. “I naturally assumed that was what you meant.”
The general blustered. “Well, you were wrong to make such an assumption. My health is not the problem here. You are. Just because you’ve entertained the tsar with your horsemanship, you probably think you’re now the favored one in his eyes. ’Tis my duty to remind you of your lowly position.”
Tyrone canted his head, just now beginning to understand what was driving the man. Vanderhout’s jealousy was like deadly worms eating him alive. “The parade is over, General, and very soon I’ll be leaving Moscow to search out Ladislaus. In view of that fact, I can see little reason for your reprimand. Can you?”
Vanderhout clenched his teeth to still an acid retort. He had been hoping to see the younger man shaking in his boots, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll let you off this time, Colonel, but you’d better keep your wits about you or I’ll see you sent back to England.”
Tyrone’s lips drew into a laconic smile. “Thank you for your warning, General.”
With that, Tyrone gave him a crisp salute and, pivoting about-face, strode back to the pavilion. Vanderhout glared after him, wishing he could carry through with his threat, but he was painfully aware that his own career would spiral sharply downward once the colonel was gone and he could no longer claim the man’s accomplishments as his own. Thus far, he had been lucky in spite of the fact that his rank had been purchased by a wealthy father who had entertained aspirations of his son becoming a great military leader someday. Vanderhout heaved a sigh. Sadly enough, there were times when he felt completely inept at commanding men, and he knew well enough that the resentment he was harboring against the colonel was nothing more than his own envy spurring him on to vindictive accusations.
Synnovea’s attention had been drawn away from the two men when Natasha whispered another warning, “I do believe Anna is coming with that goat Ivan. She seems as vexed as the general. Do you suppose she could still be stewing over your marriage to the colonel?”
Synnovea steadfastly faced Anna as that one strode across the pavilion toward her. The woman’s thin jaw was rigid, and her eyes could’ve been likened to two penetrating slivers of gray ice. Obviously she hadn’t been able to reclaim the ground she had lost with the tsar, for at the moment, her rage seemed undiminished.
“The minute my back was turned, you started playing your foul little games to embarrass me before my cousin. Had I known what mischief you intended to brew in my absence, I would never have left Moscow.”
Recognizing the woman’s venom, Zelda interrupted cautiously. “This really doesn’t concern me, Synnovea. I must leave anyway and find my husband before he comes searching for me.” She pressed a cheek against her friend’s and voiced a conjecture in a muted tone. “Anna is merely irate because you escaped her malicious ploy to see you married off to Prince Vladimir.”
Stepping back, Zelda almost stumbled over Ivan Voronsky, who had halted close behind her. Perhaps the man’s intent had been to overhear what was being said between the two younger women, and though neither Synnovea nor Zelda doubted the capability of the cleric to resort to tactics of that sort, they were both amazed that he wasn’t more discreet.
Ivan sneered at Zelda in obvious distaste before she offered a hurried excuse and made her departure. Then he turned and bestowed a snide smirk upon Synnovea as he
queried, “Another little witless friend of yours, Countess?”
Synnovea gasped in outrage. “Princess Zelda can hardly be considered witless, sir!” she protested, sharpening the man’s glare. “Nor can you accurately judge the wisdom of another when you have no idea what that particular word means!”
“Have you room to boast on any account?” Ivan challenged officiously. “I know what you are! I’ve known it all along! You’re naught but a filthy little slut!”
Ivan’s thin arm was immediately seized in a steely vise, eliciting a sharp yelp from the man. Looking around in painful surprise, he almost gulped when he met the glaring blue eyes of the Englishman.
“Be careful what you say, little toad,” Tyrone rumbled. “Someone may be tempted to do the world a favor and break your scrawny little neck. In other words, if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head when you’re talking to my wife, I’ll be obliged to do the deed myself.” Releasing the wide-eyed man as if he were something tainted, Tyrone gave Ivan a meaningful stare as if to affirm his pledge. “Be warned.”
Anna dared to intervene. “If you should attempt such a thing, Colonel, I’m sure every Russian in Moscow will be amused to see your head lifted off your shoulders at the Place of the Brow.”
Tyrone scoffed in derision. “What? For killing a rat?”
Ivan blustered in outrage, but Tyrone pulled his wife’s arm through his and gave them a curt excuse. “His Majesty has bade me to bring Synnovea to his pavilion ere we involve ourselves in any of the celebrations to be held afterwards. So if you’ll excuse us, the tsar is waiting.”
“I’ll tag along,” Natasha announced cheerily. “Adolphe wanted me to join him anyway, and since the air has grown quite offensive here, I’d like to seek a more fragrant site.” Taking it upon herself to give Ali leave to stay and talk with the other servants, Natasha waved to the tiny maid and then turned, meeting Anna’s glower briefly before she hastened to join the handsome couple, who were already making their way toward the royal pavilion.
Tsar Mikhail was standing with the field marshal when the three arrived, but he readily excused himself from the man and lent his full attention to Tyrone and Synnovea as Adolphe hurried forward to claim Natasha and draw her aside.
Mikhail’s dark eyes gleamed with pleasure as he considered the newlyweds. “I’m happy to see you both looking so fit. Obviously marriage agrees with you, Colonel.” He bent a smile upon Synnovea. “You also seem quite happy, my dear. Is all well with you?”
Her smile wavered enticingly between timidity and radiance. “Very well indeed, Your Majesty.”
Mikhail eyed the man at her side. “I’ve never seen a better performance from your outfit as I saw today, Colonel Rycroft,” he declared with enthusiasm. “In fact, I thought you seemed in remarkably good spirits while you were out on the field.” A threatening grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Though in the past I’ve been much awed by your presentations, I was curious to know what had motivated you to such perfection today. Then I chanced to witness your haste to reach the other pavilion after the event. Obviously you had your mind affixed on pleasing your wife more than anyone else.”
Tyrone’s bronzed features took on a ruddy hue. “My most humble apology, Your Majesty, if I seemed distracted….”
Mikhail held up a hand to halt the polite plea. “I welcome whatever it was that encouraged the unparalleled excellence of your performance, Colonel. You delighted me—and my guests—far beyond the measure I was expecting.” Thoughtfully he tapped a forefinger against his lips. “It wouldn’t grieve me at all if you’d allow that particular inspiration to motivate you in the future. If such exhibitions are enhanced to the degree that I’ve seen here today, then I can only determine that it’s in my best interest to allow you to perform them in the main for your wife.”
Though relief flooded through him, Tyrone responded with a crisply executed bow. “I’m grateful for your kind indulgence, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps when it’s convenient for you, we should discuss your last petition. I have a feeling that you’ll want to consider withdrawing it.”
Tyrone’s eyes dropped briefly as he suffered through a moment of painful chagrin. He was embarrassed that he had ever let his ire rule his head, but he squared his shoulders. “You see through me quite well, Your Majesty. I’d feel kindly favored if you’d forgive my impertinence and allow me to retract the petition. It has already been nullified.”
“I thought as much,” Mikhail replied with an amused chortle. “You seemed too happy with your present situation for me to believe otherwise. But then, I was sure in time you’d have a change of heart.”
“My heart has always been firmly ensnared, Your Majesty,” Tyrone dared to correct. “ ’Twas only my head that was led astray by my resentment.”
17
Tyrone was usually very punctual about getting up before dawn, but on this particular Saturday, when he had a day free of duties, he didn’t even stir when Synnovea slipped from their chambers and went downstairs for her morning toilet. It was a pair of hours later before he roused from slumber and, upon realizing the place beside him was empty, launched himself from bed before he noticed Synnovea sitting in a chair near the windows. For a moment he savored the stirring vision as he recalled the passion they had enjoyed during the night. At present, she looked sweetly demure in a softly hued dressing gown. She was repairing a snag in a pair of his newer trousers that had been torn by a lance during one of the practice assaults in which he had been training his men. Yet there had been moments in their night-long feast of sensual delights when he had glimpsed again the wily temptress who could make him tremble in lusting fervor. Although newly indoctrinated into the rites of love, Synnovea was warm, responsive, and creative. Indeed, he found himself thoroughly enthralled with his young wife, for he was wont to think that she could portray the bewitching seductress better than the most knowledgeable strumpet.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his lips slowly tracing into a grin.
Synnovea’s smiling gaze swept his long, naked torso in admiration before she met his warmly inquisitive stare. “Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well.”
Tyrone raked his fingers through his hair, somewhat amazed by his tardy rising. “I had no idea I could sleep so late.” He cocked a brow at her and teased, “I think you wore me out, madam.”
“Strange, I seem to remember a time or two during the night when you woke me up wanting more,” Synnovea rejoined with a soft chuckle. Setting aside the mended breeches, she rose and brushed close against him in passing, rousing a whole volley of delectable sensations before she moved on to the anteroom. “I told Ali that I would let her know when you were up so Danika could prepare you victuals. Would you like Ali to bring you up a tray or would you prefer to go downstairs to eat?”
Tyrone let his breath out slowly, somewhat amazed at himself. Even after spending such an adventuresome night in bed, he was still anxious for more. Scrubbing a hand over the stubble bearding his face, he crossed to the dressing room. “If Ali wouldn’t mind fetching a tray, I’d rather eat up here.”
“Ali lives to please you, Ty,” Synnovea assured him, pausing near the door of the anteroom. “Your will is her command.”
“What of her mistress?” he queried, leering at her.
Synnovea laughed and shook her head. “If I were to yield that bit of knowledge to you, my dear husband, you’d probably take advantage of me, perhaps even seek retribution for past offenses. I don’t think it would be wise to reveal how my heart races at your slightest touch. You see, only a few days ago I was sure you hated me.”
“Have I not been a most attentive husband these past two nights?”
“Aye,” she agreed with a husky warmth imbuing her tone. “So attentive you make me yearn for more.”
“Then you’d better send Ali for a tray, madam. I’ll need nourishment if you want me to stay up here and make love to you all day long.”
“Your servant, sir.” Her
laugher flowed behind her as she hastened to the outer door.
Chuckling, Tyrone made his way into the bathing chamber, where he paused to wrap a towel around his hips before beginning his morning routine. When Synnovea leaned in a few minutes later, he was spreading lather over his cheeks.
“I think it’s about time I devoted some attention to teaching you Russian,” she announced. “Are you agreeable?”
“I was wondering when you’d get around to it.”
With an air of playful indifference, Synnovea tossed her loose tresses. “You haven’t been home long enough for us to even speak, much less allow me time to instruct you.”