Tags:
Fiction,
General,
Romance,
Historical,
History,
Man-Woman Relationships,
Love Stories,
Europe,
Nobility,
Russia,
Russia & the Former Soviet Union
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 t hank s to you!”
Synnovea raised a dainty chin, pricked by his
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia