Free Forever in Your Embrace by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Page A

admonishing tone and her own condemning conscience. “You seem dreadfully rankled by your loss.”
    “And well I should be! I’ll not likely find another steed half as gifted in the field as that one!”
    “On the morrow I shall instruct Captain Nekrasov to leave you Ladislaus’s stallion,” she stated loftily. “Perhaps that will mollify you.”
    The man scoffed sharply. “Hardly! It cost me a goodly sum to have my own stallions shipped here from England ….”
    “From England ?” she repeated in surprise, and then realized she had overlooked the obvious. His subtly clipped speech clearly betrayed his place of origin. “You’re an Englishman?”
    “I thought it might have been apparent to one who also speaks the language!” he quipped with rampant sarcasm.
    “But you led a Russian troop…” Synnovea began, clearly bemused. Then she recalled Ladislaus’s comment about foreign cavaliers being hired to teach their fighting skills to the tsar’s troops. “You’re an English officer in His Majesty’s service?”
    Though he wore nothing more dashing than a long robe, the man gave her a debonair bow, a gesture which might have been accompanied by the clicking of heels had he worn something more substantial. “Colonel Sir Tyrone Bosworth Rycroft at your service, Countess. Knighted in England and now Commander of the Third Regiment of the Tsar’s Imperial Hussars. And you are…”
    “This is hardly the place for introductions, Colonel,” Synnovea replied hurriedly, reluctant to provide him with a name. She could imagine him spreading lurid tales of their watery meeting among his troops and friends, leaving her reputation hopelessly besmirched.
    A grin slanted across his swollen lips. “And you are the Countess Synnovea Altynai Zenkovna,” he continued smoothly, “en route to Moscow , where you’ll be under the tutelage of Princess Taraslovna, the tsar’s cousin.”
    Synnovea felt her chin sagging in surprise and made haste to close her mouth. Breathlessly she whispered, “You know a great deal about me, sir.”
    “I wanted to know,” Tyrone replied with an air of confidence that shattered her own. “When we arrived here this evening and I found that you had also taken shelter in the inn, I made inquiries among your escort. Captain Nekrasov refused to accommodate me, but his sergeant proved far more generous with the facts. I was relieved to hear that you’re unmarried, especially to that pompous little upstart who serves as your companion and who had the audacity to ask me to leave the bathhouse to him! He obliged me by his own departure. From his obvious contempt, I gathered he thinks much of himself or his station in life. Or perhaps he sees some hope of elevating himself through his association with you.” The colonel arched an unmarred brow as he looked at her pointedly, awaiting some declaration as to her relationship to the man.
    Though desirous of denying any attachment to Ivan Voronsky, Synnovea refused to appease the officer’s curiosity. It seemed prudent to keep the man from gaining further knowledge of her lest he prove bothersome or an embarrassment in the future.
    Gathering her satchel, Synnovea moved toward the door but found her progress promptly thwarted by the colonel, who stepped in front of her. His uneven lips eased into a gentle smile. “Will you allow me to see you again, Countess?”
    “That’s impossible, Colonel,” she declined coolly. “I shall be traveling on to Moscow on the morrow.”
    “But so will I,” Tyrone assured her softly. “I’m here in this area only because I led my men on an exercise in the field. We’re scheduled to return by the morrow’s evening.”
    Synnovea refused to give way to his arguments. “Princess Anna would hardly approve.”
    “You’re not…betrothed?” Tyrone held his breath in anticipation of her answer. He couldn’t understand why he should suddenly forget the ache of his shattered life and once again allow a woman to