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

strike sparks in his mind, yet he could keenly perceive the depth of his disappointment if he had to give her up to some other swain.
    “Nay, Colonel Rycroft, of course not.”
    “Then, with your permission, Countess, I’d consider it an honor to pay court to you.” Tyrone was crushingly aware of his own impatience to settle the matter. In spite of his score, ten and two years of life, he had been caught in a rutting heat over this beauty and was comporting himself like some eager young whelp. True, it had been some time since he had made love to a woman, yet he couldn’t remember another, even that fair and comely Angelina, who had looked as ravishing either clothed or completely devoid of raiment.
    “Your proposal overwhelms me, Colonel.” Synnovea was more than a little astounded by his petition, yet she was grateful for the shadows that masked the heat flooding into her cheeks as she recalled how his warm, well-defined body had pressed against her own in the pool. His entreaty was out of the question for a variety of reasons, perhaps the most pronounced being her guardian’s sharp aversion to foreigners, yet for the sake of caution, Synnovea deemed it fitting to soften her rejection. “I shall have to consider your request, Colonel Rycroft. And then, of course, I must seek Princess Anna’s permission.”
    “Then I shall await your pleasure, my lady. Until then, I bid you adieu.” Tyrone swept her another courtly bow and slowly straightened as she moved past him and hurried across the room. Her silken robe was now quite damp and clung to her gently swaying hips divinely, reminding him of that moment in the pool when his hand had brushed her buttocks and she had clung to him in an anxious frenzy. His long-starved passions had not yet cooled from that delicious encounter. Indeed, he could easily foresee having to endure a long, restless night tormented by his desires and a relentless onslaught of lustful imaginings.
    The portal opened with the same soft creak that had announced the lady’s entrance into the bathhouse and closed again to leave him staring musefully at its oaken planks. As he listened to her hastening footsteps, another vision came to mind, one that was dark and dismally devoid of warmth. It was a painful memory of the graveside where he had muttered his last ragged, bitter farewell to his dead wife.
    Colonel Sir Tyrone Rycroft turned with a muttered curse. What fool’s folly had set him on this path toward his own destruction? How could he dare entertain any hope that he could trust another woman when he hadn’t yet gathered the tattered shreds of his emotions and resumed a life unhampered by haunting recollections? The scars he had banished to the dark recesses of his mind burst forth in renewed agony, and with a low growl, he too left the bathhouse.
     
    The dawning sun had not yet touched the land with its torturous glow when Synnovea roused the commander of her escort and bade him to make haste to depart. At Captain Nekrasov’s bemused inquiries, she laid the cause of her dispatch to a desire to have the journey behind her. She dared not reveal the fact that she was afraid that she had attracted the attention of an unwanted suitor and that it was expedient for her to leave ere the Englishman arose and sought her out again.
    “Leave the stallion for Colonel Rycroft,” she told the captain as he escorted her to her waiting coach. “ ’Tis the least I can do to repay him for saving me from Ladislaus.”
    Ali was still sensitive to movement and had to be carried to the conveyance by Stenka. At the gentle urgings of her mistress, the maidservant leaned back against the pillows that had been solicitously tucked into a corner of the seat and once again allowed sleep to overtake her.
    Synnovea braced herself at the opposite end of the seat and closed her eyes, refusing to be drawn into conversation with Ivan. She had bade her driver to waste no moment on this, their final day of travel, and if