Forever in Your Embrace (32 page)

Natasha shook her head in doleful denial. “No, no, child! I would not see you harm the old prince in such a way. Still, I’m reluctant to see you waste the affections of such a man as the colonel.”

Synnovea lifted her head and searched the saddened eyes of the elder. “Would you have me give myself to him so his pride might be spared?”

A glum frown puckered Natasha’s brows. “If only we could find another way to accomplish what you have in mind. I had such high hopes for Colonel Rycroft. I was sure that of all the men who’ve admired you, he’d be the one to win you.”

Synnovea averted her face, not willing to admit that she had seen more in him than she had ever cared to divulge to anyone. It was some moments before she tore her mind free from her own misgivings and glanced up to see that the dark eyes had grown misty with tears. Though the woman’s despondency brought home to her the gravity of her plot, Synnovea couldn’t find it in herself to halt the plummeting grains of time that would see her own ends accomplished in this affair.

T
he pendulum swung through the long hours as night followed day and day followed night until the evening of the planned seduction finally arrived. Synnovea was as jittery as a young bride on her wedding night with the realization that Tyrone would be in attendance and that she’d actually be making an attempt to beguile him by whatever means proved effective. Lacking the finesse and skill of a more experienced temptress, she had no real knowledge of how to go about preparing herself for such an event. In matters of feminine persuasion, she knew she’d have to rely on her own instincts, but in selecting a gown, she sought Natasha’s guidance. A deep blue creation of European design was chosen to compliment her fair skin and to reveal just enough cleavage to be subtly alluring.

“If Colonel Rycroft wasn’t able to resist an overflowing bosom, my dear,” the older countess counseled, “I’m sure he’d be content to coddle strumpets. Instead, he has set his eye on you and with good cause, but I doubt that you’ve given him much more than a glimpse or two of a dainty ear or a creamy nape. Therefore I’m inclined to think his tastes are more refined in the area of women and their attire.”

Synnovea lifted a hand in the guise of brushing aside a rebellious curl from off her brow as she sought to hide the vibrant color that flooded into her cheeks. She would never have verbally disputed her friend’s theory, but she was wont to wonder if Tyrone Rycroft would have been so anxious to court her at all if he hadn’t already seen as much of her as there was to see.

“Have you told Ali what you’re planning?” Natasha queried, settling back upon a chaise as Synnovea rose from the tub and slipped into the large pool fed by an underground spring. The Irish woman had left some moments ago, having forgotten the violet balm to rub into her mistress’s skin. Since Synnovea’s bedchambers were located at the far and uppermost end of the house from the bathing chamber, it was highly unlikely the maid would return within the next few moments. “Ali’s simply beside herself over the idea that Colonel Rycroft will be coming tonight. In light of her infatuation, I’ve been wondering if she has any idea what you’re going to do to the man.”

“What? And have her lay me low with her scolding, too? Why, I’d never hear the end of it!” Synnovea shook her head, denying the possibility, and then promptly voiced objections to the woman’s choice of words. “It isn’t what
I’m
going to do to the colonel, Natasha, but what I’ll be letting
him
do to me! You seem to imagine that I’ll be forcing myself upon his flanks. Believe me, if Colonel Rycroft’s hands move as fast and freely as his eyes do, I’ll be facing hazards just being alone with him.”

Natasha held up a hand to halt the other’s testy remarks. “I’ll say no more, for ’tis plain you’re easily riled by my lament.”

“Aye!” Synnovea agreed with a pert nod. “In your eagerness to plead the colonel’s cause, you’ve shown no similar compassion for me.”

Natasha leaned forward on an elbow and braced her small, pointed chin upon a slender knuckle as she peered intently into the brooding eyes of the other. “You may rant in outrage against my charity toward him all you want, Synnovea, but I’ve seen the weapons at your disposal and do tremble in fear at the havoc you may cause in that man’s life.”

Synnovea reddened profusely when she felt the meaningful flick of the other’s perusal, and with an indignant groan she sank beneath the surface of the water until the ripples lapped beneath her chin. “You’re not being at all fair to take his side over mine.”

“On the contrary, my dear. When you deliberately set out to entice a man solely for the purpose of using him as a pawn for your own gain, then I have no difficulty comparing your actions to the deeds of a well-versed courtesan, but I fear your ruse will be far more damaging. At least a courtesan would stay and pay her due, but what of you? The moment he seeks to take you, you fly.”

“Natasha, have pity!” Synnovea begged fretfully. “You wound me to the quick!”

“Good!” the older woman retorted and fixed a condemning finger upon the girl. “Because that’s exactly what you’ll be doing
to
him.”

A sullen frown troubled Synnovea’s brow as she peered up at Natasha. “Do you like the man so much?”

“Aye! I do!”

Synnovea lifted a dainty nose to indicate the injury she felt at the woman’s continual harping. “And do you loathe me so much for this thing I plan?”

Feeling defeated, Natasha lifted her arms in a lame gesture of appeal. “My dearest Synnovea, I understand why you’re intent upon doing this.” Overwhelmed by her own frustration, she shook her head. “I’m just reluctant to see you waste what had every potential of being a cherished love.”

“I may never know what I could’ve had with Colonel Rycroft,” Synnovea admitted dismally. “But I know I’ll be sorely grieved if I’m forced to wed an ancient or if I must continue to wage my wits against Aleksei to keep myself safe from his wayward bent. If I cannot gain my freedom, that’s exactly what lies ahead of me. Will you not give me your understanding and blessings as I try to avoid that end?”

Again the frosted head moved negatively. “Nay, Synnovea, I cannot do that, but I will give you my prayers, for I think you’ll be needing them—you
and
Colonel Rycroft. Aleksei may be tempted to kill you both.”

“Do you have to be so morbid about it all?” the younger countess grumbled.

Natasha stared at the radiant beauty for a long, thoughtful moment before heaving a laborious sigh. “Synnovea, my child, I don’t think you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for.”

The door opened behind them, and the two women glanced around as Ali skittered in. “Here I be at last,” the maid gasped, clearly out of breath. “An’ meself hurryin’ all the while. Why, if this house be any grander, ye could set the Taraslovs’ manse right square dab in the middle o’ it an’ still have room for a banquet! Poor Danika’s ne’er seen such a large pantry, not ta mention the livin’ quarters what she an’ li’l Sophia’s been given. They’re a happy pair, ta be sure.”

Natasha chuckled. “I’m delighted that Danika has proven herself such an excellent cook. She’s definitely a talented addition to the staff. Our guests will soon be raving over her capabilities.”

“Elisaveta is no less talented, but she fears her labors are mainly wasted at the Taraslovs’,” Synnovea interjected as she tried to set her mind on something less troubling than her planned gambit with Tyrone Rycroft. The old servant came to the edge of the pool, prompting Synnovea to suggest, “Why don’t you visit Elisaveta this evening, Ali? She’d enjoy hearing about Danika’s good fortune. Stenka can drive you over to the Taraslovs’ and return for you later.”

“A right fine idea, me dearie, but if’n ye wouldn’t mind, I’d like ta take a peek or two o’ Colonel Rycroft afore I go, just ta see himself decked out in his finery. Why, he’s nearly the handsomest man I’ve seen since yer pa came courtin’ yer ma.”

Having already suffered much admonition because of the Englishman, Synnovea was in a mood to demur the woman’s boast. “I fear you’re exaggerating beyond your usual bent, Ali. The man has a nice enough form, I’ll grant you, but hardly a face to turn a lady’s head.”

Natasha’s brows jutted upward in some wonderment as she contemplated her house guest. She could only wonder if the girl would find any man exceptional if she dismissed the colonel’s looks so easily.

The appointed time for the guests’ arrival rapidly approached, until only a few moments remained. Natasha went downstairs to the long entrance hall, where she would greet them. When Synnovea joined her there and extended the voluminous skirts of her gown, the elder nodded in smiling approval.

“Do I pass inspection?” the maiden queried with a charming smile, turning about in a slow circle.

“Admirably!” Natasha fervently avouched. “You cannot believe how much your mother’s necklace enhances the luster of your skin. And the gown? Why, it’s simply magnificent, my dear!”

The scalloped lace of the stiff ivory collar was a smaller version of the rabato that Queen Elizabeth of England had been fond of wearing during her reign. Lightly seeded with tiny pearls, it fanned outward from the neckline much like the ornate petals of a flower, complimenting the dark blue hue of the gown and the girl’s elegantly upswept coiffure. The lace insert covering her bosom seemed quite demure at first, but upon closer inspection, the piece proved most provocative, allowing minute glimpses of the round bosom swelling above the shallow blue bodice. The necklace was a massive creation, studded with large sapphires interspersed with diamonds and adorned around the lower edge with a collection of pearl teardrops. From the elaborate setting, a much larger pearl pendant dangled coyly above the fleshly crevice.

“I fear the poor colonel will have difficulty recovering his wits after he sees you, my dear,” Natasha commented ruefully. “He’ll be as vulnerable as a bleating lamb being led to slaughter.”

“Natasha, please,” Synnovea implored. “Have done with your nagging ere I’m rent asunder.” From beneath gathered brows she peered up at the woman, sulking like a beautiful child. “The way you harp at me, a body would have reason to think you’re my mother.”

Natasha flung back her head and laughed in hearty amusement. When her mirth finally ebbed, she met the solemn green-brown eyes with a warm radiance shining within her own. “If it’s so apparent that I have a mother’s concern for you, Synnovea, can you not understand that I value your happiness above all else? Thus I must beg you to have a care for the pride of the man whom you lead into your trap tonight.”

The tinkling of tiny bells announced the arrival of a carriage before the stoop, and soon the mingled voices of several men could be heard. Synnovea managed a tremulous smile as she searched the other’s dark eyes. “I shall do whatever I can to soften the blow to Colonel Rycroft.”

Natasha inclined her regal head in acknowledgment of the other’s assurance and moved toward the entrance to greet her first guests. For the time being, the pledge would be enough to appease her apprehensions.

It was nearly a quarter turn past the hour when Tyrone Rycroft entered the foyer with his second-in-command, Captain Grigori Tverskoy. The Russian officer was dressed in a red silk kaftan and looked quite dashing. The Englishman had garbed himself according to the fashion of his homeland and wore a rich velvet doublet, knee breeches, and stockings, all of the blackest hue. The only relief from the somber color came from the white, lace-edged cuffs and wide, flat collar that had been similarly adorned. In contrast to the colorful robes of the boyars, the elegant simplicity of his clothes seemed quite sober. Even so, his appearance was no less than magnificent.

The ornately adorned vaulted ceiling looming above the staircase was well lit with chandeliers, allowing visitors to view the beauty of it as they approached Natasha, who awaited them near the arched colonnade bordering the entrance to the manse’s great room, which was itself a work of art with its intricately painted tiles, motifs, and richly paneled walls. Ali kept vigil from the second flight of stairs, and it was there that Tyrone espied her soon after his entrance. Much to the maid’s delight, he swept her a courtly bow. “You’ve made this evening brighter by your cheery smile, Ali McCabe. So far, I’ve seen none to bless my heart more.”

“Ah, but ye will, Colonel, mark me words,” she warbled cheerily and scampered up the stairs to fetch her wrap. Now that she had seen the gentleman handsomely outfitted in his best, she’d be content to leave and visit with Elisaveta in the Taraslov kitchen.

“No wonder Ali is taken with you, Colonel,” Natasha observed with a gracious smile. “With a name like Tyrone and enough charm to crumble Lord Blarney’s castle, you’ve managed to endear yourself to the woman. She’s convinced you come from Irish stock.”

“Actually, my grandmother is Irish,” Tyrone admitted with a grin. “But then, she all but raised me, for my own mother often sailed the seas with my father.”

“And what is his profession?”

“Once he plied his trade as a merchant seaman and sailed to foreign climes, but now he owns a small fleet of ships, which are used in the same commerce.”

“Not a soldier?” Natasha queried. “I would’ve thought him to be a proud cavalier like yourself, Colonel. Wherever did you gain such equestrian skills if not from your father?”

“My grandmother Meghan is very fond of horses, my lady.” A brief flash of white teeth accompanied his answer. “Shortly after I was weaned, she put me in a saddle. Even at an age of threescore, ten, and three years, she still rides for an hour or so every morning.”