Once a Princess (18 page)

“You don't have that right at all, Princess.” One
shoe finally came off and flew out of his hands to hit the far wall. “I might lie on the floor, but if I have managed to sleep there, I don't remember it.”

“Is that why you're taking the bed tonight?”

Stefan straightened up so fast, he nearly blacked out. He dropped back on the bed the rest of the way as pain streaked through his head. And he was unaware that he was holding his other shoe when he brought his hands up to press them against his temples once more. However, the shoe was swiftly extracted from his fingers.

“Lord help me, what next?” she exclaimed. “You shouldn't have moved so quickly, Stefan.”

He would have laughed if it wouldn't have hurt. And he refrained from saying, “No kidding,” because it was finally occurring to him what all this nonsense was about. The damned woman
had
been humoring him. She should have told him to get the hell out of her bed when he'd mistaken it for his own. But no, that wasn't the way to
handle
a drunk. Just what had she thought he would do if she hadn't agreed with him? But he knew the answer to that, too. The same thing he had done before when his anger got out of control.

For a moment he wondered how far she would go to keep him a happy drunk. Wasn't she fortunate that he was too tired
and
too drunk to explore that thought fully? But he wasn't asleep yet.

He opened his eyes to see her staring down at him. She stiffened then, making him realize that her thigh was the soft pillow cushioning his head, and that he had surprised her by not being passed out, as she had
likely assumed from his prolonged silence.

“As long as you're already here, Stefan, there is no reason for you to stir yourself. I can sleep on the floor for one night.”

“That's generous of you, but speaking of no reasons, I can't think of a single one to prevent us from sharing the bed instead—only for one night.”

“I can think of several—”

“Don't.”

“I'll just—”

“Be
still
, Tanya! My head has just stopped aching, so don't make any sudden movements to start it up again.”

He wasn't sure, but she seemed to be grinding her teeth together before she suggested, “Don't you think you would be more comfortable if you put your feet up on the bed and stretched out properly?”

If she thought he would release her thigh when he moved, he would have to disappoint her. “Thank you for mentioning it,” he said and rolled sideways, curving his legs to fit at the bottom of the bed and throwing an arm over her legs. His head remained on her thigh, and if it wasn't the most comfortable position, he would suffer it just to thwart her.

“Stefan,” she choked out.

“Shh,” he grumbled. “Don't start nagging now, when you have been so pleasantly agreeable—and I am almost asleep.”

Her sigh was loud and clear as she dropped back onto her pillow. It would be a grand stroke of poetic
justice if she didn't get any more sleep tonight herself, about as unjust as his finally having her in this position, but being in no condition to enjoy it. At the moment, he didn't even care.

Tanya awoke to the feel of lips moving with tantalizing softness over hers. She didn't have to wonder who was kissing her. What she did wonder was if Stefan was awake and knew what he was doing, or if he was merely reacting in his sleep to the warm body he found next to him. And if he wasn't awake, or completely aware, did she want to risk changing that by abruptly stopping him?

Reasonable questions, surely, but they didn't take into account that she found being awakened like this very pleasant, so pleasant that she didn't want to be the one to end it. In fact, she began participating, carefully at first—to avoid waking him if he was still half-asleep—parting her lips, inviting the thrust of his tongue, which came instantly to duel in slow, sensual motion with hers.

But how quickly she forgot about being careful when the more she yielded, the more Stefan demanded. In no time at all, passion raged between them, hers fed by his. Her heartbeat had become
violent. She had to gasp for each breath when she could get one. And the sensations that manifested and pulsed through her innards were more exciting than ever before.

She held him close, marveling that each time she ever had, the man had been so very hot to the touch. Now was no different, and she found herself wanting more than anything to know the feel of that heated skin against her own. But she still wore her dress. He still wore his shirt and trousers. Even the blanket was still half covering only her, though she had kicked one leg free of it when she had turned toward Stefan.

Then suddenly he was pushing the shoulders of her dress down and tugging on the bodice until her breasts spilled out. His hand caressed her while his kiss deepened even more, as if he were afraid this new intimacy might inspire a protest. The only thing inspired was a new sensation that amazed and delighted her as he palmed the hard kernel her nipple had become.

When his lips finally left hers, she tried to draw him back, but he was determined to explore a new path. He found it and she gasped, the moist heat of his mouth searing one breast, then the other, as if he couldn't make up his mind which one he found more tasty. But then he latched onto one nipple and began to suckle, and Tanya discovered the heretofore unknown connection between her breasts and her loins, how heat could shoot from one part of her body to another, firing an achy feeling of need for his touch in both places. She arched into him, demanding what
she needed with her body. His hand slid up her bare calf, her thigh, finally answering her silent call with the most sensuous of caresses.

There was no doubt now that he was awake, and no doubt either that nothing was going to stop them this time. And Tanya responded to that, giving herself over completely to what he was making her feel, wanting so much now to know it all, feel it all, though she couldn't quite believe anything could be better than what she was experiencing right now. His nakedness, though, that might be better, all that heat hers to touch…hers? No, she wouldn't let doubts or negative thoughts intrude to spoil this. She wanted this man to make love to her. She wanted…

The insistent pounding on the door registered and provoked a groan of frustration from her. Stefan was more vocal, snarling, “I'll kill them,” as he raised his head.

The pounding continued a moment more, then: “Stefan, if you don't answer, I'll think she's murdered you and break this damn door down!”

Tanya's eyes flew open, but it was difficult to see anything with only a thin crack of light coming in from under the door. But the door wasn't locked. Stefan had no more than slammed it closed last night.

He must have realized that at the same moment she did, for he got up with a curse, then groaned as the headache from his expected hangover caught up with him in a big way. But he still managed to reach the door, opened it partially just long enough for whoever was on the other side to see him, then closed it again, softly, in deference to his head.

Tanya slowly pulled and pushed her dress back into place, not knowing what to expect now, especially when the door-pounder called out the parting tidbit that the boat had docked an hour ago. She could barely make out Stefan's shadow as he moved to light a lamp. She wished he wouldn't. She wished he'd come back to bed, but she knew that was impossible now with everyone obviously waiting for them to emerge from the cabin.

But when light surrounded her, Tanya had one more wish, that it would extinguish itself. It didn't. Stefan was standing next to the bed, staring down at her with the most inscrutable expression he'd ever worn, and all her doubts came rushing to the surface.

Had he meant to start what had happened, or had he in fact been sleeping to begin with and just got as caught up in their mounting passion as she had been? Did he wonder the same thing about her? And after last night and his magnanimous, arrogant offer to make love to her because
she
needed it…oh, God, this morning wasn't an extension of that offer, was it? And why didn't he say something? Why did he simply keep staring, as if similar or worse questions were running through his mind? Worse, she guessed, for his expression suddenly hardened, whatever conclusion he'd drawn not to his liking.

Tanya braced herself, but she still wasn't prepared to hear him say, “You really
don't
care who you bed with, do you?”

She would have hit him if he was close enough. She had to settle for rolling over to give him her back, because the rejoinder he deserved—“I guess
not”—wouldn't get past the lump in her throat.

Her silent withdrawal must have surprised him, however, for he added, “I'm sorry—that was uncalled-for. But I know you hate me, so what else am I to think?”

What else indeed, but he didn't have to put it quite that way, did he? But it seemed that the more intimate they were, the more insulting became his remarks afterward, so she should have expected something like that. But she hadn't.

And what could she tell him? She
had
been so furious with him about his taking the tavern from her that she really would have shot him if she could have got hold of a gun. But the anger had petered out into despondency over what she was going to do with her future. Still, just last night her anger had returned and she had been hell-bent on getting a little even. So it was understandable that he would assume she hated him. Only she didn't hate him. She ought to, but she didn't, and she didn't understand that at all.

So again, what was she supposed to tell him to account for her passionate behavior? That she was so attracted to him nothing else mattered? He wouldn't believe that any more than she did. She didn't trust him, didn't accept half of what he told her. And she didn't like the uncertainty he caused her, or his attitude, which swung on such a wide pendulum that she was constantly kept off balance. And she really did hate his insults. All of these negative reactions were pretty hard to hide from him when she didn't have lovemaking on her mind. Then
what
was
the reason she was drawn to him despite all that?

Lord help her, maybe she was as bad as he thought she was. Maybe she just liked those things he made her feel so much, she could overlook the rest. And maybe that was all she should tell him, or tell him nothing whatsoever, which was the same thing, since he already thought it.

This was her own fault. She had known full well she shouldn't have stayed in this bed with him last night. And she had tried to leave it a number of times, but each time his arm had tightened over her legs, he'd mumbled something incoherent and moved even closer to her, so she'd finally given up and tried falling back to sleep, a tall order under the circumstances.

And she'd been so sure she had handled that situation well last night, despite her frustration at having to give in on practically everything just to keep Stefan a happy drunk. But if she knew anything, it was that you didn't argue with intoxicated men. Too easily they could be moved to violence, serious violence that half the time they didn't even remember the next morning.

She'd long ago learned how to avoid that. If you agreed with them no matter what, you could steer them down the path you wanted them to go. That hadn't quite been the result with Stefan, but at least she had kept him peaceable. Only look what it had led to. Now his opinion of her was so low, it was a wonder he could even look at her.

But that was just as well, wasn't it? As usual, when
she wasn't aroused, she was wishing herself anywhere else but here with Stefan and his cohorts.

“Tanya?”

She shrugged the hand away that came to her shoulder, but said nothing. She heard a sigh and then movement as he left the side of the bed.

“I will leave you to change and pack your things,” he told her. “But do hurry. We've kept the others waiting long enough.” She didn't hear the door open and close, however, because Stefan had one more thing to say, though it took him several long moments to do so. “It bothers me more than it should, your experience with men.”

Her eyes flared wide and darkened with rancor, but he didn't see that with her back still toward him. Was he actually trying to offer an excuse for his blistering insults? As if any excuse could make a difference. It
bothered
him? Well, she could fix that, couldn't she?

Without turning around, she said, “You should have said something sooner, Stefan, because I could have so easily relieved your mind. You see, I don't actually have any experience with men other than you, and that's not much, is it? But I don't expect you to believe that, which is why I haven't mentioned it before. After all, I worked
and
lived in a tavern, and all tavern girls are whores, aren't they? On second thought, I guess you'll just have to keep on being bothered by it.”

She had spoken with enough sarcasm that he couldn't possibly believe her. But then she didn't want him to. She only wanted to give him something
else to be bothered about. And by his new habit of slamming the door shut on his way out, this time despite his aching head, she guessed she'd succeeded very well.

Sasha was there waiting for them on the dock with a large coach. Either he'd had remarkable luck in finding them himself, or one of the others had gone off to locate him while Stefan and Tanya kept them waiting. In either case, the little man didn't seem too upset at having been left to reach New Orleans on his own, though he might just be saving his complaints for a more private moment. He did have a number of things to say to Stefan, however, who merely nodded agreement without much comment of his own.

Watching them from the deck, Tanya wondered if Stefan was still angry with her. He probably was since Lazar and Serge escorted her down to the coach, and only they got into it with her. Stefan didn't even look her way, which was just as well, since she had worn her own shabby clothes again to annoy him further. But now she was regretting it. Of Vasili there was no sign at all, again just as well, since she hadn't bothered to use the hairpins he had troubled himself
to obtain for her, which was carrying her own disgruntlement a step too far.

Expecting to be taken to a hotel, as she had been that last night in Natchez, Tanya decided she would rectify the mess she had made of her appearance before she saw her worst antagonists again and had to endure their disparaging comments about it. So she was annoyed to find herself transported only a short way down the dock to another boat, or ship rather, because this one was definitely an ocean-sailing vessel.

She didn't even have time to hope that they were merely stopping briefly for some reason, that this wasn't her actual destination, because the missing Vasili was on the ship, waiting for her at the top of the gangplank. When she reached him, he picked up a lock of her hair and merely clicked his tongue. A mild rebuke, surely, for that razor-tongued cad.

“Welcome aboard the
Carpathia
, Princess.”

“When does she sail?”

“As soon as the rest of the crew can be found. They could not anticipate our exact time of arrival, after all.”

Though he made that excuse, he still said it with a degree of annoyance, as if the crew should have had second sight—or else remained aboard the ship. But Tanya couldn't have cared less that he was letting his arrogance show. She was too busy trying to hide her surprise. So much for the wardrobe she had been promised.

“My first time in New Orleans, and I'm not even going to get to see it?”

Vasili quirked his brows in mild interest. “Was Stefan aware that you wanted to?”

As if that would make a difference, she wanted to snort, but all she said was, “No.”

“Perhaps if you made your wishes known to him in the future…but in this case, time is of the essence, particularly since so much was wasted merely in locating you.”

She was amazed he didn't mention her attempted escapes, which had delayed them more recently. That Stefan might grant her wishes, she didn't bother to address.

“Will I at least have a cabin to myself this time?” she asked.

He ignored that question to ask one of his own. “You haven't taken my advice yet, have you?”

“What advice?”

“To court Stefan's affection?”

“Affection? Ah, I remember—and it was his interest you recommended I cultivate, rather than his fury.”

“You have his interest, Princess. You would do
better
with his affection.”

“You'll forgive me if I consider that an impossible endeavor.”

“Forgive you?” he shot back. “No, because I can see you won't even try.”

“Why should I?” she demanded, becoming as annoyed as he suddenly was.

“For your own sake. For all our sakes. For your own happiness.”

Her green eyes flared with feigned surprise, just
before she ruined the effect by scoffing, “I'm supposed to believe you wish me happy?”

“I want Stefan to be happy. You can go to the devil for all I care.”

“I thought I already had,” she retorted, but then she sighed, finding no satisfaction in sparring with him as she did with Stefan. “I'm being forced to travel with you, Vasili, but I don't have to converse with you, so kindly stay the hell away from me.”

“Shield your claws, Tanya,” Stefan said from behind her. “He doesn't deserve them.”

She stiffened, first wondering how long he'd been there, then not caring. “But you do, don't you?” she said as she turned around.

“Today, perhaps,” was all he allowed before dismissing the subject. “Do you wish to meet the captain first, or inspect your accommodations?”

“What I wish is to be let go so I can make my way back to Natchez.”

“For what purpose?”

She honestly couldn't resist the chance to taunt him. “Why, I've been assured a job at Madam Bertha's. Don't you remember?”

His lips tightened. His eyes brightened a shade. Tanya didn't need any more evidence than that to tell her that she was right on target. Then he took her arm and propelled her forward, down a barely slanted stairway, and into the first cabin they came to, all without a single word.

Understandably, she was a bit wary by that point. She didn't expect to be tossed on the nearest bed, because his devil's eyes weren't glowing
that
much.
And she didn't think he could be so hypocritical as to punish her for taunting him when his own barbs were much more lethal. Maybe he just meant to lock her away so she couldn't aggravate him anymore.

However, he hadn't even closed the door before she was in his arms and his mouth was covering hers. But Tanya knew the difference now in his kisses, and this wasn't his in-a-rage kind. He was in perfect control and bent on—what? Seducing her into becoming a more agreeable captive?

Tanya pushed away from him before those feelings he was so capable of stirring could surface and take over. “
Why
do you keep doing that?”

“I am damned if I know!”

He must not have meant to admit that, for he scowled now. Tanya could have wished for a better answer, something a little more revealing, because trying to understand the way this man's mind worked was a lesson in futility and frustration. Unless…

“You know something, Stefan? You've changed my life around to suit you, not me. You've ruined what few goals I had for myself. It's time I had some truth from you. You owe me that much at least.”

“You have been told the truth—mostly the truth.”

“I'm not talking about your damn fairy tale and you know it. I want to know your feelings, Stefan. Do you still want me?”

“Yes!”

He sounded so furious about it, she cringed. “I gather you wish that weren't so?”

“Exactly.”

“Why? Because you think I'm a whore?”

“No.”

She wasn't sure she believed that, though he
had
admitted to wanting her before—before she was uncloaked, so to speak. “Then it's just as I supposed, isn't it? You can't stand the sight of me now.”

“The sight of you is too beautiful for words, as you well know.”

She frowned. “I don't know any such thing. But I do know that you aren't making much sense. Of course that shouldn't surprise me, since you never do.”

“I did not invite you into my mind, Tanya; you forced your way in. If you don't like what you find—”

“Thanks a lot,” she cut in impatiently. “All I asked for was a little clarification of motives, to know why you kiss me one moment but despise me the next.”

“I don't despise you.”

“But you despise the way I look,” she pointed out. “I dare you to deny it!”

“Yes, because I desire beautiful things just like any man. Only I am a realist,” he added almost tiredly. “You and I are not compatible.”

Because she was a lowly tavern wench, and he a condescending bastard. No, they weren't compatible at all. But he'd give her one night. He'd said as much last night. Only she didn't want “only once.”

“Why don't you do us both a favor and stay away from me?”

“I wish I could, but even now I want you. Name your price, Tanya.”

She stiffened. If she didn't hate him now, offers like that would soon change her mind. How dared he try to buy her again, and after admitting he wanted her?

“All right,” she said bitterly. “The price is my freedom—before this ship sails.”

Hot golden color was back in his eyes. “So I must forsake my duty to have you? I think not, little houri. And I think it's time you had the whole truth. Vasili is not the King of Cardinia.”

“Tell me something I didn't know,” she snorted.

“I am king.”

“My oh my, will wonders never cease,” she said with exaggerated amazement. “From one whopper to another, eh? But it's kind of late to try that one, isn't it? At least Vasili looks and acts like a king.”

“You think a king can't be scarred?” he demanded, his eyes really starting to glow now.

That caught her off guard. “Scarred?” She frowned, but only for a moment. “You mean yours?” Suddenly she laughed. “Oh, come on, Stefan. Who even notices a few little scars with eyes like yours? And how many times do I have to tell you I'm not stupid? You're telling me you're king just so you can have me. Did you honestly think I wouldn't know that?”

Something in her reply must have caught
him
off guard for a moment. The heat went out of his eyes, and he actually looked confused. Lord help her, the man must have really been working under the impression she was a half-wit, just because of where she
came from. And here she'd thought
he
had more intelligence than that.

“I think we should have ended this conversation before it began,” he said.

“It was rather pointless, wasn't it?”

“I really am the new King of Cardinia, Tanya.”

She sighed. “Have it your way. I'm still not going to be your whore for a day, Stefan.”

“No, you're quite right. That was too much to ask. And I will endeavor to stay away from you during this voyage as you requested.”

He was being stiffly formal now. She found she liked that even less than his anger, which was at least a true indication of feeling.

“Does that mean I will have a cabin to myself?” she ventured.

“This one.”

“But I suppose I will be locked in again?”

“That won't be necessary once we are at sea. Until then…” He left that thought unfinished, though its meaning was clear, but he abruptly went on to another. “Your new wardrobe will arrive shortly. Sasha took the initiative of ordering it for you, promising a ridiculous bonus to the seamstress to have it completed in so little time. He does love to spend my money, but in this case he has managed to gain us back the time we lost in returning to Natchez.”

“Then that lets me off the hook, I suppose, if that Sandor fellow dies before we—”

“Sandor is
my
father, Tanya. Doubt me all you like, but use a respectful tone when you mention him.”

Well, pardon her for breathing. Damn him, he was managing to annoy her again.

“I'm delighted everything has at least worked out to
your
satisfaction,” she ground out tersely. “Now, if you don't mind—”

“Actually,
I
wanted to choose your clothes.”

Tanya could only stare at him, fighting to keep her expression blank. Why did he have to say something like that, something so—possessive? It made her innards start to churn, when she'd been keeping her damned attraction for him so well under control during this whole encounter. Even when he'd said again that he wanted her, she'd been too angry to let it affect her.

He frowned now—because of her silence or his own words, she couldn't tell. The smile that came next, however, was unmistakably self-mocking. But his voice when he continued to speak was clipped with impatience. Obviously, he couldn't wait to get out of there.

“Go through the trunks as soon as they arrive, because if you require anything else, it will have to be seen to immediately or not at all. And you shouldn't be disappointed in Sasha's taste
or
his thoroughness. He has a flair for fashion and, unlike myself, an eye for proper sizing. He assures me everything will fit you perfectly.”

With a curt nod, he left her. And true to his word, it was the last Tanya saw of him for a long while.

As for her new clothes, they were the stuff of dreams, fit for a princess. And though she couldn't summon much enthusiasm for them, she couldn't find
fault with them either—well, maybe one. Because Stefan had had no say in what was bought for her, she now had every conceivable undergarment known to women. She could have done without half of them.