Once a Princess (25 page)

The first thing Tanya noticed when she came out of the house was not all the servants scurrying about, getting the last of the baggage loaded into the coaches lined up there, nor the twenty guards already mounted, nor even Stefan standing by the first coach, waiting for her with his three personal guards around him. What she noticed was that Alicia wasn't there.

Well, she wasn't going to ask why not. If Stefan had decided it would be prudent to be discreet now and not travel with his mistress in tow, it was just too late, as far as Tanya was concerned.

“You're late,” Stefan said tersely as she reached him.

“Fat lot I care,” she shot back. “I'd just as soon not go at all.”

He dismissed the others with his hand probably because he hadn't expected her to be as testy as he was. Serge, she noted, didn't look guilty, so at least he hadn't told Stefan what she didn't want him to tell.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Stefan demanded as soon as they were alone.

“You figure it out, your Majesty. You're rather good at drawing conclusions, after all.”

She started to climb in the coach without aid. Stefan jerked her back around. “Why didn't you tell
me
what you told Serge?”

So that's what had him growling? “You weren't in a mood to believe me.”

“You managed to convince him. You didn't even try to convince me.”

“As I said, you weren't in a mood—”

“Tanya, you are
my
responsibility. Mine! If I doubt what you tell me, you damn well tell me again, and again, until I believe it. Something as important as this—”

“Shouldn't have been doubted in the first place,” she retorted.

“I agree.” When her eyes widened, he added, “If I had been completely sober last night, I likely would have believed you at the start. I apologize for being less than clearheaded in your time of need.”

Was that a double entendre? No, he had taken her last night. He hadn't bothered to ask if she wanted him to. And he hadn't noticed any need in her response, just the opposite—he hadn't noticed anything.

“I don't think I can accept your apology. Stefan. Your drinking did a lot more damage than your merely doubting me. It helped you, along with your anger, to take something from me that I was prepared to give you, but you don't even know what it is. And
you don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? Well, I could have forgiven you if you did, but since you don't, forget it.”

She turned toward the coach again. This time he caught her shoulders and drew her back against him. She stiffened, but all he did was issue a warning. “If you think you are going to get away with that cryptic little riddle, think again. I will have an explanation from you, Tanya, and I'll have it now.”

“Or else?”

“I might just turn you over my knee again.”

Hot color rushed into her cheeks to accompany the ire his warning provoked. “Then I might just throw another knife at you.”

He sighed and let her go. “All right, Tanya, get in the coach. You have delayed us long enough this morning.”

“Because I didn't get much sleep last night, thanks to you and my would-be killer,” she retorted.

That got her a boost up into the coach that almost sent her into the opposite door. He followed her in, taking the seat across from her. And there was the glow in his eyes that she'd been looking for, sparking fire.

“I promised it wouldn't happen again, Tanya. What more do you want from me?”

Damn him, he was sober and saying it now, telling her as plain as day that he was never going to touch her again. “Not…a…damn…thing!”

She turned toward the window before she started crying. He didn't say another word. For nearly an hour that simmering silence continued between them.
And then Tanya felt a weight dropped in her lap.

“Those are for you.”

It was a small, jewel-encrusted chest.
Those?
She opened it and stared at diamonds, pearls, emeralds, dozens and dozens, set in necklaces, rings, bracelets. She could buy a hundred taverns with what she was holding, but all she saw was what it represented. In a kingly fashion, Stefan was paying her for last night—because whores had to be paid, didn't they?

The gesture made her so furious she could have thrown that chest out the window—or at his head. But her fury didn't come through in her tone, merely in her words. “This ought to pay for my passage home.” He snatched the chest back so fast, she blinked, then shrugged. “So I'll find another way. Don't think for a minute that I don't know how to earn money.”

She was delighted to see him go red in the face. She had meant working in taverns, but she knew that wasn't what he thought.

“They told me you were at least resigned to the marriage,” he gritted out.

“That was before I was reminded what a devil-spawned bastard you are.”

His eyes flashed molten gold. “I will be eternally sorry for last night, but you are going to marry me,
and
live with me, whether you like it or not!”

“I am?”

She didn't mean it as a taunt, but he must have taken it as such. Before she even knew what he was doing, he reached over and yanked her onto his lap, slipped a hand into her hair to utterly destroy her
coiffure, and took her mouth with an exquisite sort of hunger. Waves of giddy relief shot out to her extremities and came back in tides of sweet pleasure. He was touching her again, kissing her again, making her forgive him everything in her relief that he couldn't keep his promise, that what she could make him feel transcended even his given word.

She didn't notice that this kiss was skillfully calculated, designed to melt her resistance and leave her clinging to him. Clinging she was, and she hadn't even thought to resist. She would probably think later how unfair it was that he could do this to her when she was so spitting mad at him, but right now all she did was kiss him back.

And then he was only nibbling, at her lips, her earlobes, her neck, and she knew instinctively that what he was doing now wasn't going to lead to anything more. She felt a disappointment that helped her tamp down her rioting senses. She could protest at any time now; he was allowing that. But since she didn't want to anyway, she decided to wait to see what else he would do. Besides, the way he was leisurely toying with her was sinfully delicious, just stirring enough to keep her senses alert and hoping, but inducing a languor that had her melting into his body.

Finally he looked at her, tipping her chin up so she couldn't avoid his gaze. His eyes were merely sherry-gold, about as mellow as she'd ever seen them. And he didn't say a word. That alone brought her back to full reality. But she didn't stir from her
position, half reclined in his arms, her right hand curled around his neck.

With a degree of smugness, she asked, “What happened to your promise?”

“I was only a little angry.”

“The hell you were,” she snorted.

He smiled down at her. “Then let me rephrase that. I was in perfect control.”

“You
wanted
to kiss me?”

There went his smile. “Why the devil do you sound surprised?”

“Your promise—”

“Had nothing to do with it.”

It didn't? Confusion reigned, until she thought to ask, “Stefan, what exactly
did
you promise me?”

The subject wasn't pleasing him, if his new expression was any indication. “I thought I was quite specific.”

“Then refresh my memory.”

“I gave you my word I would never take my anger out on you again.”

Her relief was there, jumping up and down inside her, but there was another thought that had her brows drawing together in a scowl. “Then who will you take it out on?”

“I suppose I will have to find another outlet.”

“Alicia?”

She could have bit her tongue for asking that, especially when he grinned. His mood might have suddenly improved, but hers didn't.

“You weren't jealous of Alicia, were you?”

“Not the least little bit,” she lied. “Where is she,
by the way?”
You weren't going to ask that, missy
. Oh…shut…up.

“On her way to Cardinia, I would imagine. She left quite early.”

“I thought she was going to travel with us.”

He stared at her for a long, pensive moment and then he frowned. His hold on her tightened. His scars twitched.

She was confused again, increasingly so when he demanded, “Did you want her along? Perhaps to keep me from kissing you when I damn well feel like kissing you?”

Now, what brought
that
on? she wondered in vexation. Her innocent remark? Not likely.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“It's what you told her, isn't it?”

Tanya gasped in outrage. “I told her no such thing! In fact, that sounds pretty much like what
she
told
me—
that I ought to be grateful for her existence because I couldn't possibly want you bothering me in that way, and she would make sure you didn't. She had the unmitigated gall to assume,
assume
, to know what I want. What other lies did that bitch say about me?”

Stefan didn't answer. He didn't know whom to believe at that point—Tanya, who said such outlandish things sometimes that he never knew what was true or not, or Alicia, who had never lied to him as far as he knew. And Alicia hadn't told him anything he hadn't already agonized over himself.

That was what had driven him back to the bottle last night after he had unwrapped Alicia from his
body and sent her packing. He hadn't been gentle about it, either which he regretted now that he was sober. And now that he was sober, he realized that telling Tanya that Alicia had been with him when she screamed—when Alicia actually had returned to her room some thirty minutes earlier—had merely been his pain trying to inflict a like pain on Tanya. Obviously it hadn't worked, since her reaction had been fury that he might have been enjoying himself while she was in danger.

The accusation Tanya had made against Alicia, however, he still couldn't give credence to. Alicia might be petty and spiteful, but she wasn't capable of murder.

The hardest thing he had ever done was to finally ask Tanya outright, “If you don't want her around, are you prepared to accept me as I am, scars and all?”

Tanya didn't know how important her answer was to him, or how much frustration she could avoid if she would just answer yes. She was too annoyed to answer yes.

“Your scars again? You and Alicia are two of a kind, aren't you? You're both obsessed with those damn scars.”

All he heard was that she had evaded his question, which was all the answer he needed.

He abruptly set her from him, waiting only until she had settled back in her seat to say stiffly, “You may not like my touch, Tanya mine, but you had best get used to it. But then we both know that once
you're being kissed, you don't care who is doing the kissing, or the touching. Do you?”

“I honestly wouldn't know,” she shot back, only to realize that that particular taunt was the truth.

“Would you mind kissing me?”

Vasili stiffened to his full six feet, impressive in his indignation. “I beg your pardon?”

Tanya flushed, but she wasn't giving up yet. They were close to Cardinia. Another three or four days, she had been told. But ever since leaving Danzig, Stefan had been deliberately avoiding her again, not as completely as on the
Carpathia
, but nearly as much.

Almost immediately he had stopped riding with her in the coach, sending Serge or Lazar, or both, to keep her company in his stead, while he rode with Vasili and the guards outside. Now she was lucky if she even caught sight of him through her window. Nor did he come to speak to her when they stopped at villages or great estates for food or to pass the night. Once they had camped in the open. She didn't know where he had slept.

When they had left Danzig, it was like leaving civilization behind. The countryside had been pretty
bleak and barren, with winter upon it. Houses or farms became a rare sight, towns even rarer. The occasional castle held Tanya's interest the most, but not for long. Clouds or fog sometimes surrounded them so completely, it was difficult to see the road even a few yards ahead. She had yet to see a sunny day. It had rained often, and yesterday there had been a few snowflakes, though a frigid wind had whisked them away. The weather alone would have put her in a gloomy mood if the situation with Stefan hadn't.

She was definitely beginning to regret her childish behavior during their last conversation. She had let her temper get the better of her, as usual, this time because of her jealousy, and that in turn had alienated Stefan again. And just when she had discovered that he wasn't indifferent to her. Well, he was now. But that last taunt of his, that she didn't care who was kissing or touching her once it was happening, had really bothered her after she thought about it. He'd implied she might protest first, but she was easy to conquer once she got heated up.

It was an insult, not as bad as his similar one about her not caring whom she bedded with, but an insult just the same. Only how did she know if it wasn't true? She'd never given any other man the chance to prove it one way or the other, stopping them all from kissing her the way Stefan did. So what if he was right? She didn't
want
any other man kissing her. There were dozens of them now in their party, but she didn't want any of them. She wanted only Stefan. But if one of them kissed her, really kissed her…

She had decided at last to find out for herself. If
she was as wanton and fickle as Stefan claimed she was, then she damn well wanted to know it. And Vasili was a very logical choice to find out with. At that moment, he would probably like to vindicate himself, because he had actually been showing some guilt ever since he had accepted her innocence as fact. So he ought to delight in proving that if she wasn't an actual whore, she was at least one by nature.

He was also the most handsome man she'd ever known, and if she was going to prove this experiment beyond a doubt, she might as well use the big guns, so to speak, and make it as tough on herself as she could. And once she did prove it in her favor—and she was confident of that outcome—then she would have some ammunition to confront Stefan with. But she was going to have that confrontation one way or another, before they entered Cardinia.

Stefan said she
had
to live with him, but she wasn't going to go on living with him like this. If she wasn't positive that there was at least some hope of Stefan ever coming to love her, then she would just as soon leave before they reached Cardinia and the whole country knew about her existence.

Now she looked Vasili straight in the eye and repeated her question in a tone he couldn't doubt was serious. “I asked if you wouldn't mind kissing me.”

“Actually, I would mind,” he replied, still indignant, then glanced about the camp they had set up about an hour ago, looking for Stefan.

Tanya guessed as much. “He went with Serge to the village that is supposed to be a couple of miles
from here. At least that's what Lazar said.”

Vasili's eyes came back to her, narrowed. “So if he isn't around, what was the point of that ridiculous request? It
was
to make him jealous, wasn't it?”

“As if he would be,” she snorted. “No, I asked for my own benefit, because Stefan says that no matter who kisses me, they'll get the same response from me. I want to know if that's so.”

“You must be joking!” he exclaimed.

“Do I look like I'm joking?”

“But I seriously doubt that Stefan meant it. He hasn't exactly been in a good mood lately, in case you hadn't noticed. And when he gets like this—”

“He made the observation before we left Danzig.”

Losing on that point, Vasili tried another, his voice actually scolding. “You don't just go around asking men to kiss you, Princess.”

That had her blushing again. “If this weren't important, I wouldn't. But that
is
why I asked you instead of someone else, to keep it in the family, so to speak. Now, will you just do it and get it over with?”

“No, I will not,” he said flatly, with finality.

“Why not?”

“Because Stefan would kill me if he found out.”

“He wouldn't do any such thing,” she scoffed.

“I would just as soon not put it to the test, thank you.”

She was surprised. She really thought he would help. “Very well, I'll just have to ask someone else.”

She turned to leave. He reached out and grabbed her arm. He looked totally flustered now.

“You must have some past experience to go by for this comparison. At least one man who has kissed you before Stefan. Rack your memory, for God's sake.”

“I did. The few other kisses I've had were stolen, and necessarily brief, because I tended to draw my knife very quickly.”

Vasili gave in then, but with complete ill grace. “Oh, very well.” He leaned forward to place his lips on hers for all of five seconds.

When he leaned back, Tanya was shaking her head at him in disgust. “You know what kind of kiss I meant, Vasili. That wasn't it.”

He flushed furiously now and grabbed her hand, pulling her along behind him across the camp. “Where are we going?” Tanya demanded.

“If I am going to do this properly, it isn't going to be for public consumption that Stefan will be bound to find out about.” And then he looked back at her suspiciously. “
You
aren't intending to tell him, are you?”

“If I do, I won't mention names.”

That must have satisfied him, for he said no more. His destination was the other side of her coach, which she slept in when they camped out in the open like this. No one was near it now, but when she retired, there would be at least four attendants sleeping in front of either door, including the two women who were acting as her maids, as well as a number of guards set to watch the coach all night long. She might not have felt like a princess before they reached Europe, but she was being treated like one on this
trip, with servants galore keeping her from lifting a hand to her own care.

Vasili stopped as soon as he was certain no one could see them, and immediately drew Tanya into a lover's embrace. The kiss began hesitantly on his part, but he soon got into the spirit of it. And Tanya was determined to participate as well, to relax, to open her senses to feel the experience. That was easy enough, since she was getting good at this sort of thing. Vasili, on the other hand, was an expert at it, quite as good as Stefan. But that's what she had hoped for, to really put it to the test.

The experiment ended about five minutes later, when she tapped Vasili on his shoulder. He released her and stepped back, running an agitated hand through his golden locks.

There was a soft glow in his eyes that was quickly extinguished as he gave her an inquiring look. “Do you have your answer?”

She grinned. “Yes.”

“Well?”

“You don't
really
want to know, do you, Vasili?”

Her beaming expression told him plain enough that he'd failed to stir her. He burst out laughing.

“You never have been good for my self-esteem, Princess, so spare my feelings in this case.”