Once a Princess (17 page)

Pitied? Try as he might, Stefan couldn't figure out why the woman had come up with that word. Who in his right mind would pity her? She was beautiful and of royal birth; she was going to have more money than she would know what to do with, a fortune left to her by her mother, estates scattered all over Cardinia that were hers alone, and more in Austria, not to mention the royal palaces, the royal jewels. She was going to be emulated at court, sought after. She was going to wield incredible power. And the only one who could tell her yea or nay was her future husband, whom she could have wrapped around her little finger if she had but tried. But she didn't know that. And she didn't believe the rest of it. Still
—pitied?

The obvious answer was no answer. She had merely used that as an excuse to reject him. He should have expected it. He shouldn't have made the offer. Lazar had tried to tell him she had been looking for trouble, not a quick toss in the sheets. But like the
fool he had been acting ever since he met the woman, he saw only what he wanted to see.

“Why don't you just bed the wench and get it out of your system?”

“Shut your mouth, Vasili,” Stefan growled.

They stood at the bar in the gambling hall, three on one side of it, Serge behind it. Only one table in the room was still occupied. Two others had been broken in the earlier fight. But most of the passengers had found their beds. So had the bartender, after locking up his stock. It had taken a few more large bills, on top of those doled out for damages, to get the purser to reopen the bar.

“For once Vasili is right, Stefan,” Lazar said. “It's better than drinking yourself into a stupor every night just so you can sleep in the same room with her, and then snapping at everyone the next day—everyone but her.”

“Shut your mouth, Lazar.”

“Why don't you two leave him alone for a while?” Serge suggested. “Drink is about all a man can resort to when a woman plays hard to get.”

“Shut your—”

“He was on your side, Stefan.”

Stefan merely scowled at his empty glass and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Serge's hand. They had finished off the last of the vodka two nights ago, but had been lucky to find any at all on the boat. Beer and whiskey were all this country seemed to stock. But what could you expect of a country that produced bastards like Dobbs, who could raise a baby in a tavern? It galled the hell out of Stefan that that
man was going to live out his remaining days having his every whim catered to—thanks to him.

Lazar tried again. “If you won't bed her, Stefan, then why don't you tell her the truth? It just might change her attitude.”

Vasili nodded in agreement, adding, “And it will allow us to show her our credentials, so she can stop doubting every damn thing we say to her.”

Stefan wasn't listening to them. He was still remembering Tanya's expression when he told her that he preferred to think she needed a man so badly that she would accept even him. She had looked so amazed by his words at first, confused even; then slowly her expression had changed, telling him she hadn't cared for the way he had put it, not at all. It had been all he could do not to kiss her, and she had gone all stiff and indignant on him. He should have kissed her anyway. She yielded to his mouth more often than not, a fact that delighted him as much as it enraged him.

He had to admit he had handled the whole thing rather poorly, but he wasn't surprised by that. Where beautiful women were concerned, he had no tact at all. Money usually spoke for him, was all that was necessary. But not with Tanya. She might have accepted much, much less from other men in her lifetime, but she was too set against him for money to make the least bit of difference in the way she felt.

Why
did she have to turn out to be so lovely? It had been much easier dealing with her before her true beauty had been revealed. He hadn't been so self-conscious then—so vulnerable. And if that
wasn't enough for him to work through, there was his bitterness over the fact that she hadn't been raised as she should have been.

Sometimes her lack of innocence wasn't an issue, like tonight. He had wanted her so badly, he had been afraid to overwhelm her with what he was really feeling. Other times, the way she had turned out was all he could think about. And still other times, both emotions would come at him at once, disgust for her vast experience and desire in spite of it. He was going to have to reconcile one or the other, to accept her as she was or not. He knew that. But that was still the least of his problems. What
she
felt concerned him the most now, and trying to figure her out was next to impossible.

“Stefan, you aren't listening.”

He looked up at Serge, then turned toward Lazar, who had spoken. They were both getting blurry. Good; maybe tonight he could get some sleep. He certainly couldn't manage it sober, not with Tanya in the same cabin. But each time he had thought of sleeping elsewhere, he had rejected the idea almost immediately, and he couldn't even say why.
She
certainly had no trouble sleeping with him nearby, but until tonight, she had treated him as if he weren't there.

“Have you said something worth listening to?” Stefan asked.

“He's not drunk enough yet,” Serge remarked and filled all four glasses again.

“Just because he doesn't slur his words—”

“Never mind that,” Lazar interrupted. “Stefan,
Vasili thinks what you need is a woman, any woman.”

Lazar was definitely coming in blurred. “Vasili thinks too much.”

“But in this case we all agree. And that pretty blond wench he has been spending his nights with ever since we came aboard is now awaiting him in his cabin. She's yours if you want her.”

Stefan swung his head around and experienced a moment of dizziness for the effort. “Are you giving your women away again, cousin?”

Vasili shrugged. “For a good cause.”

“Ever the generous one, eh? And I do appreciate it, Vasili. But if memory serves, and I'm not so sure it does right now, that little blonde is too pretty for me.”

“God, I hate it when you—”

“Dammit, Stefan—”

“Oh, enough,” Stefan grumbled. “You're becoming nags, the lot of you. Since when haven't I handled my own difficulties, in my own way? So go to bed. There is no reason for us all to wake up with headaches.”

“I fear it's too late for that.” Serge grinned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Or weren't you counting how many bottles we've gone through this evening?”

“And we would just as soon keep you company,” Lazar added.

Stefan drained the last of his glass and shoved it aside. “Then I will take myself off to bed. But if you hear our little Tanya scream, just ignore her. I
will merely be taking your advice.”

They all three gaped at him. “Are you serious?” Lazar asked.

“Why not? After all, I have your unanimous consent. Do I really need hers?”

“Stefan, perhaps you should wait until—”

“Stefan, I don't think—”

“What is this now? Doubts? Perhaps you are suddenly remembering that she is a royal princess? But don't worry about it. By the time I reach my cabin, I will likely change my mind—or not.”

Stefan chuckled to himself as soon as he was outside the gambling room. But his humor over teasing his friends didn't last more than a few seconds. He was tired, exhausted really, yet wide awake. He was pleasantly inebriated, yet his mind refused to acknowledge it. And he had his friends to thank for putting tempting ideas into his head.

How much
would
a whore protest if he simply took her? Not much, he realized, because she was probably used to men wanting more from her than she was willing to give. In her profession, she would meet all kinds and be forced to take the good with the bad. But he couldn't do it. As much as he wanted her, he wanted her willingness more.

And where did that leave him? Knowing what hell was like. And he could see no end to it. If this trip down the Mississippi River was bad, he still had an ocean voyage to look forward to, and no gaming room to distract him. A lot of good gambling had done him, however, since just about every hand had found him thinking about Tanya instead of his cards.

Standing outside his cabin with key in hand, he was almost afraid to enter. She would be asleep, but the difference that made could be measured on a pen point. So why did he put himself through this? He didn't
have
to sleep in there. But he knew why. There was the slim hope that the very thing he despised about her would bring her to him, in the dark, where she could forget that she knew what he looked like. Of course, he was deluding himself. She was too strong-willed to let a little thing like sexual need control her. He even admired that about her. Despite what the others thought, she was going to make a fine queen. He wondered if he would survive to see it.

Jesus, he must be more intoxicated than he'd thought. He was getting pukingly melancholiac, and that wasn't like him. She was only a woman, and they were easy enough to come by even for him, with the right amount of coin. And he had expected nothing from her before he'd found her. Actually, he had expected precisely what he was getting.

He opened the door carefully so as not to wake her. But that gesture suddenly struck him as being entirely too generous on his part, so he slammed the door closed. She sat up in bed immediately and looked straight at him without surprise. He'd noticed that about her before, how quickly she came awake, and without the least bit of grogginess or disorientation.

She had left one lamp burning low, but then she did that every night, probably out of a dislike for the total blackness that prevailed without it, rather than
any consideration for him. And each night he put the light out, but she never complained about waking to darkness in the morning. Of course, she hadn't been talking to him before tonight.

She was still wearing the yellow gown, but that was another thing she did consistently, sleeping fully clothed. However, she had loosened some buttons due to the constriction in the bodice of the dress, and now one shoulder of it was halfway down her arm, the actual bodice slipped low on that side but hanging in place because of the fullness of her breasts.

Stefan wished he hadn't noticed. His eyes were suddenly glowing so fiercely, the floor pallet he turned toward should have burst into flames.

“What time is it?” Her voice came at him, not annoyed, just flat.

“How the devil should I know?” he shot back, definitely annoyed.

“It was a damned simple question. You don't have to snap my head off.”

He whirled around—too fast. Dizziness took over, making the room sway for a moment until both hands pressing against his temples brought it under control. He fixed his gaze on her then and saw that she had corrected the droop of the dress and was staring at him wide-eyed.

“Lord help us, you're drunk, aren't you?” she asked in genuine surprise. “No, don't bother to deny it. My experience in this area happens to be lifelong.”

“Vast indeed,” he snorted.

“Scoff all you like, Stefan, but I was learning how
to handle drunks before you…well, before you could have had your first taste of whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” he sneered. “I'll have you know I was weaned on vodka straight from our Russian neighbors, so I believe I shall claim superiority in all areas of drink.”

“I stand corrected.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “You wouldn't be so foolish as to try humoring me, would you, little Tanya?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wise of you, because I wouldn't like that.”

“I knew that.”

His eyes narrowed even more, but her expression, wavering before him between a total blur and crystal clarity, was damned inscrutable. So he kept his suspicions to himself. Besides, he didn't particularly want to begin a fight with her now, when his exhaustion was catching up with him. Proof of that was the difficulty he was having just removing his coat. He ended up turning a full circle while trying to get the damned thing off.

“Do you need some help, Stefan?”

It took him a moment to find her on the bed again. Help? From her? He must have misunderstood.

“It's that damn whiskey,” he explained to her, just in case he
had
heard her correctly. “I believe it sneaks up on you.”

“That's a fact,” she agreed.

“You—ah—weren't actually offering to help me undress, were you, Tanya?”

“No, but I thought you might need a little assis
tance in finding your bed tonight.”

His disappointment in that answer was acute—and enough to prick his temper. “I will have you know there is not a single thing wrong with my eyes.”

“That's a matter of opinion,” she mumbled.

“What's that?”

“I
said
, that was my opinion.”

He wasn't mollified. Arrogantly he continued, “Besides which, a blind man couldn't miss that bed.” He marched to it and sat down to prove his point. “You see?”

“But, Stefan—”

“You are determined to annoy me, aren't you?”

“Absolutely not,” she assured him. “But are you aware that you don't sleep here?”

“Don't try to confuse me,” he said as he leaned over to remove his shoes and nearly tumbled off the bed. But with one hand braced on the floor while he tugged on shoes that didn't want to come off, he added, “I know damn well I have been sharing this cabin with you. It is driving me crazy, so I ought to know it.”

“Why is it driving you crazy?”

He scowled at his foot. “Don't change the subject, Tanya. We were discussing this cabin.”

“You're right, of course. The cabin and sharing it. I sleep in the bed and you sleep on the floor. Have I got that right?”

She just had to rub it in, didn't she? Wasn't it enough that he had given up the bed for her and hadn't once tried to join her in it?