Once a Princess (7 page)

Tanya was going to wait only five short minutes before returning below. The men would probably be gone by then, knowing as well as she did that she didn't have an unusual birthmark on her backside. End of joke—she hoped. If not, if there was a mark, it only meant they'd spied on her through her window, not that they were telling the truth. But to what end?

She could think of one motive, and she paled at the mere thought of it. She'd heard of girls being stolen from one town and sold into brothels in another, always far from home, so there would be plenty of time to find them and bring them back if they managed to escape. But escape usually wasn't one of the options of those places, they were so heavily guarded. And there were unscrupulous men who actually made their living by supplying the girls. Were the men downstairs such unscrupulous characters?

You're really getting fanciful now, missy, just like
thinking that Stefan was a devil. Who'd want you anyway, looking as you do?

The devil did, and if he did, maybe he thought other men would too. No, the other three didn't think she was desirable—but they didn't realize that she was the dancer they'd seen last night. That damned dance! Stefan knew she was the dancer, and a girl who could dance like that would be an asset in any brothel. And how better to get her to one with no trouble at all than a ruse that would make her
want
to go with them? Lord help her…

The door to her tiny room flew open, making Tanya leap off the bed where she'd been sitting, working herself into a panic. Seeing Stefan fill the doorway, scowling at her, made the panic very real. She tamped it down only with a concerted effort. Getting hysterical at this point wouldn't help, and she could be wrong. After all, how many times had she already been wrong about them? But her latest suspicion was a far cry from a cruel, though harmless, practical joke.

“You were not even curious enough to see if it is there, wench?”

What? The mark. They were still sticking to the pretense of a birthmark. Then it really must be there, she realized dismally. And they assumed it would get her to pack up and happily leave with them.

“How long do you think it takes to examine such a small area?” she demanded. “I looked. It's not there. I was merely sitting here, giving you enough time to get tired of waiting and leave. But I see that was too much to hope for.”

“Indeed,” he said in a quiet voice that belied the anger in his sherry-gold eyes. “It was also rather stupid of you, since we have stressed the importance of your identity to us and the only way it can be established.”

“Well, I have established that I'm
not
the one you're looking for.”

“I am afraid I must doubt that, mistress.”

“That's too bad—”

“Yes…for you. It now becomes necessary to attend to the matter ourselves.”

“Attend—? Oh, no, you won't!”

Her knife was in her hand before the last word was out. Stefan sighed, but he had anticipated no less.

“Mistress, the only one who might be hurt by that weapon of yours is yourself. Put it down and submit to the inevitable, and I will try not to embarrass you any more than I have to.”

“Just like that? God, you've got your nerve. Well, come ahead, then, and we'll see who gets hurt.”

His lips turned up the slightest bit. “I applaud your courage, little one, but might I suggest an alternative first?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I thought you said there wasn't any.”

“Just one. We could make love.”

God, was it the way he said it, or the way he was looking at her just then, that made those words sink inside her with a slow swirl of delicious sensation? She stiffened, trying to shake it off, but the feeling persisted. And she knew what it was. Lord help her, the man had done what no other ever had. He had
just given her her first taste of desire. Him?
Now?
Oh, God, he really was a devil. He really, really was.

“Ah,” he said, watching her closely. “I see that is not an option at this time.”

“Or at any time,” she assured him stiffly.

The angry glow was back in his sherry eyes, which indicated she'd definitely struck a nerve. “On the contrary, mistress. Before our journey ends, I will have you, no matter how high the cost.”

Had he forgotten the grand pretense already? She decided to remind him with a sneer. “Even though I'm supposed to marry your friend?”

“Oh, Vasili won't mind. You aren't wed to him yet, after all, and you are no virgin, so one more man before the nuptials won't matter, will it, when you have already spread your favors among so many.”

If that last insult was supposed to incite her to careless fury, it succeeded better than Stefan had intended. She leaped for him, knife raised, her target his heart. But since she was blinded by outrage, it wasn't surprising that she didn't notice the hand that whipped up to catch her arm. Fingers tight about her wrist now, he held her like that for a long moment, showing her just how futile her efforts were against him, before he slowly squeezed. When her other hand came up to beat at his face, that too was caught. And despite her struggles, it was only seconds more before the knife clattered harmlessly to the floor.

“Now we lift your skirts, mistress. A shame this couldn't have been done in a more amicable way.”

“Devil's spawn!” she spat in answer. “You can't
do this!” she screamed when he started dragging her to the bed.

“Certainly I can,” he replied with calm assurance, and proceeded to prove it.

She was shoved back on the narrow bed, flipped over onto her belly, and before she had time to even screech into the bedding, he was sitting on her lower back. Only her right hand was still held. Her left couldn't reach him anyway, or manage to push herself up.

“I'll kill you for this,” she vowed before her own hand, with his directing it, was placed behind her head to shove her face into the pillow, to discourage any more comments like that, she supposed.

She felt the air rush over her legs next, as her skirt was yanked up. Then she heard a barely audible gasp, and just as quickly the material covered her again.

“Lazar?” he called with some difficulty.

That was the first Tanya knew that Stefan wasn't alone. She twisted her head toward the door and flamed scarlet, seeing Lazar filling that open space now. God, were the others behind him, all eager to witness her humiliation?

“You found it?” Lazar asked, his eyes only on Stefan.

“Not yet. Leave us.”

“I thought you wanted a witness.”

Stefan had thought so too, but he had assumed he would be able to uncover just a small area for Lazar to take note of, a mere patch of skin amidst ruffles and lace. But the girl wore no underclothes of any sort, not even a single petticoat.

“A witness would be nice, except the wench is appallingly naked beneath her skirt. So I trust you will accept my word on the matter?”

“That goes without question,” Lazar replied, but he was chuckling as he closed the door.

Nerve-racking silence followed while Tanya struggled to hold back tears, her humiliation was so great. She was also having a hard time breathing beneath his heavy weight. But not once did it occur to her that she was now alone, in her room, on her bed, with a man who had only minutes before suggested they make love.

Stefan was very much aware of that fact, however, and to put it from his mind, he said derisively, “You really
don't
believe in wasting time, do you, mistress? Your paying customers must be delighted by your lack of under—apparel.”

“Go to hell,” Tanya snapped, intending to say no more. But the excuse came out anyway. “If there was money to buy some, I'd wear some. But it's certainly no business of yours.”

“I believe we will discover in a moment that everything about you henceforth will be very much our business.”

He shifted, telling her he was reaching for her skirt again. And there wasn't a single thing she could do to prevent him, unless…“Please”—she choked on the word—“don't.”

He did hesitate. She'd give him that. But the skirt came up anyway, slowly this time.

Tanya gritted her teeth, glad that her face was already hidden. It was beyond embarrassing, what
he was putting her through. And for what? For a stupid pretense that was supposed to make her abduction easy for them, when she'd already assured them it wouldn't work. That left her with only one conclusion. The man on top of her was deriving some kind of diabolical pleasure out of shaming her this way.

Stefan was feeling no reluctance at this point, in fact just the opposite. And shaming her was the farthest thing from his mind. So was the mark he was supposed to be looking for, as inch by inch he revealed what he had seen no more than a glimpse of before. It was a view a man was rarely accorded unless he was in the process of making love to a woman, so it wasn't surprising that such a sight could stir a man's blood. Just a gracefully turned calf could do it, but he was already seeing much more than that, as the skirt rose up slender thighs and finally was tucked above her hips.

She made a groaning sound of distress that drew him back to his purpose, but still he didn't hurry. And there was nothing in that moment, certainly not conscience or scruple, that could have prevented him from running his hand over the firm mounds of both adorable cheeks.

Her sounds of distress got much louder, approaching outraged fury. Stefan sighed regrettably and got on with the matter at hand, smoothing the left cheek toward him so he could see the underside of the mound. The crescent moon was there, just as he had thought it would be. But Stefan hadn't expected his reaction upon finally seeing it.

He changed position, not even bothering to lower her skirt. He caught her left hand and pressed it down upon the mattress, leaning over her to murmur by her ear, “It's there—all the proof necessary to put you under our rule and will.”

Tanya jerked her head up to rail at him, but got no further than “You bas—!” before she was turned over and her mouth covered by lips that tried to claim her soul, they were so fiercely possessive. She wasn't prepared for such an onslaught. She'd had kisses stolen from her before—that was the only kind she was familiar with—but none like this. This kiss was so compelling, she wanted to give in to it, an insane notion that took her several long moments to shake. But then she bit down hard, tasted blood, heard a curse, and found her face suddenly gripped between two strong hands.

It wasn't those glowing devil eyes that struck fear into her then, staring down at her with such rancor. It was the sure knowledge that when he let go of her face, her masterpiece of creative camouflage would be utterly ruined. To delay that, she didn't even try to push him away, though she wasn't sure she could get her arms out from under his forearms anyway.

“Whores are not usually so particular,” he growled low. “Why are you?”

She was getting damned tired of being called a whore, but there wasn't much point in denying it. As insistent as he was at proving things, he'd likely demand proof of that, too, and she could just imagine how he'd want to establish it.

With bravado she wasn't really feeling, she said
caustically, “I don't accept men I intend to kill at the first opportunity.”

He laughed then, and there was nothing derisive about it. He was genuinely amused. And the man became downright handsome when his face softened in humor, a fact Tanya wasn't pleased to note at this particular moment.

When he quieted down to mere chuckles, then finally a smile, he said, “A remark worthy of the future Queen of Cardinia. I am impressed, Tatiana.”

Now he was making fun of her. “You can go sell your fancy tales elsewhere, mister. I told you I'm not a believer.”

“But it has been proved beyond a doubt that you are Tatiana Janacek.”

“All that has been proved is one of you knows how to climb trees and spy through windows.”

His smile widened. “An interesting idea. Untrue, however. Now, where were we?”

She gasped to see his gaze drop to her lips. “Don't you dare kiss me again!”

“Ah, wench.” He sounded so regretful. “You will learn, slowly I hope, not to issue me such intimate challenges.”

This time she tried to bite him the moment his lips touched hers, but he avoided her teeth for nearly a full minute of sensual warfare. When he did quit, it was with another laugh. The devil really was enjoying himself.

“You will have to forgive me, Tatiana, though surely you will agree the fault cannot be entirely mine, since it was your lack of certain garments that
aroused my amorous instincts. Mind you, I am not complaining in the least. In fact, when we supply you with a new wardrobe, I will remember to overlook such items as well.”

She had the ridiculous notion that he was merely teasing her, rather than trying to embarrass her again with the reminder of what he had gotten a good look at. She still felt the heat rushing into her cheeks.

“Why don't you just end this pretense now?” she asked in a small, tight voice. “I know I'm not this Tatiana you've made up, and you aren't going to buy me new clothes. And you
certainly
aren't going to marry me to a man too handsome for words. I won't accept clothes from you anyway, or anything else, and I'm not, repeat
not
, going anywhere with you. And don't call me by that damned name again—”

“Enough!”

Tanya supposed she
was
pressing her luck a bit, listing so many of her doubts and insistences all at once for Stefan to acknowledge and heed. But that “Enough!” wasn't just a burst of impatience from him either. She was afraid she'd struck another nerve somehow, without intending to this time, and she knew that wasn't the smartest thing to do when she was still lying half under him on the bed.

But she needn't have worried—over that at least. Whatever had set him off, his mood had definitely changed. With one final long glare from those searing eyes of his, he left her side and headed straight for the door.

It took Tanya a moment to realize her good fortune—he'd moved away from her so quickly, he hadn't even seen her face when his hands let go of it. She turned immediately toward the wall, just in case he changed his mind about leaving, but all he did was issue an order. “Whatever you care to take with you, gather it now. You won't be returning to
this place.” Then he slammed the door shut behind him.

That's what he thought, the arrogant devil. But Tanya didn't waste any time fuming over that terse command, or even how to avoid it. First things first, and her immediate priority was to repair whatever damage his firm grip had done to her face. Thankfully, that would take her only a minute or two.

She scrambled off the bed and rushed to the dressing table she'd fashioned years ago from old crates, where she kept her box of colored powders and creams and her precious chunk of broken mirror, which she'd confiscated out of her next-door neighbor's trash. However, the sight of the mirror leaning upright against the wall at hip level was more than she, or her piqued curiosity, could bear, overriding even her sense of self-preservation. She turned around before it and hiked up the back of her skirt, then glanced over her shoulder—and felt the heat rush up and suffuse her face once more. God, he'd seen her like
that?
She felt shamed to the core—and something else, something she couldn't name in her naïveté.

Tanya might know all about fornication, having been reared in a tavern where men didn't curb their language or topics of conversation. She might even have seen it being practiced a time or two, having come upon some of the bolder barmaids they'd hired over the years entwined with men in the most unlikely places—anywhere Dobbs couldn't find them. She'd even had desire described to her by one helpful wench, which was why she'd been able to recognize
that swirly jumble of sensations she'd felt earlier when Stefan had suggested they make love. But a “fluttering in the middle innards” was all she knew about, and that was quite different from the hot gush of achy pleasure she felt now in a spot much lower than her middle, as she pictured that dark devil seeing her like this, and touching…

Like Stefan, she forgot for a moment what she was looking for. Unlike him, when she finally spied the small crescent moon under the curve of her left buttock, she was hit with another wave of shame, knowing now without a doubt that one of those men had seen even more of her than her bare backside through her window. But which one? Stefan? Her shame lessened somewhat, and because she realized it did, it came flooding right back.

Daft-witted idiot, you can't
like
the idea of him watching…

“What in the hell is this?” he snarled at her even before the door slammed against the inner wall, too late a warning that the golden-eyed devil had returned.

Tanya dropped her skirt instantly, but she was much slower in turning to face Stefan. Lord help her, she was going to burn to a cinder with mortification this time, to have been caught ogling her own backside. It was just too much on top of everything else. But when she was finally looking at him, he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at his hands, which he held out in front of him as if he'd sprouted a few more fingers than he should have. And for a girl who was supposed to have been repairing her face, it
didn't take much guessing to know what the “this” was he was asking about. Not her unseemly behavior, as she'd thought, but the gray powder now coating his long fingers.

She quickly decided that he'd be staring at her if he had figured it out yet, so she turned her back on him and tried as unobtrusively as possible to smooth out the damage he'd done to her camouflage. She didn't quite dare to bend over to see in her mirror if she'd managed to get rid of all his pale fingerprints. That would draw his attention to her face—and answer his question, which she was anxiously hoping he'd forget.

Attempting to distract him, she said, “If you don't know how to knock, I'd be pleased to teach you.”

“I believe I asked you a question, wench.”

So much for distracting him. “And I believe you've asked one too many questions for one day. I don't feel like—”

The grip on the tight bun at the nape of her neck put an end to her defiant evasions. She hadn't even heard him come up behind her. But she couldn't miss the large hand that appeared mere inches in front of her eyes.

“You will tell me, now, how it can be that when I touch you, my hands change color.”

“Ash?” she offered as a possibility. “I was cleaning the hearth this morning.”

“And rubbed your face in it?”

“No, but—”

“Of course, it could be ash,” he said thoughtfully as he rubbed his fingers together. “It has that con
sistency.” Just as she started to relax, her head was twisted sideways and back, until she was staring into his eyes. “But somehow I doubt it. Tell me why I doubt it, wench,” he commanded, while one finger traced a diagonal line down her cheek.

Tanya closed her eyes for a moment against the turbulent emotions she read in his. He knew, and was furious about it, though she couldn't imagine why. So her appearance was an illusion. She should be the one enraged to have it discovered, not he.

“Let go—”

That got her another tug on her bun that pulled on hair that had already been drawn back as far as possible. Tears popped into the comers of her eyes, accompanied by a gasping sound of pain and a reproachful glare that had no effect on him that she could see. In fact, for half a breath she thought he was going to tug even harder. He didn't. His grip slackened, and Tanya didn't spare a second to leap out of his reach, only to screech mightily because he hadn't actually let go of her bun. It was pulled loose from his fingers with her movement and now unraveled down her back. Her hair whipped over her shoulder as she spun about to glare murderously at him.

“I'll be lucky if I have any hair left, you bastard!” she cried, her hands coming up to massage her scalp. “Where do you get off treating me like that?”

Her question was ignored, totally. And she lost the space she'd gained as he took a step forward to grip her chin, forcing her head back.

“The truth, wench. Do you paint your face to enhance—or to conceal?”

Even as he asked this, his eyes were determining the answer for himself, probing so deeply. Tanya stiffened and knocked his hand away, but it only fell to her shoulder, keeping her from turning away from him.

She had nothing to lose at this point by demanding, “So you want the gory truth and the last of my pride with it? I don't have much
to
improve on, but then you've already guessed that, haven't you? You're a cruel devil to make me admit it.”

Trying to sound as if her pride had been wounded when all she felt was anger just didn't come off, but she was sure the conscience she was trying to prick was nonexistent anyway.

He only grunted to acknowledge her effort before scoffing, “You are a lie from head to foot, mistress, but that ends here and now. I give you five minutes exactly to emerge from this room as your true self. Defy me and I will scrub you down myself, then heat your backside for putting me to the trouble.”