Chapter 29
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 sa
id 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.
Chapter 30
About halfway to Europe, Tanya began to believe the fairy tale. And it was Sasha who began to convince her by not even trying. While the others were annoyed with her again for putting Stefan in such a lousy mood—though she never saw this mood, she only heard about it—Sasha befriended her. Without fail, he was always respectful. He would grouchingly criticize Vasili, sometimes Lazar, and once even the usually quiet Serge, and in their presence no less, but he never had a condemning word for Tanya.
One day she finally asked him why he was being so kind to her.
"Because you deserve it more than most, your Highness. Your life has been hard, harder than mine, I think, before Stefan took me into his service."
"How would you know what my life has been like?"
Sasha explained. "Stefan has told me what you tell him. He doesn't believe all of it. Then he believes what he shouldn't. I think you throw him the truth, daring him to accept it, then toss him the lies to punish him for his doubts. He also told me what he saw for himself. That man who raised you, he should have been shot."
Tanya grinned at that opinion. "I've often thought so myself."
"But you stayed with him, when you could have left. "
"He finally needed me, really needed me. I had to..."
Tanya didn't like the way that sounded, as if she had some daughterly feelings for Dobbs, which she didn't. She couldn't. The man was too mean-spirited to inspire affection. She discounted those years when she had thought he was her father and loved him despite his cruelties.
She continued almost belligerently. "I was going to be paid for staying, with the tavern. I wanted to own that tavern more than anything. It would have been my support, my freedom from being under someone else's control."
"Yes, Stefan realizes his mistake in buying it. He could have more easily, and cheaply, just burned it down without your knowing and placing the blame on him. But then your Mr. Dobbs wouldn't have had the settlement that will keep him happy for the rest of his days. And Stefan didn't want you worrying about the man—in case you might."
"You know Stefan very well, don't you, Sasha?"
"As well as any man can."
"Is he always so . . . at odds with his own feelings?" she asked hesitantly.
The little man laughed. "You put that very well, your Highness. And no, he is not always so. Usually his feelings are in complete accord, whether they are good or bad. He doesn't like doubts, or conflicting emotions, and usually has none. Anything that will tip the scales, he stays away from."
"Like me," she concluded aloud. "Is that why he's been avoiding me?"
"He stays away from you because you asked him to—and because you two cannot come together without fighting. Why is that, do you suppose?"
"You're asking me, when he's the one with the short temper?" she snorted.
"He has a temper, yes, but of necessity he has learned how to control it."
"Sasha, do you know how he controls it? What he does, or wants to do, when he's so passionately furious?"
He was amused by her rising indignation. "Yes, and it began at his father's suggestion, because when Stefan was younger and became angry enough to fight with someone, he inevitably hurt them. They would not fight back, you see, because he was their prince, and not just any prince, but the Crown Prince. So he had to find another outlet for his anger, an outlet that would hurt no one. He would go to whomever he was currently . . . well, I think you get the drift."
"I'd already realized that, but I'm not his current mistress."
"No, but you are closer to him than a mistress could ever be. You are his betrothed by royal decree, which is as binding as any marriage. In his eyes, Princess, you are already his wife. It only lacks a ceremony to make you believe it. " r />
It was not the first time Sasha had made mention of Stefan being the royal one, rather than Vasili. In fact, since Stefan had made his confession before they sailed, all of them, the crew and captain included, now spoke of Stefan as their king. Vasili had even made the remark that it had been tedious on his part, trying to be something he was not. Tanya had choked back her laughter, for the man was as arrogant and patronizing as ever. If he had pretended to kingly qualities, she couldn't imagine what they were.
The Cardinians had shown her some very officious-looking documents, shoved them in her face, actually, the day after they sailed, when she had made some caustic comment that betrayed her skepticism over Stefan's confession. The papers were clear testimony that Stefan Barany was the new reigning King of Cardinia. Any government would have rolled out the red carpet were it presented with such credentials. Tanya had suggested the documents could have been stolen, or merely faked, and three men had stared at her in offended outrage, which they continued to display to a lesser degree for a good week.
But after she thought about it, really thought about it, she realized how much easier it was to believe that Stefan, rather than Vasili, could be a king. After all, they had all, always, deferred to Stefan, followed his lead, even looked to him occasionally for silent permission before doing something. And it was Stefan who gave the orders, not Vasili. They had tried to tell her the reason was because he was the older cousin, but that had never rung true, and that, combined with the rest, was why she couldn't believe Vasili was their king, and so couldn't believe the rest of their tale either.
But then she recalled the time Lazar had asked her if she would prefer that Stefan were king. And even Stefan had asked her once how she would feel if she had another choice besides Vasili. Why, unless it was so? And it was Stefan who had taken charge of her from the beginning, as if it were his right—or as Sasha said, he already thought of her as his wife.
And how would she feel about it if she finally accepted everything they'd told her? It was actually much harder to consider marrying Stefan than Vasili. With Vasili there was no question. She simply refused. But with Stefan—she was probably as divided in her feelings as he was. There was the powerful attraction she felt for him while hoping it was all true, that he was going to be her husband. Then there were all her doubts while she hoped that even if it was true, she wouldn't be forced to marry him in the end.