Once a Princess

by Johanna Lindsey

  That apparently struck a sore nerve, for his lips tightened, his jaw clenched, and his eyes were definitely starting to glow. Interesting. Why would references to her familiarity with men still bother him? Damn, his attitude made no sense. It never did. Even when he had wanted her, he hadn't liked thinking she was a whore—except for that first night. It hadn't bothered him when he was willing to pay for her services, had it? In fact, that night he'd seemed glad enough that she was supposedly a whore.

  She ought to prove the matter to his satisfaction before she left them. That would set him back on his ear, wouldn't it, in showing him how wrong they were about her. It would give her something to gloat about—Where did these thoughts keep coming from? The last thing she needed was to come away from this experience with knowledge of fornicating. It was bad enough that she'd found out how nice kissing could be.

  She thrust out one hand to him, but he didn't take it, merely waited, so she reluctantly gave him the other. He made quick work of wrapping the rope around her wrists several times before he began tying knots that even he wouldn't be able to untie in the morning. That done, he proceeded to wrap the other end of the rope around his waist half a dozen times.

  Tanya hadn't expected that, but all was not lost. There was about a foot of rope left between her hands and his chest, more than enough to enable her to raise her knees and reach her boot without touching him. But being tied to Stefan's waist left her facing him, and he her, and if he should happen to turn over once he was asleep, he'd pull her hands with him. Well, she'd just have to pull him back in that case—or be gone before it happened.

  She lay down now since Stefan did, and instantly discovered the disadvantages to this arrangement. It wasn't very comfortable lying on her side without the support of at least one arm for her head. And if she had actually wanted to go to sleep, she would have found it next to impossible with Stefan so close, watching her. And he was watching her. His eyes were no longer glowing. They were shadowed now that the firelight wasn't shining directly on him. She could still make out his features clearly, but, unfor­tunately, nothing of his thoughts or his mood. Yet she had the feeling he wanted to say something, or was waiting for her to say something. Theirs was an intimate arrangement, after all, cozy even, almost private, and obviously neither of them was the least bit sleepy yet.

  She tested her conclusion, asking, "When are you going to own up to the real reason I'm here?"

  "When are you going to accept that you are a royal princess?"

  Stalemate. "Good night, Stefan. "

  "Would you like to know some of your family's history?" he inquired softly.

  She closed her eyes against the temptation to be­lieve that he might really know something of her true family. But of course he didn't. Anything he told her would be a creation for his own benefit.

  "Don't bother," she said with just a tinge of bit­terness, adding, "Iris used to make up stories for me when she put me to bed, but Dobbs made her stop when he found out about it. He didn't want me grow­ing up soft and fanciful."

  "So you grew up hard and . . . ?"

  "Pragmatic."

  "I would have said skeptical."

  "That too."

  "And distrustful?"

  "I never thought about it, but I guess so," she said. "What about you?"

  "Arrogant," he said without the slightest hesitancy.

  She looked at him now and smiled. "You admit it.

  "I am well aware of my faults, little Tanya."

  "Do you have so many, then?"

  "Wouldn't you say so?"

  "Oh, I don't know. I suppose . . . but I think I'm getting used to some of them. Your temper, for instance. "

  Now, why had she said that? Mentioning his temper could only make them both think of making love. And his hands weren't tied. She was within his reach. God, what a stimulating thought.

  "Good night, Tanya."

  The curtness in his voice told her plain enough he didn't like the reminder. Tanya closed her eyes again and sighed inwardly.

  Good-bye, Stefan.

  Chapter 23

  Tanya couldn't ride straight for Natchez, as much as she wanted to. Her horse-riding skills weren't good enough to ensure that she could stay well ahead of any pursuit on a direct route. As it was, she'd been unseated nearly a half-dozen times in the first two days she'd spent getting acquainted with the horse she had appropriated for her use. So her roundabout journey home took five days in all. And if she weren't so worried about The Seraglio and how Dobbs was managing without her, she still wouldn't venture into town. But she'd been gone a total of seven days, and she couldn't begin to imagine what kind of shambles the tavern would be in. She had to get back.

  Nonetheless, she was plainly and simply afraid Stefan would be there waiting for her. Of course, logic told her they wouldn't come all the way back to Natchez for her. And even if they did, would they wait when they didn't find her there? All she could do was hope not, and take as many precautions as she could.

  Waiting on the outskirts of town until the wee hours of the morning was the worst, but she couldn't risk entering The Seraglio while it was open for business—if it was still open. If Stefan had followed her, then that would be where he would await her. But even if he wasn't there, she was without her disguise, so she had to wait anyway.

  She had bartered the horse to get across the river, instead of Stefan's waistcoat. The ferryman had just loved that trade, but she had no further use for the animal anyway and was delighted to get rid of it. Dobbs would probably have a fit when he heard about it. Horses weren't cheap.

  When Tanya deemed the hour was late enough, she made her way stealthily into town, keeping off the main streets as much as possible. The tavern was quiet when she reached it, the doors closed, no lights burning, but she had no way of knowing if it had opened today or not. Next door, the brothel was still entertaining customers. So was the gambling house across the road. But neither establishment was making enough noise to allow her to break into the tavern if the doors were locked. And both were.

  Tired and hungry at this late hour, Tanya didn't relish her options. She could either climb to the porch roof and hope one of the upstairs windows was open, or wait until tomorrow for the tavern to be opened—if it would be—and risk what she had tried to avoid tonight.

  She climbed the porch roof. It took all of ten minutes and one near fall, but she made it. And to her utter relief, Dobbs' window was open and easy to enter. Inside the room, however, it was pitch-black, the moonless night that had aided her through town now hindering her.

  She found the bed by bumping into it. "Dobbs, wake up. Dobbs!" she whispered urgently, shaking the mattress. He didn't make a sound, not a snore, not a grumble at being disturbed. "Dobbs?"

  "You won't find him there, Princess."

  "No," she groaned as a match flared to life and she swung around to see Stefan sitting in a chair by the door. All she could think to ask at the moment was, "Why are you still here?"

  "Still? Ah, of course. We have been waiting nearly three days for you. Did you think we wouldn't?"

  "I had hoped!" she exploded and dashed for the window.

  She didn't waste time climbing through it, she dived. Her knee hit the sill, her shoulder hit the roof, and her boot snagged on something. She was still cringing with the pain from her landing when the "snag" began to pull her backward. She immediately flipped over to kick at Stefan's hand, but got her other foot caught for the effort.

  With dread, she heard him say, "Give me your hand or I'll pull you in by your legs, and at the moment I don't care how badly you get scraped in the process."

  She didn't doubt that he meant it, but she tried kicking loose from his hold once more. That effort started him pulling.

  "Wait! Here." She pushed herself to a sitting position to offer her hand. For a moment she didn't think he was going to take it. But he did, and she was hauled in so quickly, she had no chance to try anything else, even if she thought to.

&
nbsp; The room was dark again, Stefan's light having been extinguished when he bolted after her. He let go of her now to light another. She wished he hadn't. He looked angry enough to wring her neck.

  But his voice was merely mild when he informed her, "You are caught, Tanya. Accept it."

  "I can't," she cried feelingly.

  "You will."

  Those two words seemed to hold more than a warning, as if he knew something she didn't. And he sounded so confident, triumphant even.

  She turned away from the glow in his eyes. He moved to light the lamp by the bed. She stared at Dobbs' bed­—without Dobbs in it.

  "My God," she gasped suddenly. "Has Dobbs died?"

  "Not that I know of."

  She turned back to him, infuriated by his offhand tone. "Then where is he? What have you done with him?"

  "I haven't done anything to him."

  "Stefan!"

  "First I'll have your knife, Tanya, the one that cuts so easily through thick rope." When all she did was stare at him, he started toward her. "You can hand it over, or I can strip you down to find it for myself."

  "You aren't undressing me, damn you!" she told him as she bent to retrieve her knife.

  "Whatever is necessary, Princess, will be done. Don't deceive yourself by thinking otherwise, because you are not going to slip through our fingers again. "

  She would. She had to. And that resolve made her stare at the knife in her hand.

  "You might want to recall the last time you tried it," he said, guessing her thoughts. "You won't have any better luck this time." She met his eyes without answering, so he added, "You're determined to provoke my temper, aren't you?"

  "Does that mean I'm in danger of being tossed on the bed?" she goaded sarcastically.

  "It means you're in danger of ending up over my knee again."

  "Like hell!" She slapped the knife down in his open palm.

  "Is that the last of them?"

  "Yes." But he was staring so hard at her, she shouted it again. "Yes!"

  When he continued to stare, she knew he was debating whether he ought to search her anyway. And she couldn't blame him for doubting her. That he finally nodded his acceptance clearly showed how he felt about her now. He didn't want to search her. Last week he would have jumped on an excuse to do so.

  Well, to hell with him. She was glad he didn't want her anymore. She had enough to contend with without letting his or her lust get in the way. She turned and headed for the door.

  He sighed, then said, "Don't make me chase you again, Tanya."

  She stopped, infuriated that he sounded so damn patient. Was he never going to lose his temper with her again? she wondered.

  "I'm just going across the hall to bathe and change my clothes. Then I'm going to get something to eat, or were you planning on leaving town tonight?"

  "You may clean up at the hotel. We have rooms there—"

  "I prefer my own room, thank you," she said crossly, then swung around to give him a frosty smile. "But there's no reason for you to wait for me. You can come by to fetch me in the morning."

  "Enough!"

  "Oh, my." She widened her eyes with feigned innocence. "I haven't made you angry, have I? No, of course not. I'm still standing."

  He really didn't like being reminded of what had passed between them as a result of his temper. Her taunts had made his eyes glow again, but he was exhibiting remarkable control. He didn't even take a step toward her.

  His voice, however, cut like steel through her rancor. "It was Sandor's death wish that you be found and brought home to assume your rightful place on the throne. All of these delays you have caused could mean that he will die before we return. If that is the case, Tanya, then you can be assured that you will experience my full wrath . . . and my pain."

  She wished he hadn't put it quite that way. "Who is Sandor?"

  "Our beloved king these last twenty years."

  "But you said Vasili—"

  "Because of Sandor's ill health, he abdicated in favor of his only son just before we set out to find you."

  More fairy tales again. Did he continue them to provoke her temper?

  "Why don't you save that for someone a little more gullible than I am? I'm going to take my bath now, Stefan. Wait if you must."

  She turned again, only to be stopped again. "You cannot make free with this place any longer, Tanya. "

  "Like hell I can't. This is my home, and before long it will belong to me outright."

  "I don't think so."

  She was beginning to really hate that particular phrase of his. "Look, Stefan, I've been pretty even-tempered, considering what you've put me through. No screaming, very little crying, no fainting. I didn't even go berserk when I found you here again. And do you know I could have cut all of your throats the other night while you were sleeping? But I didn't, did I? Because I hoped—stupidly, I now realize—that you would have sense enough to give up on a lost cause. So you go ahead and take me wherever it is you're taking me. But once you're out of it, I'll come back here. There isn't anything that will keep me from coming back here."

  "Madam Bertha—I believe that is your neighbor's name?—­would probably welcome you with open arms, but I don't intend to give her the opportunity. "

  Tanya frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that you will not be allowed to return to this country again. It also means that I bought this tavern from Mr. Dobbs for enough money to keep him in the lap of luxury until his demise. And rather than burn it down, and possibly the town with it, which was my first inclination, I then sold it to the brothel next door—at a considerable loss."

  "You're lying! You couldn't have had that kind of money with you! Nor would you go to such extremes!"

  "Any extremes, Tanya. Anything deemed necessary to fulfill Sandor's last wish," he said in a hard tone, only to add matter-of-factly, "Our letter of credit was water-stained, but still legible and more than sufficient to meet Mr. Dobbs' exorbitant price. But if you still doubt me, then I will take you next door this minute so that you may ask Madam Bertha exactly who owns this property now."

  Lord help her, she believed him. He was too blasé about it, too ready to offer proof. The effect on her was awful. Pain pressed at her chest. Her face drained of color. And if she hadn't gone berserk before, she did now.

  She didn't know how she reached him, but her hands began to hurt, drawing her to an awareness that she was pounding on his chest with both fists, and he was letting her, making no move to stop her, letting her shriek at him and call him every foul name imaginable. And then his arms wrapped around her and he was holding her while she cried her heart out.

  "It isn't as bad as all that, Tanya."

  "You don't know what you've done!"

  "I've made it possible for you to walk away from this life without any regrets."

  She stiffened. His arms tightened. She pushed away from him anyway, and the look she gave him, awash with tears, was incredulous.

  "You destroy the life I had planned for myself and I'm not supposed to regret it? For as long as I can remember, I have worked like a slave in this tavern, and not once, ever, was I paid for it other than with food, a bed, and a slap every time I turned around. Even my clothes were Iris' and Dobbs' castoffs. But finally, and only because that old bastard couldn't care for himself anymore, I was going to be compensated. And you take that away from me on an arbitrary whim?"

  "Not arbitrary. Your continuous attempts to return here left us with only two options. To eliminate your reasons for coming back here, or to see you married immediately to settle the matter."

  "What happened? Wouldn't that jackassed peacock you call a king volunteer to marry me sooner than he had to?" she sneered, telling him how little she believed him. "Not that it would settle any matter, because I'd take a leaf from that tale you told the captain of The Lorilie and leave him in a minute."

  "I see," he said tightly.

  "No, you don't. You'll never comprehend wh
at you've stolen from me, my dreams, the one thing I wanted more than anything—control of my own life. Only rich widows achieve the kind of independence I craved, but I'm not willing to marry first to become a widow. I could have had it without that—"

  She broke off, overwhelmed again by her loss—­and the need to strike out at the cause. She gave in to the need.

  He caught her fists this time. "Enough!"

  "Never!" she cried. "I can never hurt you enough for what you've done. And as soon as I get my hands on a gun, I'm going to shoot you, you son of a bitch!"

  To her utter fury, he smiled at that. "You will have to remain with us, won't you, to await that opportunity?" And he picked her up and carried her out of The Seraglio for the last time.

  She fought all the way.

  Chapter 24

  Tanya's second riverboat ride wasn't as pleasant as her first would have been. The cabin wasn't as large or as nice, nor was she allowed out of it. And whether she would have been forced to share that other cabin with Stefan on The Lorilie, she didn't know and didn't ask. But that she had to share this one with him was of little concern to her.

  She slept in the bed. He slept on a pallet on the floor. She wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't answer him, wouldn't even look at him. She totally ignored him as if he were merely another object in the room. The amazing thing was that he let her.

  For the most part she had the cabin to herself, and without participating in any conversation when it was offered, she had little else to do but think. Of course, it wasn't hard to conclude that she had once again been far off the mark in her estimation of what was happening to her. Too much money had been spent, in the purchase of horses, in the purchase of tickets on two riverboats—in the purchase of a tavern. God, she still couldn't believe they had done that, and not even to make a profit, because they had turned around and sold the tavern at a loss.

  Their action defied reason. It said money was of no account to them. It said they did it just for her benefit, as Stefan had claimed, to eliminate what kept drawing her back to Natchez. And she couldn't even hold out the hope that he might have been lying about it, because she had made so much noise that night when he carried her out of the tavern that Bertha and one of her girls had come out on their porch to in­vestigate. And Tanya couldn't resist asking the damn­ing question.