Once a Princess

by Johanna Lindsey

  Actually, she'd screamed it. "Did you buy The Seraglio from this devil?"

  "Sure did, honey," Bertha had shouted back, not even recognizing Tanya without her camouflage, and no more than amused by her struggles. "I'm gonna fill it with bedrooms. Care to occupy one of them?"

  The madam had laughed and gone back inside. Tanya had stopped struggling to get out of Stefan's arms. She hadn't spoken a word to him since.

  But she knew now how wrong she'd been in trying to second-guess Stefan and his friends. More money had been spent than could ever be regained by selling her to a brothel, so she was forced to let go of that idea as their motive. Yet their story of kings and lost princesses was still too fantastical for her to accept. The trouble was, now she couldn't think of a single other plausible reason for her abduction, unless . . . Maybe her family was alive and had sent these men to find her. Maybe they had been warned not to tell her about it for some reason. Maybe . . . maybe she ought to stop driving herself crazy worrying about it.

  After all, there were a number of other things to worry about, like what she was going to do with the rest of her life, now that her one chance at inde­pendence had been sold out from under her. She would have to find work. She would actually get paid for it, at long last, but she would be following orders again, forced to please, to do things the way someone else wanted them done, not the way she did. She'd been so close to never having to answer to anyone again . . . damn Stefan to hell.

  Her rage over what they'd done wouldn't go away. And it centered solely on Stefan, even though buying the tavern might have been a collective decision for all she knew. Revenge crossed her mind, but getting even was a new concept to her. She was so used to taking everything dealt her, with no recourse, that she wouldn't even know how to go about retaliating in kind, hurt for hurt. She had promised to shoot Stefan, but of course she hadn't meant that.

  She thought about delaying the men some more. Time did seem to be important to them, even though she doubted the reasons given her. She also consid­ered causing dissension among them, though she wasn't sure how that would work when she had yet to see them angry with each other—only with her.

  But she couldn't do anything as long as she was locked away with only Stefan. He wouldn't even rise to the bait of her indifference. Not that she wanted him to; fighting with him never gained her anything but frustration.

  "If you will change into one of the dresses we acquired for you, you may join us in the saloon for dinner tonight."

  Tanya had been pacing and hadn't heard Stefan enter. She stopped now, but she didn't turn toward him. She hadn't even looked at the two dresses he had given her that night in the hotel. She had told him once that she wouldn't accept clothes from them, and she had meant it. She had been washing her own clothes, one item a day so she wouldn't have to strip down completely.

  "I will need an answer this time, Princess, or I will assume that you prefer to eat alone again."

  She wouldn't prefer that at all. She hadn't even seen the others since they had left Natchez for the second time. And she couldn't very well cause any trouble among them, if that was even possible, when she was kept isolated.

  "All right," she said tonelessly, still without look­ing at him.

  "And you will change?"

  She glanced at the small trunk that contained the two dresses as well as a number of new items that Stefan had bought for himself in Natchez.

  "Why must I?" she asked.

  "Because we do not care to be embarrassed again by your mannish attire."

  Tanya stiffened. Was he actually back to insulting her? Or was that the kindest way he could express the fact that she looked ridiculous in his waistcoat and shirt? That shouldn't bother her, since she had never in her life dressed to look attractive, but it did coming from Stefan.

  "Show me a man wearing a skirt before you call my clothes mannish," she said merely to be disa­greeable. "Never mind. I'll wear one of your dresses, but I hope to hell it doesn't fit."

  "That is a possibility, in which case you may use your discretion to choose whichever is the least in­appropriate."

  So this order wasn't set in steel? Then, remem­bering that Stefan didn't like her to look pretty, she hoped she ended up looking downright beautiful. But that wasn't very likely, considering she hadn't been fitted for either dress, and men weren't very knowl­edgeable about such things as sizing.

  "How much time do I have?"

  "Thirty minutes."

  "I will need some hair bobs."

  "You will have to do without."

  "You expect miracles?"

  "Just something halfway presentable."

  She detected amusement in his answer, but wouldn't look at him to be sure. "Then leave me to it."

  "Will you require help with buttons and such?"

  "Not from you. But you can send Vasili to escort me. If I do need help, as my betrothed, he can provide it.

  The slamming of the door was her answer to that. Tanya smiled for the first time in days. She had forgotten how easy it was to provoke Stefan. She wouldn't forget again.

  Chapter 25

  It was Vasili who showed up to escort her to dinner. But Tanya had made sure she wouldn't need any help with her dress, nearly straining her shoulder muscles twisting about to do up the buttons herself. They could have chosen dresses easier to get in and out of, but she wasn't going to complain. She was too amazed by her appearance to do other than smirk when Vasili looked her over with some amazement of his own.

  The two dresses she had to choose from were the same size, one a beige plaid, the other a bright lemon satinet with bishop sleeves and matching shoes. The shoes were a bit small, but both dresses fit her better than she could have hoped, except for one small area—right across her breasts. Obviously the dresses had been bought already made, and for a woman of smaller proportions than she.

  The necklines of the dresses were in the favored boat shape, which exposed shoulders, neck, and a great deal of upper chest, sloping to a point just over the breasts. In this case, the point was rather deep on both dresses. A chemisette could have added some becoming lace to the area, but Stefan had said he would forget to include underclothing when he bought her clothes, and whether he actually forgot or intentionally forgot, there was none included with the dresses.

  Under normal circumstances, Tanya would have been so self-conscious, she wouldn't have worn either dress. She'd always hidden her breasts under high-necked shirts in thick materials, so they were nearly invisible. Here she was exposing all, so to speak, or at least the upper curves of her breasts, made worse since they were squeezed together because of the tightness of the material in that area. But these weren't normal circumstances. In fact, her first look at herself in the large mirror above the dressing table in the cabin made her think of only one thing. Stefan would see her like this and wouldn't like it at all. And that made her determined to wear the dresses exactly as they were.

  She settled on the bright lemon yellow for tonight, simply because its color was so opposite her usual dull ones and went well with her dark hair. Even her dancing costume wasn't as flattering to her figure. And this without benefit of a corset. Tanya was pleased, more than pleased. She'd never known that she could look like this.

  There wasn't much she could do with her hair, however, other than tie it back. But she did remove the wide, lace-­trimmed ornamental bow at the back of the dress to tie it at her nape instead. She could, of course, have tucked that strip of yellow into her deep décolletage to make the dress a bit more demure. But with Stefan's reaction uppermost in her mind, she didn't even consider it.

  She had a few second thoughts about it, however, when Vasili stared overlong at her chest. But the rest of her also underwent a thorough inspection, so she let it pass.

  "You look lovely, Princess."

  Her brows shot up. "A compliment from you? Are you feeling well, Vasili?"

  He laughed and remarked, "You are amusing if nothing else. Now, don't stiffen
up on me when I have gone to so much trouble on your behalf." He held out his hand, which contained about a dozen hairpins in several different styles, then confided, "Two women on board now assume I am interested in them, although I regret that I am not. You can't imagine the difficulty that might entail tonight. "

  "I wonder why I can't dredge up any sympathy for you," Tanya replied.

  He grinned boyishly, and for a moment she saw why women found him so irresistible. "I believe I have missed your wit, Princess. It was too bad of Stefan to keep you to himself the whole of this voyage."

  "Did he send you for these?" She took the pins from his hand.

  "He suggested that if we didn't want you looking like a trollop, one of us should make the effort. Naturally, I was elected."

  How casually he tossed out that secondhand insult. She ignored it on the surface, but deep down she was stung. She wondered how many other disparaging remarks were made about her when she wasn't around to hear them. Since she heard too many when she was around, she could only imagine that these men never said anything nice about her. Well, she hardly had anything nice to say about them either.

  She reached for the bow at her nape. "If you will wait a few—"

  "Leave it," he broke in and, at her inquiring look, added, "It is quite fetching as is."

  "But after all the trouble you went through to borrow these."

  He shrugged. "You can use them tomorrow for our arrival in New Orleans."

  Tomorrow? Was that why she was being allowed out of the cabin tonight? Stefan had no doubt decided it was safe enough to let her be around other people since she wasn't likely to see any of them a second time. How much trouble could she cause in so little time, after all? She hoped she could find an opportunity to show them the error of that assumption. Trollop? She might not look like one now, but how hard would it be to act like one?

  "Then shall we go?"

  This riverboat was smaller than The Lorilie, though it had two decks as well. The dining saloon was on the lower deck, next to a large room devoted strictly to gambling. Passing that room, Tanya realized this was one of the boats referred to as a floating gambling palace. Professional gamblers made their homes on such boats. So did women of ill repute. For a moment she wondered if that wasn't the reason she had been kept isolated, but she dismissed the notion as being too unlikely, particularly when her traveling companions, one and all, thought her reputation couldn't be any worse.

  Lazar and Serge were waiting at a table for them. Both stood as she approached. Both bowed slightly as Vasili seated her. Their deference made her uncomfortable, until it occurred to her that it was no more than an act to reinforce the fairy tale. Why they still bothered . . .

  "Is Stefan still at it?" Vasili questioned before he sat down.

  "You need to ask, when he has rarely left that table since we boarded?" Lazar replied.

  "Why don't you go and remind him that food is a necessity?" Serge suggested. "He won't listen to us."

  "Then I suppose I had better."

  Lazar turned to Tanya when Vasili left. "Stefan has been doing a little gambling," he explained.

  She had already gathered as much and asked with little interest, "Is he winning?"

  "Actually, he's lost quite a bit."

  She wondered how much "quite a bit" was to them, not that she cared. She couldn't wish penury on a more deserving group of men.

  "Usually you learn how to play the game before you try your hand at it," was all she remarked.

  "Stefan knows how to play well enough. In fact, he is quite skillful at it."

  The way Lazar was looking at her couldn't have said more clearly that she was somehow at fault, and that incensed her. "Now that takes nerve, to blame me for his bad luck when I wasn't even there."

  The rebuke didn't phase him. "Your despondency has bothered him. I don't understand it either. You grieve for a hovel when you will live in palaces."

  Tanya sighed inwardly. Obviously, they must be­lieve that perseverance was going to make her accept their story eventually. She was definitely tired of telling them that it just wouldn't work.

  "I wasn't despondent, Lazar, I was furious," she pointed out. "You would be, too, if someone showed up and tried changing your life around."

  "Not if it was a change for the better," he insisted. "You had to be made to see that your life there was over. And you will be happy in Cardinia, Tanya. You will have wealth, power—"

  "A husband?"

  "Every woman wants to marry."

  "Imagine that! Every single one? And here I al­ways thought I was a woman."

  Her exaggerated sarcasm had him flinching. "You really don't want to marry?"

  "No."

  "Not even Vasili?"

  "Especially not Vasili."

  Two hands settled on her bare shoulders, and warm breath stirred the hair by her ear. "Careful, Tatiana, or I will begin to believe that and be so wounded, I will have to exert some charm to change your mind."

  Vasili, not Stefan, the voice told her. Her heart slowed its beat.

  Before she could think of a reply to that outlandish promise, however, Lazar asked Vasili, "You couldn't drag him away?"

  "He said he would join us later—perhaps."

  Tanya's shoulders slumped. Stefan wouldn't join them. She knew it as sure as she was sitting there. He had ordered her to look presentable, but he had had no intention of seeing for himself if she complied. How dared he take away even the pleasure she had felt in the way she looked tonight? She wouldn't let him do that, too, on top of everything else.

  "If Stefan doesn't join us later," she said boldly now, "then we must join him."

  The suggestion was met with total silence until Lazar finally blurted out, "That won't do at all, Prin­cess. "

  "I insist."

  "But Stefan won't like—"

  "You heard her, Lazar," Vasili cut in. "She in­sists. And she does outrank you."

  Tanya turned to Vasili incredulously. "I do?"

  "Certainly you do. Lazar is, after all, only a count."

  Lazar was grinding his teeth by now. "This isn't the best time to point that out, your Majesty."

  "Relax, my friend, and let Stefan handle the matter if he objects to it. He needs something to draw him out of his present mood, anyway."

  Tanya was interested in only one thing right now. "Does that mean I outrank Stefan, too?"

  "How hopeful you look." Vasili grinned. "But I must disappoint you. No matter Stefan's rank, responsibility for you is his alone until we return to Cardinia, so you must defer to him in all things. If you choose to argue . . . but you have dealt well enough with him so far, have you not? He is the one who seems to be having trouble dealing with you."

  Tanya hid her disappointment well. She should have known they wouldn't go that far to enhance their tale.

  "You think so?" she said in a neutral tone. "I hadn't noticed." But oh, how she wished it were true, because any difficulty whatsoever that she could cause Stefan would delight her no end.

  Chapter 26

  They came in behind Stefan and stood at his back, so he was unaware that they were there. That suited Tanya. She was in no hurry to confront him now that she was in the same room with him. And the antic­ipation was pleasant, all the more so because both Lazar and Serge were sure that Stefan was going to be quite annoyed at her being there.

  They were so certain, they had refused to come along, so only Vasili stood beside her as her escort. Without his intervention, she would have been taken right back to her cabin after dinner. She grudgingly acknowledged she had him to thank, though she hated being grateful to him for anything, even a means for some sort of revenge.

  Merely annoying Stefan wasn't enough, though she hadn't figured out yet what else she could do. But an idea came to her when she noticed that the gambler sitting directly across from Stefan was pay­ing more attention to her than he was to the cards in his hand.

  He was a big man, very wide across the chest, and from wh
at she could tell, none of his bulk was fat. He wasn't bad­-looking either, probably a few years older than Stefan, with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes. Like one other gentleman at the table, he had removed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves—possibly so no one could accuse him of cheating. At any rate, he had appeared to be taking the game in progress very seriously—until now.

  There was a lot of money on the table, a very great amount, most of it before the brown-haired gambler. The other two players had modest piles in front of them. Stefan was throwing in his last two bills to call the present hand. The play went around, cards were drawn. The big gambler actually had to be reminded that it was his turn to bet, because his eyes were again on Tanya instead of his cards.

  "Are you in or out, Mr. Barany?"

  Tanya started when she realized the question was asked of Stefan by the man on his right. She had never heard his last name before, never even thought to ask what it was. Come to think of it, Lazar was the only one among them who had introduced himself fully to her. Perhaps there was a Thomas or a Johnson among them who would shoot down their story of being foreign nobles. Stefan reached inside his coat to draw out more money. More? The man didn't know when to quit, but she'd already learned that about him the hard way. Only this had to do with money—and losing it. Didn't he care? A glance at Vasili told her he wasn't the least bit worried. Of course, that man probably didn't know how to look worried, or anything else, other than bored or contemptuous.

  She watched Stefan throw in more money to call the second bet. The man to his left dropped out. The big one turned his cards face-up on the table, revealing three fives. His eyes came back to Tanya yet again while he waited to hear if anyone could beat his hand.

  It took a lot of nerve, but Tanya finally smiled at him, not timidly or coyly either. After all, she'd watched the tavern girls for years, knew their subtle signals and the way they moved their bodies when they were interested in a man and wanted him to know it. She wasn't sure if she was doing it right, however, but guessed she was when the man smiled back at her, a big, beautiful smile that made him look downright boyish and definitely interested.