Once a Princess

by Johanna Lindsey

  But not to overdo it, she lowered her eyes—and just happened to see Stefan's three kings before he laid them facedown on the table, which declared without saying so that he couldn't beat the three fives. It didn't make sense. She didn't know all the intricacies of the game, but she did know three kings beat three fives. Didn't Stefan know he had the winning hand? She felt compelled to tell him. She held her tongue. Helping him wasn't in her plan.

  Her eyes were drawn back to the big gambler as he stood up to rake in the winning pot. He was grinning, and looking straight at Tanya as he said, "You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen, but I feel compelled to sit out a few hands."

  "It ain't wise to tamper with a winning streak, Corbell," the man to his right complained.

  "Don't I know it." Corbell laughed. "But I'm merely going to direct that streak into other channels for a while."

  The complainer followed the direction of his gaze and laughed, too. Stefan finally seemed to notice this interplay. Tanya tensed, expecting him to turn now. He didn't. He stood up and stepped into the path of Corbell, who was bigger than Tanya had guessed, a half foot taller than Stefan and much, much broader.

  "I'm afraid you have made a mistake, Mr. Corbell," Stefan stated calmly. "She isn't available."

  Tanya gasped. Stefan hadn't even looked at her, yet he knew she stood behind him, and knew what Corbell had meant with his subtle play on words.

  But the mountain wasn't discouraged, though why should he be? A man would have to be crazy to tangle with someone his size.

  "I'd say she feels differently," Corbell replied. "So why don't you step aside?"

  Stefan didn't budge. "What she feels or wants is entirely irrelevant." Then, without turning around he said, "Vasili, return her to my cabin while I endeavor to convince Mr. Corbell of his error."

  "Now hold on—"

  That was all Corbell got out before there was the distinct sound of knuckles meeting flesh. Tanya only heard it happen. Vasili was dragging her out of there so fast she didn't even have a chance to look behind her. And then she was shoved into the arms of Serge, who had been waiting outside the gambling room with Lazar. Words weren't even exchanged. Vasili and Lazar went back inside, while Serge gave Tanya no choice but to return to her cabin.

  "How much damage have you caused this time, your Highness?"

  This time? Tanya tried to stop to address that, but Serge just kept walking and pulling her along behind him.

  "Just what makes you think I am at fault here?" she demanded of his back.

  "It was obvious even to me that you wanted to go in there expressly to make trouble."

  That might be so, but how did he know it? And if he knew it, so did the others. Nor would it take Stefan long to figure it out. Well, so what? But she no longer objected to being returned to her cabin.

  She thought about going straight to bed and pretending sleep. Of course, if Stefan was angry enough, sleep wouldn't prevent him from telling her about it immediately. She paced instead, and tried to think of a way to refute the allegations he was going to throw at her. And what if he was hurt? Was she crazy? Of course he was going to be hurt. That Corbell was a veritable giant of a man. But that wasn't what she had wanted. She had merely wanted to cause Stefan some difficulty, to get a little bit even.

  The door opened much sooner than she had expected. Tanya whipped around with bated breath. Stefan was merely closing and locking the door as he did each night before retiring. Even when he glanced at her, he didn't seem to be annoyed with her or anything else. But in trying to assess his reaction to the way she looked, to judge his mood and if he was hurt, she was finally seeing him again, really seeing him without the red heat of her anger clouding her vision.

  Lord help her, the attraction was still there, more powerful than ever. Her pulses picked up. The tenseness she had felt now turned to something else. How unfair could you get? After everything he had done to her, he shouldn't have any effect on her now at all, certainly not this giddy swirling in her innards that she knew to be desire. She couldn't still desire him. She refused to!

  "Did you enjoy yourself?"

  Considering what she was experiencing, it took her a moment to realize he was referring to what had happened in the gambling room. She tensed now, suspicious of his casual tone.

  "Are you hurt?"

  He shrugged as he dropped his coat on the clothes trunk. "A few bruises. Nothing to be concerned about. "

  "I wasn't concerned. I was merely wondering why you didn't just tell him I was your wife, like you've told everyone else. That might have made a difference. "

  "I didn't feel like it."

  That was too casual for her mounting unease. "Didn't feel like it? Didn't feel like it!" she exploded. "You felt like getting beat up instead?"

  "I'm not the one who had to be carried back to his room."

  She tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. "You mean you won?"

  "Certainly."

  "Oh, certainly. How could I have doubted it? He was only a walking mountain."

  "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Tanya. And he might have been big, but he was clumsy. The big ones usually are."

  "You're big," she couldn't resist pointing out.

  "Not that big, but then there are exceptions to the rule. "

  "And what rules were you playing by tonight when you threw in the winning hand?" At his frown, she clarified her question. "I saw your three kings, Stefan."

  He actually smiled, though he flicked a dismissive hand. "That is merely an idiosyncrasy of mine. I feel a certain unfairness in letting kings win for me. "

  Which made no sense. The fact that he wasn't angry with her made no sense either. The fact that she was angry because he wasn't made the least sense of all.

  "Well, I'm delighted you enjoyed yourself," she said crossly. "But of course you would. Gambling, fighting, those are diversions you men love the most, aren't they?"

  She hadn't even noticed that he had been slowly moving toward her. He was now close enough to catch her arm, which he did, drawing her up against his body. She stiffened. He didn't acknowledge it. Both arms circled her now, keeping her firmly in place.

  He only waited for her to look up at him before he said, "You forgot to mention the one diversion you are familiar with yourself, little houri." He grinned. "That means beautiful maiden, not what you are thinking."

  "Sure it does," she scoffed, despite her confusion over whether he might be desiring her again. But that confusion wouldn't be quiet. "Stefan—"

  "If you wanted a man, you should have asked," he admonished gently, "not tried to solicit a stranger. "

  "I didn't!"

  Her denial didn't annoy him, he simply ignored it. "I knew the exact moment you encouraged him, Tanya. It was there in his face. But I excuse your actions because you haven't had . . . because it has been a long while since you. . ." The second expla­nation must not have suited him either. He actually looked flustered, and finally settled on skipping it altogether. "The alternative is that you deliberately caused trouble tonight. I prefer to think you need a man badly enough that you will accept even me."

  Even? Didn't he know he was the only man she would accept? No, of course he didn't. He thought she'd done what she'd done because she was des­perate for a man, any man, because they had kept her so long from the occupation they assumed was hers.

  Tanya didn't know whether to explode with righ­teous indignation or laugh. Actually, she couldn't do either. Right now he was sure her motive hadn't been to cause trouble. If he started to think otherwise, he'd be angry. Yet he had enjoyed that damned fight, so he wouldn't be that angry—probably just enough to put her over his knee again. But she wasn't going to make love with him just to get out of that. And she wasn't going to make love to him while he thought he would be doing her a favor. If and when she ever did, it had to be because he was desperate to have her. She wanted nothing less than the exquisite pas­sion he had offered her that night by the river, not this hesitancy that wasn't lik
e him at all. Actually, she wanted a whole lot more from him, she realized, but she was realistic if nothing else.

  "I have surprised you?" he asked carefully.

  "Do I look surprised? I guess I am, which is un­derstandable, after your reaction to my freshly scrubbed face. What happened? Did I pick up some dirt smudges tonight? Is that why I'm suddenly ac­ceptable again?"

  Her tone was just sneering enough to gain her release. "You are, as you well know, exceptionally beautiful tonight."

  But not once had he really looked her over. Even Vasili had looked her over. And every man she had seen tonight had spared at least one glance at her cleavage. But Stefan wouldn't look below her face. And his compliment had been so toneless, he might as well have been speaking of the weather. And that was supposed to convince her that he wanted her?

  She stated as much, plainly. "You don't want me, Stefan."

  He didn't try to correct her. He said merely, strangely, "One night I give to beauties like you. One night . . . no emotion . . . just pleasure. "

  It was that "no emotion" that got to her, that cut through the hurt those words had caused her and left only a simmering anger. "What if one night won't do it? Do I then go visit Lazar tomorrow, and Serge after him?"

  Those taunts finally got to him, too. He no longer looked emotionless. "You forgot to mention Vasili," he said tightly.

  "No, I didn't. I still wouldn't have that condescending peacock, no matter how desperate I was. But you'll notice I'm no longer in need. Being pitied has a way of curing that."

  "Pitied?"

  "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" she snapped. "But don't worry. If I find I need a man again, I'll know where to look."

  She deliberately left him to wonder about that, turning her back on him and crawling into bed, fully dressed as usual. Stefan slammed out of the cabin. Good. Now he was angry—but not angry enough.

  Chapter 27

  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.