"Then whose blood is that?"
"Mine," she said, hoping he'd conclude that it was her time of the month and let it go at that.
"I don't—" He didn't get any further, his face suffusing with heat. But he didn't draw the conclusion she had hoped he would. "Stefan returned here after we searched the house."
It wasn't really a question. And since Stefan might mention it to him, there was no point in denying it. "Yes."
"Was he very angry on finding you a virgin?"
Did he have to be so damn discerning? "He didn't notice. He was too angry to begin with."
Serge's cheeks got even hotter. "I will get him now. He has to see—"
"Like hell," she fairly snarled. "I'm not dealing with his anger again tonight, thank you. And I don't care what he thinks, so forget about that damn stain, will you? Just tell me you believe someone tried to kill me."
"I do."
She sighed in relief before asking, "Do I have enemies that no one has told me about?"
"None that I can think of now. Those you had are all dead."
"Would someone want me dead to keep me from marrying Stefan?"
"That is a possibility, yet there are not many who know of your betrothal, or remember it, and even less who know that you are still alive. You disappeared when you were only a baby. Most people think you are dead."
"How nice."
He smiled at her tone. "It was better to let them think so while there were still Stamboloffs lurking about. But even though Stefan was sent to bring you home, it is doubtful Sandor would announce your existence until you were there to prove it."
"All right. Obviously we're not going to figure out who or even why. Tell me this, then. Why would this would-be murderer try to smother me—which was taking a good deal of time, I don't mind telling you—when he had that knife on him? He could have just stabbed me to begin with."
"Perhaps he didn't want to take the credit for it. "
"What do you mean?"
"He could have wanted it to look like you merely died in your sleep—"
"I'm in perfect health!" she interrupted indignantly.
"—for some inexplicable reason," he continued. "That way, no one would hunt him down."
"And he would get away with it, no one the wiser," she grouched. "I have to tell you, I really don't like this bastard, whoever he is."
"But killing you, your Highness, was more important to him than not being hunted down, or he wouldn't have resorted to the knife when his first plan failed."
"Then I guess it's fortunate I had enough breath left to scream."
"Very fortunate," he agreed, then insisted, "Stefan will have to be told."
"About the attacker." She shrugged. "Fine. You can try to convince him, because I won't." And then her eyes narrowed threateningly as a blush suffused her cheeks. "But don't even think about telling him about that bloodstain, Serge. He made love to me and left here still thinking I'm a whore. And if he couldn't even feel my maidenhead, he'll never believe that blood is what it is. He'll think I cut myself to put it there, and I'm not going to be accused of deception on top of everything else."
Her plain speaking had his cheeks glowing again. "When he is in that kind of rage—"
"You aren't going to make excuses for him, are you?" she asked coldly.
"He had also been drinking quite heavily tonight, your Highness."
"I see you are," she said in disgust and turned her back on him. "I'm not going to get any sleep tonight until there is a lock on that door. Stefan was going to take care of it, but he got distracted. Would you mind seeing to it before you go back to bed?"
"Certainly, your Highness. I will attend to it myself, as well as sleep outside your door."
"You needn't go that far," she protested.
"On the contrary. Stefan would have it no other—"
"Hang Stefan!"
Chapter 42
The first thing Tanya noticed when she came out of the house was not all the servants scurrying about, getting the last of the baggage loaded into the coaches lined up there, nor the twenty guards already mounted, nor even Stefan standing by the first coach, waiting for her with his three personal guards around him. What she noticed was that Alicia wasn't there.
Well, she wasn't going to ask why not. If Stefan had decided it would be prudent to be discreet now and not travel with his mistress in tow, it was just too late, as far as Tanya was concerned.
"You're late," Stefan said tersely as she reached him.
"Fat lot I care," she shot back. "I'd just as soon not go at all."
He dismissed the others with his hand probably because he hadn't expected her to be as testy as he was. Serge, she noted, didn't look guilty, so at least he hadn't told Stefan what she didn't want him to tell.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Stefan demanded as soon as they were alone.
"You figure it out, your Majesty. You're rather good at drawing conclusions, after all."
She started to climb in the coach without aid. Stefan jerked her back around. "Why didn't you tell me what you told Serge?"
So that's what had him growling? "You weren't in a mood to believe me."
"You managed to convince him. You didn't even try to convince me."
"As I said, you weren't in a mood—"
"Tanya, you are my responsibility. Mine! If I doubt what you tell me, you damn well tell me again, and again, until I believe it. Something as important as this—"
"Shouldn't have been doubted in the first place," she retorted.
"I agree." When her eyes widened, he added, "If I had been completely sober last night, I likely would have believed you at the start. I apologize for being less than clearheaded in your time of need."
Was that a double entendre? No, he had taken her last night. He hadn't bothered to ask if she wanted him to. And he hadn't noticed any need in her response, just the opposite—he hadn't noticed anything.
"I don't think I can accept your apology. Stefan. Your drinking did a lot more damage than your merely doubting me. It helped you, along with your anger, to take something from me that I was prepared to give you, but you don't even know what it is. And you don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? Well, I could have forgiven you if you did, but since you don't, forget it."
She turned toward the coach again. This time he caught her shoulders and drew her back against him. She stiffened, but all he did was issue a warning. "If you think you are going to get away with that cryptic little riddle, think again. I will have an explanation from you, Tanya, and I'll have it now."
"Or else?"
"I might just turn you over my knee again."
Hot color rushed into her cheeks to accompany the ire his warning provoked. "Then I might just throw another knife at you."
He sighed and let her go. "All right, Tanya, get in the coach. You have delayed us long enough this morning. "
"Because I didn't get much sleep last night, thanks to you and my would-be killer," she retorted.
That got her a boost up into the coach that almost sent her into the opposite door. He followed her in, taking the seat across from her. And there was the glow in his eyes that she'd been looking for, sparking fire.
"I promised it wouldn't happen again, Tanya. What more do you want from me?"
Damn him, he was sober and saying it now, telling her as plain as day that he was never going to touch her again. "Not . . . a . . . damn . . . thing! "
She turned toward the window before she started crying. He didn't say another word. For nearly an hour that simmering silence continued between them.
And then Tanya felt a weight dropped in her lap.
"Those are for you."
It was a small, jewel-encrusted chest. Those? She opened it and stared at diamonds, pearls, emeralds, dozens and dozens, set in necklaces, rings, bracelets. She could buy a hundred taverns with what she was holding, but all she saw was what it represented. In a kingly fashion, Stefan was payin
g her for last night—because whores had to be paid, didn't they?
The gesture made her so furious she could have thrown that chest out the window—or at his head. But her fury didn't come through in her tone, merely in her words. "This ought to pay for my passage home." He snatched the chest back so fast, she blinked, then shrugged. "So I'll find another way. Don't think for a minute that I don't know how to earn money."
She was delighted to see him go red in the face. She had meant working in taverns, but she knew that wasn't what he thought.
"They told me you were at least resigned to the marriage," he gritted out.
"That was before I was reminded what a devil-spawned bastard you are."
His eyes flashed molten gold. "I will be eternally sorry for last night, but you are going to marry me, and live with me, whether you like it or not!"
"I am?"
She didn't mean it as a taunt, but he must have taken it as such. Before she even knew what he was doing, he reached over and yanked her onto his lap, slipped a hand into her hair to utterly destroy her coiffure, and took her mouth with an exquisite sort of hunger. Waves of giddy relief shot out to her extremities and came back in tides of sweet pleasure. He was touching her again, kissing her again, making her forgive him everything in her relief that he couldn't keep his promise, that what she could make him feel transcended even his given word.
She didn't notice that this kiss was skillfully calculated, designed to melt her resistance and leave her clinging to him. Clinging she was, and she hadn't even thought to resist. She would probably think later how unfair it was that he could do this to her when she was so spitting mad at him, but right now all she did was kiss him back.
And then he was only nibbling, at her lips, her earlobes, her neck, and she knew instinctively that what he was doing now wasn't going to lead to anything more. She felt a disappointment that helped her tamp down her rioting senses. She could protest at any time now; he was allowing that. But since she didn't want to anyway, she decided to wait to see what else he would do. Besides, the way he was leisurely toying with her was sinfully delicious, just stirring enough to keep her senses alert and hoping, but inducing a languor that had her melting into his body.
Finally he looked at her, tipping her chin up so she couldn't avoid his gaze. His eyes were merely sherry-gold, about as mellow as she'd ever seen them. And he didn't say a word. That alone brought her back to full reality. But she didn't stir from her position, half reclined in his arms, her right hand curled around his neck.
With a degree of smugness, she asked, "What happened to your promise?"
"I was only a little angry."
"The hell you were," she snorted.
He smiled down at her. "Then let me rephrase that. I was in perfect control."
"You wanted to kiss me?"
There went his smile. "Why the devil do you sound surprised?"
"Your promise—"
"Had nothing to do with it."
It didn't? Confusion reigned, until she thought to ask, "Stefan, what exactly did you promise me?"
The subject wasn't pleasing him, if his new expression was any indication. "I thought I was quite specific."
"Then refresh my memory."
"I gave you my word I would never take my anger out on you again."
Her relief was there, jumping up and down inside her, but there was another thought that had her brows drawing together in a scowl. "Then who will you take it out on?"
"I suppose I will have to find another outlet."
"Alicia?"
She could have bit her tongue for asking that, especially when he grinned. His mood might have suddenly improved, but hers didn't.
"You weren't jealous of Alicia, were you?"
"Not the least little bit," she lied. "Where is she, by the way?" You weren't going to ask that, missy. Oh . . . shut . . . up.
"On her way to Cardinia, I would imagine. She left quite early."
"I thought she was going to travel with us."
He stared at her for a long, pensive moment and then he frowned. His hold on her tightened. His scars twitched.
She was confused again, increasingly so when he demanded, "Did you want her along? Perhaps to keep me from kissing you when I damn well feel like kissing you?"
Now, what brought that on? she wondered in vexation. Her innocent remark? Not likely.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"It's what you told her, isn't it?"
Tanya gasped in outrage. "I told her no such thing! In fact, that sounds pretty much like what she told me—that I ought to be grateful for her existence because I couldn't possibly want you bothering me in that way, and she would make sure you didn't. She had the unmitigated gall to assume, assume, to know what I want. What other lies did that bitch say about me?"
Stefan didn't answer. He didn't know whom to believe at that point—Tanya, who said such outlandish things sometimes that he never knew what was true or not, or Alicia, who had never lied to him as far as he knew. And Alicia hadn't told him anything he hadn't already agonized over himself.
That was what had driven him back to the bottle last night after he had unwrapped Alicia from his body and sent her packing. He hadn't been gentle about it, either which he regretted now that he was sober. And now that he was sober, he realized that telling Tanya that Alicia had been with him when she screamed—when Alicia actually had returned to her room some thirty minutes earlier—had merely been his pain trying to inflict a like pain on Tanya. Obviously it hadn't worked, since her reaction had been fury that he might have been enjoying himself while she was in danger.
The accusation Tanya had made against Alicia, however, he still couldn't give credence to. Alicia might be petty and spiteful, but she wasn't capable of murder.
The hardest thing he had ever done was to finally ask Tanya outright, "If you don't want her around, are you prepared to accept me as I am, scars and all?"
Tanya didn't know how important her answer was to him, or how much frustration she could avoid if she would just answer yes. She was too annoyed to answer yes.
"Your scars again? You and Alicia are two of a kind, aren't you? You're both obsessed with those damn scars."
All he heard was that she had evaded his question, which was all the answer he needed.
He abruptly set her from him, waiting only until she had settled back in her seat to say stiffly, "You may not like my touch, Tanya mine, but you had best get used to it. But then we both know that once you're being kissed, you don't care who is doing the kissing, or the touching. Do you?"
"I honestly wouldn't know," she shot back, only to realize that that particular taunt was the truth.
Chapter 43
"Would you mind kissing me?"
Vasili stiffened to his full six feet, impressive in his indignation. "I beg your pardon?"
Tanya flushed, but she wasn't giving up yet. They were close to Cardinia. Another three or four days, she had been told. But ever since leaving Danzig, Stefan had been deliberately avoiding her again, not as completely as on the Carpathia, but nearly as much.
Almost immediately he had stopped riding with her in the coach, sending Serge or Lazar, or both, to keep her company in his stead, while he rode with Vasili and the guards outside. Now she was lucky if she even caught sight of him through her window. Nor did he come to speak to her when they stopped at villages or great estates for food or to pass the night. Once they had camped in the open. She didn't know where he had slept.
When they had left Danzig, it was like leaving civilization behind. The countryside had been pretty bleak and barren, with winter upon it. Houses or farms became a rare sight, towns even rarer. The occasional castle held Tanya's interest the most, but not for long. Clouds or fog sometimes surrounded them so completely, it was difficult to see the road even a few yards ahead. She had yet to see a sunny day. It had rained often, and yesterday there had been a few snowflakes, though a frigid wind had whisked them away. The
weather alone would have put her in a gloomy mood if the situation with Stefan hadn't.
She was definitely beginning to regret her childish behavior during their last conversation. She had let her temper get the better of her, as usual, this time because of her jealousy, and that in turn had alienated Stefan again. And just when she had discovered that he wasn't indifferent to her. Well, he was now. But that last taunt of his, that she didn't care who was kissing or touching her once it was happening, had really bothered her after she thought about it. He'd implied she might protest first, but she was easy to conquer once she got heated up.
It was an insult, not as bad as his similar one about her not caring whom she bedded with, but an insult just the same. Only how did she know if it wasn't true? She'd never given any other man the chance to prove it one way or the other, stopping them all from kissing her the way Stefan did. So what if he was right? She didn't want any other man kissing her. There were dozens of them now in their party, but she didn't want any of them. She wanted only Stefan. But if one of them kissed her, really kissed her. . .
She had decided at last to find out for herself. If she was as wanton and fickle as Stefan claimed she was, then she damn well wanted to know it. And Vasili was a very logical choice to find out with. At that moment, he would probably like to vindicate himself, because he had actually been showing some guilt ever since he had accepted her innocence as fact. So he ought to delight in proving that if she wasn't an actual whore, she was at least one by nature.
He was also the most handsome man she'd ever known, and if she was going to prove this experiment beyond a doubt, she might as well use the big guns, so to speak, and make it as tough on herself as she could. And once she did prove it in her favor—and she was confident of that outcome—then she would have some ammunition to confront Stefan with. But she was going to have that confrontation one way or another, before they entered Cardinia.
Stefan said she had to live with him, but she wasn't going to go on living with him like this. If she wasn't positive that there was at least some hope of Stefan ever coming to love her, then she would just as soon leave before they reached Cardinia and the whole country knew about her existence.