"The truth, wench. Do you paint your face to enhance — or to conceal?"

Even as he asked this, his eyes were determining the answer for himself, probing so deeply. Tanya stiffened and knocked his hand away, but it only fell to her shoulder, keeping her from turning away from him.

She had nothing to lose at this point by demanding, "So you want the gory truth and the last of my pride with it? I don't have much to improve on, but then you've already guessed that, haven't you? You're a cruel devil to make me admit it."

Trying to sound as if her pride had been wounded when all she felt was anger just didn't come off, but she was sure the conscience she was trying to prick was nonexistent anyway.

He only grunted to acknowledge her effort before scoffing, "You are a lie from head to foot, mistress, but that ends here and now. I give you five minutes exactly to emerge from this room as your true self. Defy me and I will scrub you down myself, then heat your backside for putting me to the trouble."

Chapter 11

Tanya's eyes were still wide with disbelief after Stefan closed the door behind him, for the second time leaving her alone in her room. Heat her backside? Did that mean what she thought it did? She'd like to see him try it. On second thought, she'd rather not.

She glanced at the washbowl that he had shoved her toward before leaving. Since he'd already found her out, she had no reason not to wash her face clean — except one. She simply didn't want to, and that was an excellent reason as far as she was concerned. No one had the right to order her about anymore, and the freedom she'd tasted since Dobbs' illness was too precious to give up. Dobbs might still think he was in charge, but Tanya did whatever needed to be done because it needed to be done, and she did it in her own time, not when ordered to.

Now here was this devil acting as if he had some kind of right to assume control of her life, taking away her freedom and choices, even the choice of how she wanted to look, and threatening dire consequences if she didn't jump to obey him. A spanking, for crying out loud. God, that was rich. She'd suffered beatings that had laid her low for days, sometimes barely able to move, and she was supposed to be frightened now of a measly child's punishment? Not even a little, but she still didn't want that devil anywhere near her backside again, to spank her or to do anything else.

However, she didn't doubt for a moment that the man would do exactly as he said. And he'd already proved how easily his strength could force her to his will. So she'd just have to make sure he didn't have the opportunity again.

She set to motion, first retrieving her knife, then sticking her head out the window on the slim chance that something might be different out there. But the view was just as she knew it to be: the ground too far down for her to jump, and the tree just out of reach, even if she pushed off the windowsill and leaped toward it.

She turned to face the door, and sent up a little prayer as she approached it that Stefan wasn't waiting for her on the other side. There was only the one stairway that led downstairs, but there was another room across the hallway next to Dobbs' room. Both rooms faced the street and had windows only a few feet above the sloping porch roof, a roof she was well acquainted with, since she'd replaced several of its shingles. And from that roof it would be easy to swing down to the ground. Then she'd simply disappear until those four devils got tired of waiting and went off to dupe some other poor girl.

As a child, she'd often take off for days at a time, once for a whole week, when she knew Dobbs was looking for her with his stick. She came home each time to an even worse beating than she would have had, not because she couldn't survive in the wilds, but because she got too lonely being by herself. But she wouldn't have to be gone long this time, a few hours at most. And even if she had to stay away for a few days, now that she was older, she was sure loneliness wouldn't be a problem at all.

Briefly she thought of telling Dobbs about her dilemma, but she just as quickly dismissed the notion. Even if he would help her, what could he do in his present condition? He was, in fact, more likely to aid those devils than her if the price was right, and she'd already seen how quick Stefan was to toss money about.

With knife in hand, Tanya put her ear to the door, but could hear nothing. Best as she could figure, she had about two minutes left to make herself scarce. Would he have gone downstairs to wait?

She wanted to open that door stealthily so she could determine if her own window might be the better option after all. But the damned hinges on her door squeaked, giving her no alternative but to yank it open suddenly, using surprise to her advantage if Stefan was there.

He wasn't, but she wasn't lucky enough to find the hallway empty either. The one who had introduced himself as Lazar Dimitrieff was there instead, standing with his back to her door. It was the only bit of luck to come her way yet, and she made quick use of it, pressing her knife into his side before he could turn around.

"If you move even an inch, mister, we're going to spill blood on this floor, and I wouldn't like that, since I'm the one who will have to clean it up later."

"Then by all means," he said agreeably, "I am yours to command, Princess."

Tanya cringed. She'd whispered her threat. His answer sounded like a trumpet blast by comparison, guaranteed to bring on the cavalry — or one dark devil.

"I take it you consider yourself expendable?" she asked, and jabbed her knife forward a bit.

He got the point, both points actually. Still, he didn't sound too concerned, even though a small circle of red appeared around the hole her knife was making in his jacket.

"What exactly do you hope to accomplish?" was all he wanted to know.

"I'm leaving."

"Ah, then you mean to take me with you?"

"No farther than I have to," she assured him. "So just turn slowly when I turn, and keep your back to me."

"Our king won't like—"

"Your king can go polish his teeth for all I care," she bit out. "It's that dark devil Stefan I

don't want to deal with again — ever."

That brought a burst of laughter from him that had Tanya grinding her teeth together. "I

believe he feels exactly as you do right now."

"I'm absolutely delighted to hear it," she retorted. "Now move!"

The door she wanted was closer to the stairs, so she backed that way, pulling Lazar along with her, sparing a look once, twice, to make sure no surprises came up behind her. She knew her time was running out — unless Lazar hadn't been there just to guard her, but to escort her downstairs too. She didn't waste time asking him, especially since he was cooperating now. She had to concentrate on figuring out how she was going to get out the window and still keep him from stopping her. Damn, why had she never learned to use a pistol instead of a knife? This would have been so much simpler if she didn't have to keep Lazar close at hand.

She had almost reached the room she wanted when she decided she would have to leave him out in the hall for the few extra seconds that would gain her. A shove to his back, the door slammed behind her, and a running dive through the window ought to see her rolling down the porch roof before he even entered the room. And he was too big to follow her with any kind of speed. She'd be out of sight before he could do anything.

Another step brought her to the door, and up against a solid wall of immovable man. Even as she groaned in frustration — to be so close! — a large hand closed tightly over hers and moved it carefully away from the man in front of her.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Lazar?" Tanya blinked, hearing that question put to her rescued captive rather than to herself, as if he had been assisting in her escape. But more importantly, it wasn't Stefan who asked, but that stocky fellow they called Serge.

"Humoring her," Lazar answered as he turned about and casually pried the knife loose from Tanya's fingers. "She is soon to be our queen, after all."

"So she is, and all the more reason she shouldn't be playing with knives where she might get hurt. Stefan should have unarmed her himself. "

"He did, but I would guess she made him so furious, he forgot to take the weapon with him when he left her. "

Tanya was gritting her teeth by now. She dearly loved being ignored most of the time, but this was ridiculous.

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if you realized I'm still here, much as I wish I weren't."

"Sorry, Princess. " Lazar grinned down at her, then suddenly laughed as he got a good look at her face. "I don't believe she has done what Stefan ordered her to do," he said to Serge.

That one's hand came around to turn her face toward him, giving him a quick look at her before she knocked his hand aside. "So she hasn't."

Lazar's blue eyes were back on her, full of amusement. "I distinctly heard what our friend promised to do to you if you defied him, Tatiana. Perhaps you would like to return to your room now and wash before we take you below?"

That would be the wisest thing to do at this point, sandwiched between them as she was, with her chance to escape postponed for now. But Tanya had always had a rebellious, stubborn streak that had been responsible for more than a few of the beatings she'd received over the years. And she hadn't been promised a real beating after all, so she'd rather they knew right up front that she was going to be as difficult as she possibly could be, no matter what threats came her way. Just maybe, they might then decide she wasn't worth the trouble.

"I wash once a month — when I feel like it," she said brazenly, smiling so there'd be no doubt that that was a lie she intended to stick to. "And I've got at least three weeks to go before I get anywhere near water again."

"So you intend to defy Stefan?"

"Absolutely."

Serge groaned behind her. Lazar chuckled. Tanya tried slipping out from between them while they were both distracted, but was chagrined to have an arm slip around her waist from behind in what she would swear was no more than reflex.

"It's not funny, Lazar," Serge grumbled over her head, totally ignoring the small hands prying at his arm. "She's going to make Stefan even angrier than he is now, and right now he's too angry to be around."

"He knows it. That's why he left." Lazar tipped her chin up to study her face now that at least half of her haggardness had been rubbed off. "But I have a feeling his mood won't improve either way," he added thoughtfully. "We expected to find a beauty, and it looks like that is what we may have here after all."

"Yet he seemed to like her better when he thought she wasn't," Serge concluded with another groan.

"My thoughts exactly. But I wouldn't worry about it," Lazar said with blatant cheerfulness now. "For a change, he's not going to take his black mood out on us — he's going to take it out on her."

If that was said just to make Tanya rethink her stubborn position, it didn't work. But that didn't mean she liked hearing it. And she definitely didn't like the way they continued to talk around her.

She jabbed Lazar in the chest with a pointed finger, demanding, "If I'm to marry your king, why is Stefan the one giving me orders?"

That had Lazar grinning again for some reason, a joke shared with Serge obviously, since he glanced at him before answering. "Because until you are wed, you have been placed in Stefan's care — at our king's insistence. So it would be to your benefit, Princess, to pacify him rather than antagonize him, don't you think?"

Lord help her, they had an answer for every little discrepancy in their scheme that she tried to point out. "What I think hasn't mattered one bit so far, so why should it now? But answer me this. Does my being placed in Stefan's care mean that he can take liberties with me?"

If everything they had told her was true, that she really was to be married and all the rest, then that question should have angered Lazar, or at least disturbed him. But his grin didn't even falter.

"Stefan can do whatever he likes, Princess," he said offhandedly. "He is answerable only to the king. "

"And Vasili couldn't care less." She pointed out the obvious.

"Vasili frequently defers to Stefan. They are cousins, after all, and Stefan is older."