That son of a bitch would, too. His arm around her waist was already trying mightily to squeeze her to silence as he marched her back to the boat.

Hell and high water, Vasili wasn't supposed to have come after her. He was just as tall and long-legged as Stefan and Lazar. She'd known he could catch her if he tried. But he wasn't supposed to have tried!

"Why don't you just tell them you couldn't find—"

The suggestion was cut off as her stomach made hard contact with his shoulder bone. She started struggling then, and screaming for help as soon as she caught her breath, but he managed to keep her up on his shoulder, and another hard bounce stopped her protests for a few more seconds.

Long enough for her to hear him say to someone who was probably staring openmouthed at them, "My servant's wife. She hates boats, but he refuses to leave her behind."

"I would," the stranger replied.

"So would I, but the silly man loves her, so what can you do?"

"That's a lie!" Tanya screeched, only to get another bounce on Vasili's hard shoulder.

By the time she caught her breath, she was already on the boat. Her hair had come loose again in her struggle and was trailing on the deck. She had a difficult time pushing it out of the way when she reared up, then wished she hadn't when she saw the many passengers lining the rail all watching Vasili and his squirming bundle, rather than getting a last view of Natchez. The men looked amused, some actually laughing, while the women were sternfaced, likely feeling affronted. And farther away, Serge was talking to an officiouslooking man — the captain? — and probably telling him some outrageous lie just like Vasili's, to explain why she had to be carried aboard. The passengers had no doubt been told something similar, which was why not a single one stepped forward to help her. Of Stefan and Lazar there was no sign. Maybe they'd drowned — hopefully.

Tanya still tried to get the truth out for whoever would listen, her last and only hope, but it came out a jumbled concoction of frantic words, interspersed with all her ooufs each time she was bounced into silence. Finally she just screamed in pure frustration, which was also interspersed with ooufs.

Too soon, she heard a door slam behind her and Vasili's irritated voice saying, "Come and stuff something in her damn mouth, will you, Sasha?"

And then she was pulled off his shoulder and set down jarringly on her feet. But she wasn't so jarred that she didn't immediately take a closefisted swing at her tormentor. Uselessly, however. He was as fast as Stefan was in avoiding what she could dish out. She ended up turning herself half around with the swing and was left staring at Sasha — and the cloth he had wadded in one hand.

The servant got blasted with everything Tanya was presently feeling. "Don't even think about it, you sawedoff little toady!"

Unaffected by the insult, he merely turned his black eyes on Vasili. Tanya did too, and moved out of his reach.

"Never mind, Sasha," Vasili said, having suddenly found something to be amused about. He even chuckled. "We'll leave her to deal with Stefan and his devil's temper. It's bound to be the worst we've seen in a long time."

If that was said to frighten Tanya, it worked quite well. Until that moment, she hadn't remembered Stefan's promise of unpleasant consequences. And she hadn't just caused a commotion. She'd dunked two men in the river, one of whom supposedly had the authority to do with her anything he cared to do. Her fear didn't subdue her, however, not when she didn't have to face it yet.

Her lip curled with contempt for the golden Adonis and his vindictive amusement. "And

I'm supposed to be betrothed to you? You see why I don't believe it.

His contempt was much more effective, all in the amber-brown eyes that raked over her. "I hardly believe it myself. But I can assure you, little wench, you'll never share my bed." With that he laughed derisively, before adding, "Royal marriages don't even require a degree of civility between the partners. No, after the nuptials, I will see much less of you than I am forced to endure now, thank the good Lord. And you, Princess, can take what lovers you care to."

"With your blessing?"

"Certainly," he said magnanimously. "I'll even make recommendations if you like."

"Wait, let me guess. Your dear cousin?"

Vasili shrugged. "For some reason I can't possibly fathom, he's not as adverse to you as he should be. Yes, you would do well to cultivate his interest, instead of his fury. He does,

after all, carry a great deal of influence at court."

A choking sound was heard from Sasha, who had been standing quietly through all this. Tanya couldn't believe she was even having this conversation.

"Enough!" she said is the same commanding tone she'd heard Stefan use. Vasili's brows went up, hearing it. "I don't know why you think you have to continue this farce, but we both know you don't want me along, no matter the destination. So why did you stop me from leaving?"

"Duty before preference, Princess," he replied simply. "You'll learn."

"Like hell I will!"

Again he shrugged, then motioned Sasha to precede him out the door. But he paused there and gave Tanya a smile that was full of wicked humor.

"Stefan's mistress is fond of telling one and all how he frequently takes his anger out on her whether she's to blame for it or not. The way she puts it, he pounds the hell out of her. You shouldn't have long to wait."

How diabolically cruel of him to leave her with that parting shot to think about. But then Vasili had to be the most hateful man she'd ever met in her life. He was, amazingly, even more detestable than Dobbs, and that was saying a lot. At least Dobbs only beat her, then went about his business, not giving the beating or her another thought. But Vasili was making a point of stinging her with his barbs at every single opportunity. And she was supposed to like the idea of marrying that jackassed peacock? They should have told her Lazar was king, or Stefan. Stefan...

So he had a mistress, did he? What sort of woman would want to make love with that moody, dark devil? she wondered. You almost did, missy. You were so lost in that kiss you participated in, it could have been done and over with before you knew it even happened.

She flamed crimson with the thought. Her only consolation was that at least this time no one was there to see her blush.

Chapter 14

The Lorilie was one of the larger riverboats that plied the Mississippi, doubledecked, with a fullsized dining room, a separate gambling room, a small library, and wellappointed cabins. The one Tanya had been left in was mediumsized, certainly much bigger than the room she was used to sleeping in, and much, much nicer.

The bed was covered with a flowersprigged quilt, the table beside it with white lace. On the table sat a lovely stainedglass lamp, already lit when she had been brought inside, since there were no portals in the cabin. There was a thickpiled rug of Oriental design on the floor, and in a corner an ornate washstand painted white with gold leaf, with a fine porcelain bowl. Fluffy white towels monogrammed with an L for Lorilie were stacked underneath.

There was a shelf built into one wall to set things on. And two trunks were stacked one on top of the other against another wall. To put things in? Or did they belong to one of the men? There was also a single wellpadded armchair. Drawn up near the small table with the lamp, it would be an ideal place to sit and read. When had Tanya ever had time for such a luxury since Iris had taught her to read? All that she read now were the account books and the bills that came in.

The door was solid wood, and of course locked. That was the first thing she found out, before looking over the cabin. She thought about banging on it, but that just might bring Stefan that much sooner, so she didn't.

She sat in the chair now, feeling her apprehension mount as she waited. But she wasn't completely discouraged. So her second attempt to escape had failed just like her first. If she could walk— pounds the hell out of her? —when Stefan was done with her, then she would try again. Vasili's damned "duty before preference" had ruined the whole plan this time, but next time she wouldn't make any assumptions about any of them. She had probably even been wrong in thinking that the possibility of missing the boat would deter them from giving chase, since they had already put so much effort into her abduction.

She still couldn't understand why they had chosen her — unless some brothel owner had hired them specifically to find an exotic dancer. That would explain why they hadn't given up when she didn't believe their fairytale story, or when she started causing them difficulty. But still, all this trouble and expense just for one girl? Or were there more, already tucked away in other cabins, girls who had come willingly, believing the ridiculous tales they'd been told?

She'd find out when the boat docked, wouldn't she? No, she couldn't wait that long to escape. The farther away they moved from Natchez, the harder it would be for her to get back.

He pounds the hell out of her? she mused.

She had fair warning before the storm arrived. "Not now, Sasha!" she heard just before the door opened and closed quietly behind Stefan.

That soft entrance was deceiving, however. Tanya wished he'd slammed the door like before. The slamming of doors at least expended a little of one's anger. And looking at Stefan, she had no doubt at all about the state of his emotions. He was absolutely livid, eyes filled with that mesmerizing golden glow, jaw and fists clenched, scars whitened, more prominent, body taut with whatever restraint was being practiced — not much, she'd wager.

His boots, cravat, and jacket were gone. Someone had given him a towel, which he'd used on his face and hair, but it now hung around his neck, forgotten. His lawn shirt was clinging wetly, delineating every muscle across his chest and arms, pointing out that she had merely guessed at his strength before. Too tall, too lean and hard, too damn masculine, and much too angry.

Against her will, Tanya dropped her eyes to his hands again, which looked like large iron mallets right now. Pounds? Pounds!!

Panic rose suddenly and drained the color from her face. She shot to her feet and was behind the chair in seconds. But her movement set him in motion, too. Restraint gone, obviously too angry even for words, for he said not a one, he closed the distance between them before she could even think to scream. And then she was so terrified at having her only barrier violently knocked aside, all that came out of her was a gasp, followed by a mere whimper as she was lifted and tossed through the air. But she landed with a soft bounce that told her the bed had caught her fall.

No sooner did her relief register the fact that she hadn't been thrown through a wall than it felt as if one had dropped on top of her. Stefan — his body fully covering hers.

Unprepared for the sudden weight of him, she had her breath knocked out of her, then stolen further as he took her mouth with fierce demand. It wasn't a punishing kiss, but it was too impassioned for her, an innocent, to appreciate. She was stunned, and did not understand. Why wasn't he pounding her to dust with his huge fists?

And then she knew, instinctively, that it wasn't his fists he was going to pound her with, but his body. Relieved laughter bubbled up in her, but it never got past their joined lips. And the urge to laugh was gone as quickly as it had come. There was no playfulness to this kiss, no sensual exploring, no sense that she could end it if she tried. He was dead serious about what he was doing. He was actually going to make love to her — in anger.

She began to fight him with everything she had. Weighted down as she was, it wasn't much. But he didn't seem to feel anything, not her punches, not her yanking on his hair, certainly not the little bit of pushing she managed. He continued kissing her, taking full possession of her mouth, his breath becoming her breath, his taste her taste. It was draining, debilitating, but stirring, too. All the emotional energy she'd expended in her struggle left her wide open to his passionate onslaught.

But she was afraid. She had avoided this kind of contact with a man for so many years, and had done everything possible to make herself undesirable to men. Yet this one wanted her despite her looks and was going to take her despite her wishes. She wasn't even sure he knew exactly what he was doing. That was what frightened her the most. He was too passionate, too out of control in his fury. He didn't even seem to be aware of her resistance.