Johanna Lindsey - Once a Princess

"Your Highness?"

Sasha's hand appeared at her side, offering a strip of leather for her to use on her hair. She took it, keeping her mouth shut about correcting his form of address. That they even had the servants trained for the pretense was almost a guarantee that the royalty ploy was used frequently. She again wondered if they didn't have other girls stowed away on The Lorilie right now, all thinking they were betrothed to the handsome Vasili. So how did she get so lucky to end up with the devil in control of her? Probably because he was allotted the troublemakers, which they had found her to be from the start.

She was getting really angry again at the fate she had stumbled into through no fault of her own. She also felt like a fool standing there in the middle of the cabin with her back to Stefan. Well, no more of that. If he wanted to disconcert her with his nakedness, she'd see how he felt with the shoe on the other foot.

She crossed over to the chair, sat down, and proceeded to stare at Stefan while she continued to brush her hair. He really was in the tub — and naked. But she'd seen bare chests before, and more. There had been a fire scare one night at the brothel next door to the tavern, and all the girls and their customers had run out in the street in their various states of undress, providing some hilarious entertainment for everyone else along the street who came out to watch.

But there wasn't anything funny about Stefan in that tub... well, maybe a little bit funny. The tub was a small round one, and he had to scrunch up to fit in it, his knees bent to his chest. Presently, Sasha was pouring water from an extra bucket over Stefan's justwashed hair, so he didn't even know yet that she had decided to be entertained by him.

Even naked, he was a swarthyskinned devil, though his knees weren't nearly as dark as his upper torso, proving that some of his coloring was helped by the sun. And the hair on his body was minimal, except for a Yshaped thatch of black curling down the center of his chest. She looked at the scars on his face, barely noticeable from a distance, and tried to recall the empathy she'd felt when she first saw them. She couldn't. The man had proved too aggravating since then to arouse any kind of compassion in her now.

Sasha handed him a towel to wipe the water from his face and eyes. When the towel was lowered, Stefan was looking toward the spot where Tanya had been standing. It didn't take him but a second to turn his head and find her in the chair. He raised a black brow at seeing her watching him. She lifted one of her own. He laughed. She didn't. He stood up. She was positive she was going to faint. She wasn't that lucky.

Lord help her, he was raw masculinity, hard and splendidly formed, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, thick of leg. And the root of his manhood... She closed her eyes. He laughed again, a wicked sound that mortified her. And she had thought she could play this out and embarrass him?

He must have had a similar thought, for he said, "When it is your turn, Princess, I assure you I won't be so shy."

She was never going to bathe again.

Tanya didn't know how she got through that next half hour, watching Stefan being dressed and groomed by Sasha. Mostly she kept her eyes averted, or on the little servant, who turned out to be amazingly bossy for a man a good inch or two shorter than she was.

Stefan had warned him to speak only English, and once Sasha started, Tanya got to listen to a whole stream of grumblings and complaints that only a servant of long standing would dare to voice. Stefan merely shrugged, or ignored, or teased — which was interesting. Tanya wouldn't have thought someone as unapproachable and as volatile as Stefan seemed to be would be the sort who teased. Playful just wasn't synonymous with diabolical. But hadn't she suspected him of teasing her a few times today, only to dismiss the idea as being too unlikely?

She didn't like seeing this other side of him that even included affection for a servant. And she really hated it when he smiled, for her heart did a double beat each time, whether he was looking at her or not. He wasn't incredibly handsome like Vasili, but the more she looked at him, the more attractive he became, and that, for some reason, annoyed her the most. She preferred to keep their relationship black and white. Enemy — captive. No middle ground. Yet his kisses and the feelings they had evoked in her were never far from her mind. And the image of his naked body... She needed to get away from this man for more than just her freedom.

She breathed a sigh of relief now to see that he was finally completely dressed. The buffcolored trousers were too snug, if you asked her, and the forestgreen coat was so well tailored it did nothing but accentuate his fine figure. The shirt he wore was identical to the one she now sported, with pleated cuffs, but the waistcoat wasn't as fancy, merely embroidered yellow silk. His offsetting red cravat was tied in the careless primo tempo style, and Sasha produced a tan top hat that took all of twenty seconds to be placed just so over his black hair.

He was definitely dressed to leave the cabin, and Tanya could only wish at this point that he would hurry up and do so. Except now that he was ready to, he turned his attention back to her, approaching her with a mirror in hand. She stiffened with an idea of what that meant. She wasn't far wrong.

"Wash the paint off or repair the damage," he said, dropping the round mirror into her lap. "But do one or the other before we go to supper. "

She was actually being offered a choice? Yet it was an order, plain and simple, no matter how mild the tone. And she simply hated orders these days.

She was about to hand the mirror back and tell him what he could do with it when she caught a glimpse of her reflection that made her gasp and cringe. He'd said she looked like a grubby urchin, but that wasn't even the half of it. Tanya looked as if she had stuck her head in a fireplace and had cold ashes blown in her face, then had merely dabbed at the mess. Lighter splotches were everywhere, on her chin from having it gripped, on her cheeks and forehead where she'd rubbed against Stefan's chest. How could she repair this mess when she didn't have her powders and creams?

As best as she could, that was how. She still wasn't willing to give up her camouflage without a fight. Stefan had been provoked to lust with her looking as she did. How much more difficulty would she be facing if he saw her as she really was? But there was a devil's voice whispering at her to show him, a bit of vanity that had never troubled her before. She very swiftly squelched it.

"Will this do?" she asked after a few moments of smoothing, blending, and borrowing from the thicker color still beneath her eyes.

"The tired hag again? I think I liked the dirty urchin better."

Tanya gritted her teeth as she felt another urge to wash herself clean of her disguise. He suspected the truth anyway. But a suspicion was nothing compared to clear evidence. She resisted temptation again and changed the subject.

"Did you mention something about going to supper.

"Unless you would prefer a tray brought to you here."

"I wouldn't," she quickly assured him, amazed that she was going to be allowed out of the cabin this soon. "But aren't you worried that I will enlist someone's aid, in particular the captain's?"

"You would only embarrass him and yourself if you did."

Her green eyes narrowed. "What absurd lies have you told him about me?"

"Nothing too taxing on the imagination. You are my runaway wife. You deserted not only me but two small babies as well. I'm afraid you won't engender the least bit of sympathy if you try to tell anyone otherwise."

He smiled, letting her know he knew how furious that would make her, so all she said was, "Did you have to make me sound so heartless? No one could blame me for deserting you, but babies?"

He didn't take the bait, possibly because her eyes were so hot with rancor. He chuckled, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, and started her toward the door.

On the way to the dining room, he asked, somewhat on the same subject, "How do you feel about babies, Tanya? You will be expected to give the king at least one heir."

"Not according to him," she snorted. "He doesn't intend to ever touch me, for which I am immensely grateful."

"Most women adore Vasili. I assumed you would be pleased by the thought of marrying him."

"You assumed wrong."

"And if you had another choice?"

"That's the second time I've been asked that. Do I have another choice?"

He didn't answer. They had reached the dining room, small but comfortably furnished from what she could see through the open doorway. Serge and Vasili were already seated. Lazar was probably still cleaning up from his dunk in the river. No other girls were present at their table, but then if there were other girls like her, the men wouldn't allow them all to come together to compare fairy tales, would they?

Stefan paused before entering, holding Tanya back by her elbow. "We were discussing babies," he reminded her.

"You were, not me."

"You didn't say how you felt about them personally."

"I'm afraid it's a subject I never gave much thought to, since I had never planned to marry."

"And under these new circumstances?"

"I just told you Vasili said he wouldn't be sharing my bed, so I don't see how... wait a minute. Are you suggesting a bastard heir would be acceptable?"

"No! I mean yes — never mind."

He propelled her into the room without another word. Tanya glanced sideways at him and saw that he wasn't just flustered, but quite annoyed for some reason. Now, what was she to make of that? Not that it mattered. If she could go to supper, then it was likely that she could go to dinner that evening, too, and that was all she was interested in at the moment— another opportunity to escape.

So she behaved herself that afternoon, didn't argue, and refrained from any more caustic remarks, even toward Vasili, which was a major feat since he wasn't nearly as tactful. She also managed to ignore the disapproving looks that came her way, either because of the outlandish story circulating about her or due to her halfmannish attire, either reason sufficient to condemn her in the eyes of everyone there.

Instead she amused herself by watching every other female in the dining room trying to catch Vasili's eye, not just once, but continuously. Stefan was right in that respect. Most women seemed to adore him, and probably did — right up until they got to meet the insufferable peacock.

It was the same that evening, though even worse where Vasili was concerned, for several women managed to finagle introductions through the captain, who seemed so put upon, Tanya didn't even consider enlightening him with the truth about herself while she had the chance. It was perhaps because she did keep her mouth shut that when she confessed a need to use the convenience before their first course arrived, Stefan let her go without his escort, though she caught his nod toward Serge, which no doubt meant he was to follow at a reasonable distance. Of course, she would never have been allowed even that if Stefan thought she could swim.

Serge's unobtrusive presence on the deck was no hindrance to her plan, however, since he wasn't following close enough to stop her. Tanya even had time to pick her spot to jump, which was an added bonus, for she could barely make out a bend in the river coming up. If she could jump just before it, The Lorilie would be around the bend and out of sight long before she reached the riverbank, so no one would see her leave the water, if they could see her in the dark.

Being unable to swim was the smartest lie she'd ever told, definitely worth a mental pat on the back. Now, if she could only find the convenience.

As soon as Tanya was out the door, Lazar leaned back in his chair and asked casually, "Do you think that was wise, Stefan, letting her go off on her own?"

Stefan's expression was devoid of concern. "Serge will keep an eye on her."

Vasili wasn't so casual in his grumbled opinion. "He ought to keep a hand on her — or better yet, a chain."

The suggestion wasn't taken seriously, but Lazar felt it necessary to point out, "It would take no more than a moment for her to jump ship. "