Johanna Lindsey - Once a Princess

And they couldn't even see that he had turned livid, since he was still facing her. They expected anger from what she'd said. Why? What difference did it make if she owned up to what they all thought anyway? If she told the truth instead, Stefan would probably get just as angry. Maybe she would try that next time.

Right now she braced herself, wondering if he would pounce on her as he usually did. Not with his friends present, apparently, for he merely tilted her chin up with one finger, his golden eyes roving over every inch of her face as if he would commit it to memory.

She knew what he was seeing, or she thought she did. Actually, she hadn't had a good look at her reflection in decent light for a number of years. But even if she had, she wouldn't have seen what he was seeing. Spiky lashes framed eyes that were captivatingly tilted, and weren't pale at all without the gray around them, just light in color and quite brilliant. Petalsoft skin was a rosesandcream hue, and gently flaring brows were as black as her midnight hair. He saw the aristocrat in her high cheekbones, and passion in her lush mouth, with lips full and inviting. And he saw the strength, or stubbornness, in her jaw, as well as the slight curve at the tip of her small nose that kept her face from being haughty. He saw a face so lovely, even a poet couldn't do it justice with flowery description. And he disliked every inch of it.

Tanya saw that clearly in his expression, she just didn't understand it. The man had wanted her a dozen times yesterday, or so he claimed, when she had been at her most unappealing. Now he didn't? For crying out loud, she should have washed her face sooner.

When he finished his inspection, he said with deceptive nonchalance, "I see your point, Tanya. They would be lined up in droves, wouldn't they? Or do you service more than one at a time?"

Lord help her, he was going to get really nasty, now that he no longer wanted her for himself. Tanya didn't know whether to cry over that horrid insinuation or slap him. But she had forgotten how to cry…

The crack across his cheek was shatteringly loud in the stillness. Tanya had to bite her lip to keep from shaking her hand, it stung so badly. Stefan's cheek turned white, then filled with blood in the shape of her hand print, almost making his scars underneath it disappear.

Tanya felt such satisfaction on seeing that print, she didn't care if he turned around to look for a stick to beat her with, or slapped her back, as Vasili would have done the other night if Stefan hadn't stopped him.

But he did neither. He merely touched a finger to his cheek and raised a black brow, saying, "I take that to be a no?" She almost slapped him again. He must have sensed it, for he shook his head in warning. "Ah, no, Tanya. Once was perhaps deserved, but twice I will not accept. Behave—"

"Then get the hell away from me, because I've had a bellyful of your vicious taunts!"

She turned her back on him, but he didn't reply. After another moment, she heard him walk away, and it was all she could do not to break into a run in the opposite direction. But there were four of them to give chase, so all she'd end up doing was wasting her strength.

Another moment passed and Lazar approached her, extreme wariness in his expression. "I hesitate to ask, Princess, but are these edible?"

She glanced down at the branch of foliage he held in his hand. Wild berries. If she weren't so hungry herself, she'd tell him no, then sit back quietly and watch them all try to throw up what they had probably already eaten. She took the branch from him instead and popped a few of the succulent berries in her mouth, a good enough answer as far as she was concerned, since she was done talking to the lot of them.

But the damn berries wouldn't go down. She had a lump in her throat that felt as big as her fist, something she hadn't experienced since she was a child. She guessed she could still cry after all.

She didn't make a single sound, but the tears started flowing copiously. Lazar blanched upon seeing them. Tanya didn't notice his reaction or that he left her side. And then an argument started behind her that got really heated for a moment, though she wasn't paying attention to that either. Maybe they'd kill each other. She could hope...

The arms that came around her were achingly tender, drawing her against a comforting chest. She assumed it was Lazar, but didn't look to be sure since she didn't care at that point. Sympathy broke the dam, it seemed, for she became loud then, great racking sobs echoing through the woods. Crying, for crying out loud, and when she'd been so furious just minutes before. How utterly embarrassing. And she couldn't even say why she was doing it — certainly not because that devileyed devil didn't like her anymore.

She was making so much noise, it was a while before she could even hear the soothing words coming her way. When she did hear them, she stiffened, pulling back. But the arms around her only tightened. She was going to be comforted whether she liked it or not, by him. What unmitigated gall. There wasn't anything he could say...

"I'm sorry, Tanya. At times I am the devil they call me. I did warn you of that, did I not? And sometimes when I am surprised—"

"You mean disappointed, don't you?" she interrupted bitterly.

"Surprised will do," he replied. "I have never dealt well with surprises."

"You have unusual reactions for a lot of things, don't you, Stefan?"

Pointing that out wasn't the wisest thing she could have done just then, when his arms were still around her. But she was in danger of being kissed only when he was angry, or sealing bargains, and that danger was undoubtedly gone now that he knew what she really looked like. She should be relieved. So why wasn't she?

He was quiet for so long, she was sure he wasn't going to reply to her remark, but he did. "You deal with my unusual reactions very well, do you not?"

Up came the color to her cheeks, and she had no gray pallor to hide any of it, only his wide chest for the moment. "That was a short truce," she said tiredly.

His hand ran over the back of her head, pressing her even closer to him. Comforting even while he was insulting? The man didn't do anything in a normal way.

"Actually, I meant no offense," he said softly near her ear. "There are women of vast experience who are still terrified of me when I... but an innocent girl would be even more so. You have that, at least, in your favor."

And nothing else? But he didn't say that. He wasn't trying to insult her, after all.

"Some innocents would react just like I do," she retorted. "But I don't suppose I will have to worry about it anymore, will I?"

He sighed. "I've made you angry again."

All Tanya noted was that he hadn't answered the question. "You can let go of me now, Stefan. The rain has stopped in case you haven't noticed."

She heard him chuckle, and he tipped her face up so she could see that he was smiling, his way of telling her that he at least was willing to forget the harsh words that had passed between them and start over — again. But he didn't know that she hated it when he smiled. He didn't know that her heartbeat sped up each time he did. She looked at those lips, felt the length of him pressed so close to her, and experienced that fluttering In her innards again. Hell and high water, how could he still do that to her after his recent nastiness?

She felt him tense just before he released her, giving her an idea that he had sensed what she was feeling and didn't like it. She turned away from him before she could see it in his expression too.

"What have you decided for our direction?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"South."

They would choose the opposite of the way that she wanted to go.

Three hours must have passed since they started walking south, yet none of Tanya's companions had mentioned food. The change in her appearance was mentioned again and again, however, and each time she looked up, she caught at least one of them staring at her, even Stefan, as if they still couldn't believe she'd actually turned out to be pretty. Serge and Lazar seemed delighted that it was so. Vasili she couldn't read, except that he hadn't made any derogatory remarks so far this morning. And she already knew what Stefan thought, which made no sense when you figured that he could get more for a pretty exotic dancer than he could for an ugly one.

She tried not to think about being more valuable to them now, because that would make them even more vigilant of her. She thought about her hunger instead, easy enough to do with all the noise her stomach was making. And it finally occurred to her that as finely dressed and mannered as her abductors were, they might not know how to survive in the wilderness. That would be a laugh. No, it wouldn't, not when she was stuck with them.

Tanya was about ready to reveal that she knew how to hunt for food when Serge, scouting up ahead, called back that he'd found something. The something turned out to be a rather large plantation house, with all the accompanying outbuildings that made places of this size selfsufficient. This one turned out to have everything her abductors could have asked for — a hot meal already prepared, supplies to take with them, and four sturdy horses, all of which they could apparently afford to buy. There were more horses available, and the men had more money with them, but obviously she wasn't going to get a mount of her own.

She supposed that would have been too much to hope for. Nor was she left alone for a single moment, even to use the convenience, especially to use the convenience. Stefan escorted her to the outhouse himself. He even inspected the interior to make sure there were no other exits before allowing her those few minutes of privacy. She'd like to know how they were going to manage this when there wasn't an outhouse around. Did he think he was going to stand there and watch her? Like hell.

They didn't stay at the plantation any longer than necessary, possibly because they didn't trust Tanya around other people. She'd been warned beforehand not to cause a disturbance there, though the consequences weren't spelled out. Regardless, she wouldn't have heeded that warning if she had thought someone on the premises might have been able to help her. But the owner was an old man. His wife was an invalid Tanya didn't even get to meet. And everyone else was the couple's slave; they couldn't help her any more than they could help themselves.

When it was time to leave, Tanya didn't have to ask whom she would be riding with. With a hand on her elbow, which had been there during the entire visit, Stefan walked her right to the horse he'd chosen, a large sorrel mare, lifted her into the saddle, and mounted behind her. The position, which more or less placed her across his lap, she didn't like at all. With one of his arms supporting her back, she was comfortable enough, but she could see Stefan with no difficulty at all. It was bad enough that she was so close to him, touching him in too many places, feeling his heat — the man always felt hot to her — but looking at him as well was too disturbing by half. She could close her eyes, she supposed, or get a stiff neck looking forward. But trying both options left her with the clear impression that he was watching her, and that was just as bad.

It didn't take her long to inform him, "I want to change position, Stefan, and sit facing forward."

"Astride?"

"Yes. "

"No."

She met those sherrygold eyes and demanded, "And why not?"

He held her gaze only for a moment, and then he was looking over her head, his jaw clenched, his lips tight, for all intents and purposes ignoring her, yet he answered, "Your skirt won't allow it."

Her skirt was kind of narrow in comparison to one designed to accommodate innumerable petticoats, but it wasn't that narrow. "It would only show a little skin or none at all, since I'm wearing boots that already cover a third of my calves."

She thought that had sounded quite reasonable, but his eyes were a degree lighter in color when they dropped down to her again. "A little is too much. Kindly remember who you are, Princess, and begin acting with some decorum as befits your station, rather than as a tavern — wench."

The pause told her plain enough that "whore" had been his first choice in descriptions. For some reason that she couldn't imagine, she was annoying him enough to call forth the insults again. And if she was going to get them, she might as well deserve them.