She didn't even notice his hesitation over those pertinent words. She was trying to tamp down her excitement, because what he was suggesting was just too unlikely to be true. And yet — ever since she'd found out that she was unrelated to Dobbs and Iris, she'd wondered about her real parents, where they came from, what they were like, who they were.

It had been frustrating beyond belief that Iris couldn't tell her more than she had, couldn't recall her mother's name though she'd been told it, couldn't recall her name either, not all of it. But then Iris had been upset at the time with her own problems as well as those of the dying woman she'd agreed to help. So Tanya couldn't blame her for not retaining those memories. But that left Tanya with a burning curiosity, unsatisfied.

Other girls had backgrounds, rich in detail and color. Her life was a blank page begun in a tavern. Now here were four strangers hinting at knowledge she craved as much as, if not more than, her independence. To finally have a real identity, a family history, possibly even relatives still living — a birth date! It was just too wonderful to be true, and if she allowed her hopes to be raised, she'd be doomed to disappointment. And to have it all hinge on a birthmark?

Tanya had been staring blankly at the wide chest in front of her while her thoughts whirled. But years of self-preservation enabled her to catch sight of the hand raising to lift her chin to reclaim her attention, and she jerked back instinctively, before the carefully applied makeup on her face could be disturbed. Stefan took her movement personally, however.

As accustomed as he was to rejection, he still felt bitterly disappointed that this girl couldn't bear his touch, even impersonally, for unlike the others, he found that he was fiercely glad that she could be the one they sought. Of course, he kept forgetting that she was a whore and utterly unsuitable to be a queen. He wouldn't forget again.

He turned away from her and changed places with Lazar, giving him a curt order. "You ask her."

Lazar was convinced by now that it was unnecessary to go any further in their questioning. The others obviously felt the same, for Vasili was leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed, slowly pounding his head against the wood. Serge was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his head lowered in his hands, his shoulders slumped. Stefan was merely furious. But no wonder. If the girl could scorn him now, as they'd all just seen her do, imagine her degree of disdain when she knew who she was.

Lazar certainly was no happier about it than the others. It was unfortunate that she wasn't the beauty they'd been led to expect, but that was nothing compared to what she was, a common performer, a barmaid — a whore. Jesus, the knowledge would probably kill Sandor, that this was what had become of the child he himself had sent away and would now force his son to marry.

No, Lazar needed no further answers or visual proof for himself, but just for the record. Accordingly, he afforded Tanya the first respect she'd had from any of them. Standing before her, he bowed formally and introduced himself, though he left off his title. He would have taken her hand and brought it to his lips, but she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a narrow-eyed look which warned him off. It took him only a moment to realize that she thought he was making sport of her. Vasili's derisive laughter in the background did nothing to disabuse her of it. Lazar decided not to try.

"Can you tell us, mistress, if you possess any unique birthmarks?"

"One, but I wouldn't call it unique."

"Will you describe it, please?"

"It's a pink patch on my skin, the size of a large mole, but smooth."

"And located where?" When she blushed, Lazar decided she just wasn't describing it right and assured her, "The location is important, mistress."

"It's on my — in the area of my—"

"You may simply point to the area," he offered as she got even pinker.

Scowling now in her embarrassment, she snapped, "My arms are covering it just now."

"Covering?" He frowned, staring at her chest. "But — no, you have another mark."

"No, I don't."

"But you must have," he insisted.

"Well, I don't!"

Tanya was definitely angry now. As she'd known would happen, her hopes had been dashed. What they were looking for, she obviously didn't have.

"I don't understand—"

"For God's sake, Lazar," Vasili cut in. "You have your answer, twice repeated. Let us be grateful and go before it changes. "

"A splendid idea," Tanya agreed, though no one was listening to her.

"It makes no sense at all. Everything points—"

"Coincidence, just as I said before."

"With two women dying in the same way, around the same time, and that old man upstairs burying them both?"

"Bizarre, certainly, but not impossible," Vasili said.

"Hasn't it occurred to either of you," Stefan remarked, "that, considering the location of the mark, she may never have seen it?"

"Of course!" Lazar chuckled.

Vasili wasn't so amused. "Dammit, Stefan, why couldn't you leave well enough alone?"

"Because we are here to discover the truth, no matter how distasteful we may find it."

Tanya stiffened, recognizing another insult when she heard it. By the time Stefan stood in front of her again, her green eyes were glittering with ire. But his eyes were softly glowing as well, for he was still reacting to her earlier rebuff. So her anger didn't bother him. In fact, he was delighted that he'd caused it.

"We are certain of you identity, mistress. The mark that will prove it should be found on the underside of your seat, on the left cheek. It will no doubt require a mirror for you to examine it, but go and do so now, and do so carefully, so you may return and describe the mark to us."

"And if I won't?"

"Then you may possibly be offended when we locate the mark ourselves, to end all doubt, you understand."

She was quickly learning that he could be as cruel as Vasili in his remarks. Her cheeks flaming, she hissed, "You bastard," but he merely crooked a brow at her, showing her how. little it mattered to him that he'd insulted her — again. "What happens if the mark is there?"

"Then you will return with us to Cardinia."

"Where is that?"

"It's a small country in Eastern Europe. It's where you were born, Tatiana Janacek."

A name. Her name? God, this was becoming real again, her hopes soaring again. "Is that why you're here? To take me back?"

"Yes."

"Then I have family there? They sent you to find me?"

"No." His tone softened for the moment. "Regrettably, you are the last of your line."

Up and down, these hopes. Why did she let herself be lured in by possibilities? All right, no family. But a name, a history — if they were telling the truth, and if she had the mark.

"If I don't have any family left, then why did you bother to find me?"

"These questions are pointless, mistress, until you prove to us all, yourself included, that you possess the mark that names you a Janacek."

"I don't care how pointless you find my questions, I'm not moving an inch until I know the real reason you came here."

Stefan took a menacing step closer, but she didn't budge. He growled down at her, "For no other reason than to collect you and return you—"

"Why?"

"For your wedding!"

"My what?"

"You are to marry the new King of Cardinia."

Chapter 8

Tanya took a wide step back, to look at them as a whole. Finely dressed gentlemen, probably educated at West Point or some other officer training school, which would account for the military precision of their movements and bearing. Young bloods, though these were a bit old for that label, all of them more in the area of thirty years. But she knew their type. Rich, privileged, and no doubt bored — which made them great practical jokers.

She should have known none of this was real. They obviously thought it would be hilariously funny to dupe a poor, ignorant town girl into believing in fairy tales. Cruel was what it was, because most girls wouldn't see that it was only an elaborate joke, not until they were hurt by it. Now that Tanya did, she could explain it all away so easily.

Dobbs, of course, had given them the information they needed about her mother, probably for a few coins. Even the birthmark on her backside, if there really was one, could have been glimpsed through her window, for just last night she'd been in such a hurry to change out of her costume, she hadn't closed her curtains. But it mortified her to think of one of these men up in that old tree outside her window, watching her in the altogether and noticing something on her body that even she didn't know was there.

Hopefully, they hadn't gone to that much trouble and there really was nothing there. In fact, there being no such mark was probably the end of the joke. But until she actually looked, they were having a high time, weren't they? Anticipating that they were making her deliriously happy by what they were revealing, and how disappointed she was going to be when it finally dawned on her that she wouldn't get her fairytale king.

But they'd picked the one girl who wouldn't get down and kiss the feet of the so-called king who'd deign to marry her, because she was never getting married, not to any man, not even to a king if a real one ever asked. If they hadn't tried to carry it so far — a king, for God's sake — it would have worked. But that was probably the whole idea, to get her to believe something that was so fantastically unbelievable.

In fact, the joke had worked up to this point. She'd believed they actually knew who she was, that she would learn about her real family, her history, everything she'd always wanted to know. That was what was important to her, not some happyeverafter marriage. But they didn't know that. She'd been ridiculously gullible. But they weren't going to know that either, not if she could help it.

"A king?" she said now, forcing her eyes wide with amazement. "My oh my, will wonders never cease." That tepid bit of excitement was the best she could do, so she changed her tone to skeptical, laced with scorn, wanting to see just how far they'd go to convince her. "Who?" she asked Stefan. "You? No, you're not arrogant enough. It must be him."

She was looking at Vasili. The others were looking at Stefan for his reaction to what could be considered another rebuff.

"Indeed," Stefan said stiffly. "King Vasili of Cardinia. That should delight you, mistress."

"Should it?" she replied, but her eyes were still on Vasili, whom she asked, "So you're a real live king?"

Vasili came away from his slump against the wall with a look of utter disgust which he bestowed first on Stefan, then on Tanya. "So it would seem, mistress."

"And why would you want to marry the likes of me?"

"I assure you I don't."

"You were betrothed at birth," Stefan quickly told her. "Whether the king wishes to marry you or not, his duty demands that he do so — if you bear the mark. It is time to establish—"

"I don't think so," Tanya cut in. "What it's time for is the end of this joke, and for you to leave. You've wasted enough of my—"

"You don't believe you stand before royalty?" This interruption came from Vasili, who showed some amusement at last in the slight tilting of his lips.

Tanya snorted. "I don't know what gave you the idea I was stupid, but I assure you I'm not."

"That is most definitely debatable, mistress," Vasili shot back. To Stefan he added, "Why don't you just lift her damn skirts and be done with it?"

Tanya's fingers curled immediately around the hilt of her knife. "The hand that touches me gets cut off," she promised. "Now I want you out of here!"

Stefan sighed, wondering how a simple matter had become so difficult. "We cannot leave here in doubt, mistress. If you would but try to understand our position—"

"But I do understand, perfectly. I'm just not believing it."

"For what reason would we fabricate what has been revealed here?"

"I can think of several reasons, none of them very nice. You could even be actors for all

I know, rehearsing some stupid play that deals with royalty. In that case, you definitely need more practiceon everything but the arrogance and condescension. You've got those attitudes mastered very well indeed."