"The mark—"

"I don't care about the damned mark!"

"We do!"

Now Tanya sighed. "Then let me put it another way, since you insist on keeping up the pretense. I wouldn't marry your king if you paid me. So whether I have the mark or not no longer matters."

"If you have it, mistress, you will marry the King of Cardinia. Your wishes in the matter do not count, since it was your father who betrothed you."

"A father you say is dead, so it makes no difference to me what he did or didn't do. And you better believe my wishes count. I can't be forced to marry anyone."

"You can be ordered to, mistress."

"Like hell!" she snapped. "I don't take orders from anyone anymore, not even from Dobbs."

"You are a Cardinian—"

"I'm an American!"

"Where you were raised doesn't matter in the least," Stefan told her. "You were born in Cardinia, and that makes you subject to your king's will."

If what he was saying was really true, Tanya would be just about petrified by now. Subject to that despicable Adonis? Forced to marry him, when he couldn't stand her and didn't care if she knew it? No, she didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. But then why weren't they ending this joke, now that she'd told them she didn't want their prettyfaced king? It made no sense to go on with it.

She wasn't going to. "I've had enough of this nonsense," she said, and turned toward the back door.

"The mark, mistress!" she was reminded once more, this time furiously. "At the risk of repeating myself, we must know if you possess it, and again, either you describe it to us or you will force us to look for ourselves."

She stared hard at Lazar, who was blocking her way just as he'd done earlier. God, did they all have to look and sound so serious? They must have played this joke countless times to make it seem so convincing.

"All right," she gritted out, swinging around and heading for the stairs instead. "We'll play this out your way. But when I return and tell you there isn't any mark to be found, you'd damn well better leave the premises and... not... come... back!"

Serge barely got out of her way in time, before she marched past him and up the stairs. Stefan watched the sway of her skirt as she went, and imagined her lifting it in a moment to examine an area he would have become familiar with last night if things had worked out differently. He wished to hell they had.

The scars on his jaw turned white, he clenched it so tightly before turning away — and catching Vasili's look. "Don't say it," Stefan warned. "I assumed her attitude would change if she thought... Hell, she's not normal, that girl. "

"I'll agree to that," Vasili sneered.

Lazar chuckled. "You're just annoyed that she didn't swoon with happiness at the prospect of winning your esteemed self. And maybe she would have if she had believed what she was told. But in case you didn't notice, my friends, she didn't believe any of it."

"Then she'll change her tune once she sees the mark," Serge predicted.

"We don't know what she'll do," Lazar said. "Who would have thought she'd scorn a king? And you heard her. She doesn't want him either way."

"As Stefan said, she's not normal," Vasili remarked.

"Yes, but even if she finds the mark, I'll wager she will return and say it isn't there. Are we to believe that?"

"You know as well as I that she is Tatiana Janacek," Stefan said.

"But she's so set against us, Stefan, I wouldn't be surprised if she cuts the mark out just to thwart us. Then we could never be entirely sure."

"And consider this, Stefan," Vasili added. "That could work either way. Her attitude could be pretense."

"How so?"

"If she is not Tatiana Janacek, and knows she doesn't possess the mark, how better to make us think she is than by adopting her present attitude? She could gouge out an area on her backside and insist the mark wasn't there. She'd be telling the truth knowing we would doubt it, and get everything we offer when it isn't hers by right."

Stefan didn't want to believe there was any likelihood in what they were saying, but in fact, it wasn't at all inconceivable that in order to become a queen, a woman would mutilate herself in an obscure place on her body that no one would ever see but a husband. A woman of little prospects might do so even in a highly visible spot for such a reward. And in the same respect, a woman dead set against marriage, even to a king, and a woman as stubborn and hot-tempered as this one apparently was, would think nothing of scraping a mark off her lovely backside to keep herself unwed. And they had sent her upstairs with a knife on her person.

With a foul expletive, Stefan pinned Lazar with his fiery gold gaze, snapping out, "I will need one other witness." And he headed for the stairs.

Chapter 9

Tanya was going to wait only five short minutes before returning below. The men would probably be gone by then, knowing as well as she did that she didn't have an unusual birthmark on her backside. End of joke — she hoped. If not, if there was a mark, it only meant they'd spied on her through her window, not that they were telling the truth. But to what end?

She could think of one motive, and she paled at the mere thought of it. She'd heard of girls being stolen from one town and sold into brothels in another, always far from home, so there would be plenty of time to find them and bring them back if they managed to escape. But escape usually wasn't one of the options of those places, they were so heavily guarded. And there were unscrupulous men who actually made their living by supplying the girls. Were the men downstairs such unscrupulous characters?

You're really getting fanciful now, missy, just like thinking that Stefan was a devil. Who'd want you anyway, looking as you do?

The devil did, and if he did, maybe he thought other men would too. No, the other three didn't think she was desirable — but they didn't realize that she was the dancer they'd seen last night. That damned dance! Stefan knew she was the dancer, and a girl who could dance like that would be an asset in any brothel. And how better to get her to one with no trouble at all than a ruse that would make her want to go with them? Lord help her...

The door to her tiny room flew open, making Tanya leap off the bed where she'd been sitting, working herself into a panic. Seeing Stefan fill the doorway, scowling at her, made the panic very real. She tamped it down only with a concerted effort. Getting hysterical at this point wouldn't help, and she could be wrong. After all, how many times had she already been wrong about them? But her latest suspicion was a far cry from a cruel, though harmless, practical joke.

"You were not even curious enough to see if it is there, wench?"

What? The mark. They were still sticking to the pretense of a birthmark. Then it really must be there, she realized dismally. And they assumed it would get her to pack up and happily leave with them.

"How long do you think it takes to examine such a small area?" she demanded. "I looked. It's not there. I was merely sitting here, giving you enough time to get tired of waiting and leave. But I see that was too much to hope for."

"Indeed," he said in a quiet voice that belied the anger in his sherrygold eyes. "It was also rather stupid of you, since we have stressed the importance of your identity to us and the only way it can be established."

"Well, I have established that I'm not the one you're looking for."

"I am afraid I must doubt that, mistress."

"That's too bad—"

"Yes... for you. It now becomes necessary to attend to the matter ourselves."

"Attend—? Oh, no, you won't!"

Her knife was in her hand before the last word was out. Stefan sighed, but he had anticipated no less.

"Mistress, the only one who might be hurt by that weapon of yours is yourself. Put it down and submit to the inevitable, and I will try not to embarrass you any more than I have to."

"Just like that? God, you've got your nerve. Well, come ahead, then, and we'll see who gets hurt."

His lips turned up the slightest bit. "I applaud your courage, little one, but might I suggest an alternative first?"

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I thought you said there wasn't any."

"Just one. We could make love."

God, was it the way he said it, or the way he was looking at her just then, that made those words sink inside her with a slow swirl of delicious sensation? She stiffened, trying to shake it off, but the feeling persisted. And she knew what it was. Lord help her, the man had done what no other ever had. He had just given her her first taste of desire. Him? Now? Oh, God, he really was a devil. He really, really was.

"Ah," he said, watching her closely. "I see that is not an option at this time."

"Or at any time," she assured him stiffly.

The angry glow was back in his sherry eyes, which indicated she'd definitely struck a nerve. "On the contrary, mistress. Before our journey ends, I will have you, no matter how high the cost. "

Had he forgotten the grand pretense already? She decided to remind him with a sneer. "Even though I'm supposed to marry your friend?"

"Oh, Vasili won't mind. You aren't wed to him yet, after all, and you are no virgin, so one more man before the nuptials won't matter, will it, when you have already spread your favors among so many. "

If that last insult was supposed to incite her to careless fury, it succeeded better than Stefan had intended. She leaped for him, knife raised, her target his heart. But since she was blinded by outrage, it wasn't surprising that she didn't notice the hand that whipped up to catch her arm. Fingers tight about her wrist now, he held her like that for a long moment, showing her just how futile her efforts were against him, before he slowly squeezed. When her other hand came up to beat at his face, that too was caught. And despite her struggles, it was only seconds more before the knife clattered harmlessly to the floor.

"Now we lift your skirts, mistress. A shame this couldn't have been done in a more amicable way."

"Devil's spawn!" she spat in answer. "You can't do this!" she screamed when he started dragging her to the bed.

"Certainly I can," he replied with calm assurance, and proceeded to prove it.

She was shoved back on the narrow bed, flipped over onto her belly, and before she had time to even screech into the bedding, he was sitting on her lower back. Only her right hand was still held. Her left couldn't reach him anyway, or manage to push herself up.

"I'll kill you for this," she vowed before her own hand, with his directing it, was placed behind her head to shove her face into the pillow, to discourage any more comments like that, she supposed.

She felt the air rush over her legs next, as her skirt was yanked up. Then she heard a barely audible gasp, and just as quickly the material covered her again.

"Lazar?" he called with some difficulty.

That was the first Tanya knew that Stefan wasn't alone. She twisted her head toward the door and flamed scarlet, seeing Lazar filling that open space now. God, were the others behind him, all eager to witness her humiliation?

"You found it?" Lazar asked, his eyes only on Stefan.

"Not yet. Leave us."

"I thought you wanted a witness."

Stefan had thought so too, but he had assumed he would be able to uncover just a small area for Lazar to take note of, a mere patch of skin amidst ruffles and lace. But the girl wore no underclothes of any sort, not even a single petticoat.

"A witness would be nice, except the wench is appallingly naked beneath her skirt. So I trust you will accept my word on the matter?"

"That goes without question," Lazar replied, but he was chuckling as he closed the door.

Nerve racking silence followed while Tanya struggled to hold back tears, her humiliation was so great. She was also having a hard time breathing beneath his heavy weight. But not once did it occur to her that she was now alone, in her room, on her bed, with a man who had only minutes before suggested they make love.

Stefan was very much aware of that fact, however, and to put it from his mind, he said derisively, "You really don't believe in wasting time, do you, mistress? Your paying customers must be delighted by your lack of under apparel."

"Go to hell," Tanya snapped, intending to say no more. But the excuse came out anyway. "If there was money to buy some, I'd wear some. But it's certainly no business of yours."