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.

And he was so hot! Instead of a cold clamminess from his dunking, heat emanated from him in waves, soaking through her own clothes like wet steam. It made the barrier of their shirts seem like nothing between them... Lord help her, she was starting to feel things other than fear.

It was the first downward thrust of the huge paddle wheels, setting The Lorilie to motion, that was jarring enough to draw Stefan's attention away from her. Suddenly Tanya's mouth was hers again, free to let her scream and rail. But she didn't make a sound, for he was staring down at her, his eyes still aglow, his expression so intense she even feared to breathe, afraid it might disturb his tenuous control. But control of what? She couldn't tell which emotion he was still in the grip of, which passion he was restraining, the desire to take her or the urge to beat her.

And then he turned his head slightly to look at his hand, which held her hair in a tight fist, then his other hand, holding her wrist tightly. Instantly he released her hand as if it had suddenly become hot enough to burn him. He reared up on one arm at the same time.

"Go!" Stefan commanded. "Get away from me before..."

She needed no more urging and was grateful he didn't elaborate, for she simply didn't want to know what came after "before." However, he wasn't exactly making it easy for her to flee him, still half covering her body as he was, and making no effort to move. But she managed to pull herself out from under him, all but her now sodden skirt, which took some tugging. The moment it gave, she rolled to the side of the bed — about one second too late.

"No, by God!" she heard behind her as his hand caught her trailing skirt to jerk her to a halt. "You'll at least have what you deserve."

She took that to mean only one thing. She'd received a reprieve from his angry lovemaking, but not from the beating she'd been expecting. At the moment, she wished he hadn't come to his senses.

She wouldn't beg, however. Begging had never stopped Dobbs. But she wouldn't just accept this punishment either. She couldn't. She had to be hale and hearty to get off this boat, not broken and bedridden.

As he moved to the side of the bed, she had the leeway to get off it. Her feet were on the floor, but her skirt wasn't giving, and neither was his grip on it. She tried to twist loose, but turning around she saw how determined he was — and still so very angry. Lord help her, he was going to hurt her.

Instinctively she reached for the knife on her hip, but before she gave her intention away, she recalled that it was no longer there. But she had another one in her boot. Not as longbladed and impressive, but it would still serve her purpose, which was just to hold Stefan off until he could be reasoned with. But as she bent for it, she saw his hand come up.

She reared back reflexively, raising her arms to block her face from the coming blow. It didn't come. He caught one of her arms instead to pull her over his lap into a position that was selfexplanatory.

Tanya's eyes flared wide. Oh, for God's sake, he wasn't actually going to spank her, was he? Unbelievable. Was that all she'd had to worry about? But she was forgetting the raising of her skirt, which he did with swift efficiency. No, even that didn't matter now, not after what Vasili had led her to anticipate. She'd been fearing the worst, and this spanking was nothing in comparison.

She felt like laughing, her relief was so great, but all she did was smile, wince slightly when the first smack came, then smile again. Resisting the urge to tense her muscles, she relaxed to lessen the sting, and busied herself thinking about how she'd like to torture Vasili very slowly for the anxiety he had deliberately put her through. Her seat got hot, then quickly numb — Stefan took this business seriously and no doubt wouldn't finish until he'd got some of the anger out of his system. Better a spanking than his other means for expending it, though. Imagine anger making him want to make love. What kind of habit was that for a man to get into?

Chapter 15

Stefan's hand felt engulfed by flames. He couldn't begin to imagine what the girl's backside felt like. And yet not a single sound had he heard from her. Her tears had to be silent ones. He wished it were otherwise, for he couldn't bear the sound of a woman crying. He would have stopped sooner...

He resisted the urge to gather her in his arms and comfort her. He was not to blame. She had been warned. Her present behavior could not be allowed to continue. She had to be made to understand that it was her duty to return to Cardinia, that she mustn't try to avoid it again.

But the method he had chosen to instill this lesson had been too harsh. He could see that now. Her backside was cherry bright. But as usual, he was careless in his anger and sorry too late. That didn't relieve her pain. It merely made him ache with regret that he couldn't even reveal, or the lesson would lose its effect... To hell with that.

Stefan carefully turned her over and drew her up against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin and holding her tenderly. Still she made no sound. But she didn't reject his offer of comfort either. She just sat there with her head bowed, her hands in her lap, and let him soothe her.

Stefan held back a sigh. She confused him more than ever, this girl. From the moment he first saw her, she had stirred up powerful emotions in him. And each time thereafter it was the same. Lust, shame, fury, frustration — and possessiveness from the moment he was certain who she was. And right now confusion, remorse, and tenderness were tearing him up inside.

He had never intentionally hurt a woman before. What had made him think he could do so now with indifference? He knew from experience what kind of guilt the tiniest bruise would cost him, yet he had inflicted more than that on this delicate girl. How much worse could it have been if he had made love to her instead? That, at least, she was accustomed to. But it would have served no purpose other than to rid him of his anger. He still would have had her attempted defection to deal with.

Clearly, he didn't know how to deal with her. She was a royal princess, yet she wouldn't believe it. He would prefer to treat her as such, but she wouldn't let him. And when she finally cleaned herself up, he was afraid she was going to be as beautiful as her mother had been. Yet she didn't want to reveal her true self, even though they had already guessed the truth. And quite frankly, he was dreading the moment when she would reveal her beauty.

He had wanted her in all her unremarkable plainness. Beauty was for single instances of pleasure and no more. Beauty wouldn't return affection. But for some reason he had thought that this plainlooking girl could, possibly because she didn't seem to notice his scars when she looked at him. But she wasn't plain. He didn't know what she was, or why she hid it, but it wasn't going to be unremarkable, of that he was sure. And just because beautiful women no longer found him desirable didn't mean he wasn't attracted to them. He still wanted this girl — and was bound to suffer for it.

The situation was hopeless, no matter how he looked at it. Maybe he should just let her go as she wanted.

His arms tightened around her, his whole being rejecting that thought. This caused her to move finally, squirming in protest at the strength he was applying. He immediately loosened his hold, his hands soothing her again, caressing her back, her hair, her cheek— which was dry

Stefan frowned and tilted her chin up. "Where are your tears?"

"What tears?"

"The ones that should have left gray streaks along your cheeks."

"Oh, those tears," she said with a shrug. "I wiped them off."

"Liar."

"Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it? No, don't start scowling at me again. You want tears, get a stick. On second thought, that probably won't do it either. My tears dried up years ago when I figured out that Dobbs liked the sound of them."

"What has that to do with—"

Her laughter cut him off. "You seem to forget where you found me, Stefan. I'm not saying my life with Dobbs was all hardship and misery. It wasn't. But my defiant nature did bring frequent beatings. That tends to harden the soul, as well as the flesh."

He paid less attention to what she was saying than he did to what it meant. She hadn't cried. It was doubtful that he had even hurt her a little bit.

He asked her as much. "Did that spanking even hurt you?"

"Certainly." His eyes narrowed, so she added, "Well, not much."

He stood up so fast, she was dumped on the floor. "Of all the... what I went through. damned impudent wench! So your skin is as tough as hide, is it?"