She thrust out one hand to him, but he didn't take it, merely waited, so she reluctantly gave him the other. He made quick work of wrapping the rope around her wrists several times before he began tying knots that even he wouldn't be able to untie in the morning. That done, he proceeded to wrap the other end of the rope around his waist half a dozen times.

Tanya hadn't expected that, but all was not lost. There was about a foot of rope left between her hands and his chest, more than enough to enable her to raise her knees and reach her boot without touching him. But being tied to Stefan's waist left her facing him, and he her, and if he should happen to turn over once he was asleep, he'd pull her hands with him. Well, she'd just have to pull him back in that case — or be gone before it happened.

She lay down now since Stefan did, and instantly discovered the disadvantages to this arrangement. It wasn't very comfortable lying on her side without the support of at least one arm for her head. And if she had actually wanted to go to sleep, she would have found it next to impossible with Stefan so close, watching her. And he was watching her. His eyes were no longer glowing. They were shadowed now that the firelight wasn't shining directly on him. She could still make out his features clearly, but, unfortunately, nothing of his thoughts or his mood. Yet she had the feeling he wanted to say something, or was waiting for her to say something. Theirs was an intimate arrangement, after all, cozy even, almost private, and obviously neither of them was the least bit sleepy yet.

She tested her conclusion, asking, "When are you going to own up to the real reason I'm here?"

"When are you going to accept that you are a royal princess?"

Stalemate. "Good night, Stefan. "

"Would you like to know some of your family's history?" he inquired softly.

She closed her eyes against the temptation to believe that he might really know something of her true family. But of course he didn't. Anything he told her would be a creation for his own benefit.

"Don't bother," she said with just a tinge of bitterness, adding, "Iris used to make up stories for me when she put me to bed, but Dobbs made her stop when he found out about it. He didn't want me growing up soft and fanciful."

"So you grew up hard and...?"

"Pragmatic."

"I would have said skeptical."

"That too."

"And distrustful?"

"I never thought about it, but I guess so," she said. "What about you?"

"Arrogant," he said without the slightest hesitancy.

She looked at him now and smiled. "You admit it.

"I am well aware of my faults, little Tanya."

"Do you have so many, then?"

"Wouldn't you say so?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose... but I think I'm getting used to some of them. Your temper, for instance. "

Now, why had she said that? Mentioning his temper could only make them both think of making love. And his hands weren't tied. She was within his reach. God, what a stimulating thought.

"Good night, Tanya."

The curtness in his voice told her plain enough he didn't like the reminder. Tanya closed her eyes again and sighed inwardly.

Goodbye, Stefan.

Chapter 23

Tanya couldn't ride straight for Natchez, as much as she wanted to. Her horseriding skills weren't good enough to ensure that she could stay well ahead of any pursuit on a direct route. As it was, she'd been unseated nearly a half-dozen times in the first two days she'd spent getting acquainted with the horse she had appropriated for her use. So her roundabout journey home took five days in all. And if she weren't so worried about The Seraglio and how Dobbs was managing without her, she still wouldn't venture into town. But she'd been gone a total of seven days, and she couldn't begin to imagine what kind of shambles the tavern would be in. She had to get back.

Nonetheless, she was plainly and simply afraid Stefan would be there waiting for her. Of course, logic told her they wouldn't come all the way back to Natchez for her. And even if they did, would they wait when they didn't find her there? All she could do was hope not, and take as many precautions as she could.

Waiting on the outskirts of town until the wee hours of the morning was the worst, but she couldn't risk entering The Seraglio while it was open for business — if it was still open. If Stefan had followed her, then that would be where he would await her. But even if he wasn't there, she was without her disguise, so she had to wait anyway.

She had bartered the horse to get across the river, instead of Stefan's waistcoat. The ferryman had just loved that trade, but she had no further use for the animal anyway and was delighted to get rid of it. Dobbs would probably have a fit when he heard about it. Horses weren't cheap.

When Tanya deemed the hour was late enough, she made her way stealthily into town, keeping off the main streets as much as possible. The tavern was quiet when she reached it, the doors closed, no lights burning, but she had no way of knowing if it had opened today or not. Next door, the brothel was still entertaining customers. So was the gambling house across the road. But neither establishment was making enough noise to allow her to break into the tavern if the doors were locked. And both were.

Tired and hungry at this late hour, Tanya didn't relish her options. She could either climb to the porch roof and hope one of the upstairs windows was open, or wait until tomorrow for the tavern to be opened — if it would be — and risk what she had tried to avoid tonight.

She climbed the porch roof. It took all of ten minutes and one near fall, but she made it. And to her utter relief, Dobbs' window was open and easy to enter. Inside the room, however, it was pitchblack, the moonless night that had aided her through town now hindering her.

She found the bed by bumping into it. "Dobbs, wake up. Dobbs!" she whispered urgently, shaking the mattress. He didn't make a sound, not a snore, not a grumble at being disturbed. "Dobbs?"

"You won't find him there, Princess."

"No," she groaned as a match flared to life and she swung around to see Stefan sitting in a chair by the door. All she could think to ask at the moment was, "Why are you still here?"

"Still? Ah, of course. We have been waiting nearly three days for you. Did you think we wouldn't?"

"I had hoped!" she exploded and dashed for the window.

She didn't waste time climbing through it, she dived. Her knee hit the sill, her shoulder hit the roof, and her boot snagged on something. She was still cringing with the pain from her landing when the "snag" began to pull her backward. She immediately flipped over to kick at Stefan's hand, but got her other foot caught for the effort.

With dread, she heard him say, "Give me your hand or I'll pull you in by your legs, and at the moment I don't care how badly you get scraped in the process."

She didn't doubt that he meant it, but she tried kicking loose from his hold once more. That effort started him pulling.

"Wait! Here." She pushed herself to a sitting position to offer her hand. For a moment she didn't think he was going to take it. But he did, and she was hauled in so quickly, she had no chance to try anything else, even if she thought to.

The room was dark again, Stefan's light having been extinguished when he bolted after her. He let go of her now to light another. She wished he hadn't. He looked angry enough to wring her neck.

But his voice was merely mild when he informed her, "You are caught, Tanya. Accept it."

"I can't," she cried feelingly.

"You will."

Those two words seemed to hold more than a warning, as if he knew something she didn't. And he sounded so confident, triumphant even.

She turned away from the glow in his eyes. He moved to light the lamp by the bed. She stared at Dobbs' bed — without Dobbs in it.

"My God," she gasped suddenly. "Has Dobbs died?"

"Not that I know of."

She turned back to him, infuriated by his offhand tone. "Then where is he? What have you done with him?"

"I haven't done anything to him."

"Stefan!"

"First I'll have your knife, Tanya, the one that cuts so easily through thick rope." When all she did was stare at him, he started toward her. "You can hand it over, or I can strip you down to find it for myself."

"You aren't undressing me, damn you!" she told him as she bent to retrieve her knife.

"Whatever is necessary, Princess, will be done. Don't deceive yourself by thinking otherwise, because you are not going to slip through our fingers again. "

She would. She had to. And that resolve made her stare at the knife in her hand.

"You might want to recall the last time you tried it," he said, guessing her thoughts. "You won't have any better luck this time." She met his eyes without answering, so he added, "You're determined to provoke my temper, aren't you?"

"Does that mean I'm in danger of being tossed on the bed?" she goaded sarcastically.

"It means you're in danger of ending up over my knee again."

"Like hell!" She slapped the knife down in his open palm.

"Is that the last of them?"

"Yes." But he was staring so hard at her, she shouted it again. "Yes!"

When he continued to stare, she knew he was debating whether he ought to search her anyway. And she couldn't blame him for doubting her. That he finally nodded his acceptance clearly showed how he felt about her now. He didn't want to search her. Last week he would have jumped on an excuse to do so.