Tanya slowly pulled and pushed her dress back into place, not knowing what to expect now, especially when the doorpounder called out the parting tidbit that the boat had docked an hour ago. She could barely make out Stefan's shadow as he moved to light a lamp. She wished he wouldn't. She wished he'd come back to bed, but she knew that was impossible now with everyone obviously waiting for them to emerge from the cabin.

But when light surrounded her, Tanya had one more wish, that it would extinguish itself. It didn't.

Stefan was standing next to the bed, staring down at her with the most inscrutable expression he'd ever worn, and all her doubts came rushing to the surface.

Had he meant to start what had happened, or had he in fact been sleeping to begin with and just got as caught up in their mounting passion as she had been? Did he wonder the same thing about her? And after last night and his magnanimous, arrogant offer to make love to her because she needed it... oh, God, this morning wasn't an extension of that offer, was it? And why didn't he say something? Why did he simply keep staring, as if similar or worse questions were running through his mind? Worse, she guessed, for his expression suddenly hardened, what ever conclusion he'd drawn not to his liking.

Tanya braced herself, but she still wasn't prepared to hear him say, "You really don't care who you bed with, do you?"

She would have hit him if he was close enough. She had to settle for rolling over to give him her back, because the rejoinder he deserved—"I guess not" — wouldn't get past the lump in her throat.

Her silent withdrawal must have surprised him, however, for he added, "I'm sorry — that was uncalled — for. But I know you hate me, so what else am I to think?"

What else indeed, but he didn't have to put it quite that way, did he? But it seemed that the more intimate they were, the more insulting became his remarks afterward, so she should have expected something like that. But she hadn't.

And what could she tell him? She had been so furious with him about his taking the tavern from her that she really would have shot him if she could have got hold of a gun. But the anger had petered out into despondency over what she was going to do with her future. Still, just last night her anger had returned and she had been hellbent on getting a little even. So it was understandable that he would assume she hated him. Only she didn't hate him. She ought to, but she didn't, and she didn't understand that at all.

So again, what was she supposed to tell him to account for her passionate behavior? That she was so attracted to him nothing else mattered? He wouldn't believe that any more than she did. She didn't trust him, didn't accept half of what he told her. And she didn't like the uncertainty he caused her, or his attitude, which swung on such a wide pendulum that she was constantly kept off balance. And she really did hate his insults. All of these negative reactions were pretty hard to hide from him when she didn't have lovemaking on her mind. Then what was the reason she was drawn to him despite all that?

Lord help her, maybe she was as bad as he thought she was. Maybe she just liked those things he made her feel so much, she could overlook the rest. And maybe that was all she should tell him, or tell him nothing whatsoever, which was the same thing, since he already thought it.

This was her own fault. She had known full well she shouldn't have stayed in this bed with him last night. And she had tried to leave it a number of times, but each time his arm had tightened over her legs, he'd mumbled something incoherent and moved even closer to her, so she'd finally given up and tried falling back to sleep, a tall order under the circumstances.

And she'd been so sure she had handled that situation well last night, despite her frustration at having to give in on practically everything just to keep Stefan a happy drunk. But if she knew anything, it was that you didn't argue with intoxicated men. Too easily they could be moved to violence, serious violence that half the time they didn't even remember the next morning.

She'd long ago learned how to avoid that. If you agreed with them no matter what, you could steer them down the path you wanted them to go. That hadn't quite been the result with Stefan, but at least she had kept him peaceable. Only look what it had led to. Now his opinion of her was so low, it was a wonder he could even look at her.

But that was just as well, wasn't it? As usual, when she wasn't aroused, she was wishing herself anywhere else but here with Stefan and his cohorts.

"Tanya?"

She shrugged the hand away that came to her shoulder, but said nothing. She heard a sigh and then movement as he left the side of the bed.

"I will leave you to change and pack your things," he told her. "But do hurry. We've kept the others waiting long enough." She didn't hear the door open and close, however, because Stefan had one more thing to say, though it took him several long moments to do so. "It bothers me more than it should, your experience with men."

Her eyes flared wide and darkened with rancor, but he didn't see that with her back still toward him. Was he actually trying to offer an excuse for his blistering insults? As if any excuse could make a difference. It bothered him? Well, she could fix that, couldn't she?

Without turning around, she said, "You should have said something sooner, Stefan, because I could have so easily relieved your mind. You see, I don't actually have any experience with men other than you, and that's not much, is it? But I don't expect you to believe that, which is why I haven't mentioned it before. After all, I worked and lived in a tavern, and all tavern girls are whores, aren't they? On second thought, I guess you'll just have to keep on being bothered by it."

She had spoken with enough sarcasm that he couldn't possibly believe her. But then she didn't want him to. She only wanted to give him something else to be bothered about. And by his new habit of slamming the door shut on his way out, this time despite his aching head, she guessed she'd succeeded very well.

Chapter 29

Sasha was there waiting for them on the dock with a large coach. Either he'd had remarkable luck in finding them himself, or one of the others had gone off to locate him while Stefan and Tanya kept them waiting. In either case, the little man didn't seem too upset at having been left to reach New Orleans on his own, though he might just be saving his complaints for a more private moment. He did have a number of things to say to Stefan, however, who merely nodded agreement without much comment of his own.

Watching them from the deck, Tanya wondered if Stefan was still angry with her. He probably was since Lazar and Serge escorted her down to the coach, and only they got into it with her. Stefan didn't even look her way, which was just as well, since she had worn her own shabby clothes again to annoy him further. But now she was regretting it. Of Vasili there was no sign at all, again just as well, since she hadn't bothered to use the hairpins he had troubled himself to obtain for her, which was carrying her own disgruntlement a step too far.

Expecting to be taken to a hotel, as she had been that last night in Natchez, Tanya decided she would rectify the mess she had made of her appearance before she saw her worst antagonists again and had to endure their disparaging comments about it. So she was annoyed to find herself transported only a short way down the dock to another boat, or ship rather, because this one was definitely an ocean-sailing vessel.

She didn't even have time to hope that they were merely stopping briefly for some reason, that this wasn't her actual destination, because the missing Vasili was on the ship, waiting for her at the top of the gangplank. When she reached him, he picked up a lock of her hair and merely clicked his tongue. A mild rebuke, surely, for that razortongued cad.

"Welcome aboard the Carpathia, Princess."

"When does she sail?"

"As soon as the rest of the crew can be found. They could not anticipate our exact time of arrival, after all."

Though he made that excuse, he still said it with a degree of annoyance, as if the crew should have had second sight — or else remained aboard the ship. But Tanya couldn't have cared less that he was letting his arrogance show. She was too busy trying to hide her surprise. So much for the wardrobe she had been promised.

"My first time in New Orleans, and I'm not even going to get to see it?"

Vasili quirked his brows in mild interest. "Was Stefan aware that you wanted to?"

As if that would make a difference, she wanted to snort, but all she said was, "No."

"Perhaps if you made your wishes known to him in the future... but in this case, time is of the essence, particularly since so much was wasted merely in locating you."

She was amazed he didn't mention her attempted escapes, which had delayed them more recently. That Stefan might grant her wishes, she didn't bother to address.

"Will I at least have a cabin to myself this time?" she asked.

He ignored that question to ask one of his own. "You haven't taken my advice yet, have you?"

"What advice?"

"To court Stefan's affection?"

"Affection? Ah, I remember — and it was his interest you recommended I cultivate, rather than his fury. "

"You have his interest, Princess. You would do better with his affection."

"You'll forgive me if I consider that an impossible endeavor."

"Forgive you?" he shot back. "No, because I can see you won't even try."