"Then whose blood is that?"

"Mine," she said, hoping he'd conclude that it was her time of the month and let it go at that.

"I don't—" He didn't get any further, his face suffusing with heat. But he didn't draw the conclusion she had hoped he would. "Stefan returned here after we searched the house."

It wasn't really a question. And since Stefan might mention it to him, there was no point in denying it. "Yes."

"Was he very angry on finding you a virgin?"

Did he have to be so damn discerning? "He didn't notice. He was too angry to begin with."

Serge's cheeks got even hotter. "I will get him now. He has to see—"

"Like hell," she fairly snarled. "I'm not dealing with his anger again tonight, thank you. And I don't care what he thinks, so forget about that damn stain, will you? Just tell me you believe someone tried to kill me."

"I do."

She sighed in relief before asking, "Do I have enemies that no one has told me about?"

"None that I can think of now. Those you had are all dead."

"Would someone want me dead to keep me from marrying Stefan?"

"That is a possibility, yet there are not many who know of your betrothal, or remember it, and even less who know that you are still alive. You disappeared when you were only a baby. Most people think you are dead."

"How nice."

He smiled at her tone. "It was better to let them think so while there were still Stamboloffs lurking about. But even though Stefan was sent to bring you home, it is doubtful Sandor would announce your existence until you were there to prove it."

"All right. Obviously we're not going to figure out who or even why. Tell me this, then. Why would this wouldbe murderer try to smother me — which was taking a good deal of time, I don't mind telling you — when he had that knife on him? He could have just stabbed me to begin with."

"Perhaps he didn't want to take the credit for it. "

"What do you mean?"

"He could have wanted it to look like you merely died in your sleep—"

"I'm in perfect health!" she interrupted indignantly.

"— for some inexplicable reason," he continued. "That way, no one would hunt him down."

"And he would get away with it, no one the wiser," she grouched. "I have to tell you, I really don't like this bastard, whoever he is."

"But killing you, your Highness, was more important to him than not being hunted down, or he wouldn't have resorted to the knife when his first plan failed."

"Then I guess it's fortunate I had enough breath left to scream."

"Very fortunate," he agreed, then insisted, "Stefan will have to be told."

"About the attacker." She shrugged. "Fine. You can try to convince him, because I won't." And then her eyes narrowed threateningly as a blush suffused her cheeks. "But don't even think about telling him about that bloodstain, Serge. He made love to me and left here still thinking I'm a whore. And if he couldn't even feel my maidenhead, he'll never believe that blood is what it is. He'll think I cut myself to put it there, and I'm not going to be accused of deception on top of everything else."

Her plain speaking had his cheeks glowing again. "When he is in that kind of rage—"

"You aren't going to make excuses for him, are you?" she asked coldly.

"He had also been drinking quite heavily tonight, your Highness."

"I see you are," she said in disgust and turned her back on him. "I'm not going to get any sleep tonight until there is a lock on that door. Stefan was going to take care of it, but he got distracted. Would you mind seeing to it before you go back to bed?"

"Certainly, your Highness. I will attend to it myself, as well as sleep outside your door."

"You needn't go that far," she protested.

"On the contrary. Stefan would have it no other—"

"Hang Stefan!"

Chapter 42

The first thing Tanya noticed when she came out of the house was not all the servants scurrying about, getting the last of the baggage loaded into the coaches lined up there, nor the twenty guards already mounted, nor even Stefan standing by the first coach, waiting for her with his three personal guards around him. What she noticed was that Alicia wasn't there.

Well, she wasn't going to ask why not. If Stefan had decided it would be prudent to be discreet now and not travel with his mistress in tow, it was just too late, as far as Tanya was concerned.

"You're late," Stefan said tersely as she reached him.

"Fat lot I care," she shot back. "I'd just as soon not go at all."

He dismissed the others with his hand probably because he hadn't expected her to be as testy as he was. Serge, she noted, didn't look guilty, so at least he hadn't told Stefan what she didn't want him to tell.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Stefan demanded as soon as they were alone.

"You figure it out, your Majesty. You're rather good at drawing conclusions, after all."

She started to climb in the coach without aid. Stefan jerked her back around. "Why didn't you tell me what you told Serge?"

So that's what had him growling? "You weren't in a mood to believe me."

"You managed to convince him. You didn't even try to convince me."

"As I said, you weren't in a mood—"

"Tanya, you are my responsibility. Mine! If I doubt what you tell me, you damn well tell me again, and again, until I believe it. Something as important as this—"

"Shouldn't have been doubted in the first place," she retorted.

"I agree." When her eyes widened, he added, "If I had been completely sober last night, I likely would have believed you at the start. I apologize for being less than clearheaded in your time of need."

Was that a double entendre? No, he had taken her last night. He hadn't bothered to ask if she wanted him to. And he hadn't noticed any need in her response, just the opposite — he hadn't noticed anything.

"I don't think I can accept your apology. Stefan. Your drinking did a lot more damage than your merely doubting me. It helped you, along with your anger, to take something from me that I was prepared to give you, but you don't even know what it is. And you don't even know what I'm talking about, do you? Well, I could have forgiven you if you did, but since you don't, forget it."

She turned toward the coach again. This time he caught her shoulders and drew her back against him. She stiffened, but all he did was issue a warning. "If you think you are going to get away with that cryptic little riddle, think again. I will have an explanation from you, Tanya, and I'll have it now."

"Or else?"

"I might just turn you over my knee again."

Hot color rushed into her cheeks to accompany the ire his warning provoked. "Then I might just throw another knife at you."

He sighed and let her go. "All right, Tanya, get in the coach. You have delayed us long enough this morning. "

"Because I didn't get much sleep last night, thanks to you and my wouldbe killer," she retorted.

That got her a boost up into the coach that almost sent her into the opposite door. He followed her in, taking the seat across from her. And there was the glow in his eyes that she'd been looking for, sparking fire.

"I promised it wouldn't happen again, Tanya. What more do you want from me?"

Damn him, he was sober and saying it now, telling her as plain as day that he was never going to touch her again. "Not... a... damn... thing! "

She turned toward the window before she started crying. He didn't say another word. For nearly an hour that simmering silence continued between them.

And then Tanya felt a weight dropped in her lap.

"Those are for you."

It was a small, jewelencrusted chest. Those? She opened it and stared at diamonds, pearls, emeralds, dozens and dozens, set in necklaces, rings, bracelets. She could buy a hundred taverns with what she was holding, but all she saw was what it represented. In a kingly fashion, Stefan was paying her for last night — because whores had to be paid, didn't they?

The gesture made her so furious she could have thrown that chest out the window — or at his head. But her fury didn't come through in her tone, merely in her words. "This ought to pay for my passage home." He snatched the chest back so fast, she blinked, then shrugged. "So I'll find another way. Don't think for a minute that I don't know how to earn money."

She was delighted to see him go red in the face. She had meant working in taverns, but she knew that wasn't what he thought.

"They told me you were at least resigned to the marriage," he gritted out.

"That was before I was reminded what a devil-spawned bastard you are."

His eyes flashed molten gold. "I will be eternally sorry for last night, but you are going to marry me, and live with me, whether you like it or not!"

"I am?"

She didn't mean it as a taunt, but he must have taken it as such. Before she even knew what he was doing, he reached over and yanked her onto his lap, slipped a hand into her hair to utterly destroy her coiffure, and took her mouth with an exquisite sort of hunger. Waves of giddy relief shot out to her extremities and came back in tides of sweet pleasure. He was touching her again, kissing her again, making her forgive him everything in her relief that he couldn't keep his promise, that what she could make him feel transcended even his given word.

She didn't notice that this kiss was skillfully calculated, designed to melt her resistance and leave her clinging to him. Clinging she was, and she hadn't even thought to resist. She would probably think later how unfair it was that he could do this to her when she was so spitting mad at him, but right now all she did was kiss him back.