"You arrogant devil's spawn, you haven't had to put up with half of what I have. I'll have you know—"

"Behave, Tanya, or I'll have to think seriously about putting you over my knee again. "

"Like hell you will."

"Now, children." Max chuckled, because it was obvious neither of them was truly angry at the other. "I think it will do Sandor good to see how well you are getting along." At Tanya's glance, he explained, "We were worried that Stefan would—"

"That's quite enough, Max," Stefan cut in, and there was no doubting that this time he was displeased.

Tanya looked up at him and smiled. "Secrets? As if I can't guess he was going to tell me how much you hated having to fetch me home, that if you'd had your way, I would have been left to rot in America. I keep telling you I'm not stupid, Stefan, but you keep forgetting."

"That is a matter of opinion, as far as I'm concerned."

"Ouch." She grimaced.

"Now will you behave long enough to meet my father?"

"If he's anything like you, I'm not at all sure I want to meet him."

"Don't pout, little houri. Princesses concede gracefully."

"But tavern wenches go for the jugular."

He flushed. She did, too, realizing that no one here yet knew of her upbringing. But Maximilian made nothing of the remark, assuming they were merely jesting with each other, a private joke perhaps. And he was so delighted with this change in Stefan, he was barely listening to them. Sandor would be delighted too. They had both been so afraid that nothing was going to make Stefan accept the girl, whether he brought her home or not. But it looked as if he had more than accepted her.

"I'm sorry," Maximilian heard the girl say.

"Don't be," Stefan replied. "They, at least, have to be told, and it might as well be now."

"Told what?" Maximilian asked, suddenly alarmed by their seriousness.

"We will tell you both together, Max, so warn him that we're here. I don't want to surprise him by just walking in."

Max did as he was told, though reluctantly, and the next hour proved uncomfortable for all of them, but especially for Tanya as she listened to him sum up her life as nothing but a bleak and depressing existence. To hear Stefan tell it, you'd think she had suffered the agonies of hell, so she finally broke in to paint a less severe picture, leaving out the hardship and remembering only the lighter moments, in particular the years shared with Iris.

But Sandor was visibly affected nonetheless, and she realized why when he said to her, "You must hate me, girl."

"Why? I don't even know you."

"I'm the one who sent you off with Tomilova. She was your mother's closest friend. She would have protected you with her life. But not once did I consider she might die, leaving you helpless and at the mercy of peasants."

Tanya doubted Dobbs would appreciate being called a peasant. White trash he was used to, but peasant? The thought made her smile. She turned it on Sandor to reassure him.

"You don't regret what you never knew about in the first place, just as it would be pointless to regret what is done and past, so don't think I regret my life up to now. I don't. It taught me a lot, qualities a pampered and spoiled princess would never have learned. And there is something to be said for total self-reliance. I believe my upbringing has made me strong, certainly strong enough to put up with your son and his royal temper."

Sandor hooted with laughter. "Spoken like a Janacek. That branch of the family always did have the better diplomats. We are grateful for your understanding, child. You are going to make a truly splendid queen."

"When?" she and Stefan asked almost at once.

"Will next week be too soon? After all, this is something we have waited years to see, and the preparations have been in the making for months."

A mere week before the wedding? Tanya didn't mind. Sandor might have been waiting for years to see it happen, but she felt as if she had been waiting forever for this ceremony that was going to give her the right to call Stefan her own.

Chapter 48

It was the day before the wedding when Tanya finally realized she hadn't seen Stefan but a few times all week, and those times only briefly. The making of her wedding gown was a major affair that had required hours and hours of fittings. Then there had been even more fittings for another wardrobe that was being made for her, for which gowns had appeared each day for her to wear to the special functions she had to attend, where she'd been introduced to the court and the more important nobles of the land, as well as to the foreign ambassadors and dignitaries who would be present at her wedding.

There also had been the hours of interrogation she had gone through, when Maximilian had shown up with his security men to learn every possible detail of the attempts on her life. She had had to almost reenact that first incident, right down to her rolling out of bed, before they were satisfied she could tell them no more. But their very seriousness had brought home the fact that she was still in danger, and it was a horrible feeling, knowing that someone was very intent on killing her.

Then there had been the tutors who had appeared each day and taken up most of her time. Lord help her, the lessons she had to learn, on the history of Cardinia, the history of her ancestors, on deportment, foreign policy, diplomacy, even language. She hadn't realized how fortunate she was, for communication's sake, that English had been one of the six official languages taught at court for the last forty years. There was even a woman whose task it was to gossip with her, or at least that's how Tanya saw it, for the lady was instructed to apprise Tanya of all current scandals so she wouldn't make the mistake of being friendly with anyone who was presently in disgrace.

The interviews had also begun that week, whereby she had to choose her Women of the Bedchamber, those ladies in waiting and maids of honor who would be her constant attendants once she was queen, one of the positions Lady Alicia had been so sure would be hers. In this Tanya had had the help of Stefan's aunt, a lady who wasn't at all like her arrogant son, Vasili, and for whom Tanya was already developing an affection. But at least she hadn't had to make any definite decisions there. Next week would be soon enough, she'd been told.

All in all, she'd been kept so occupied, there hadn't even been time to miss Stefan or wonder what he was doing. But on the eve before the wedding, a time quite natural for introspection and doubts, she realized that although she and Stefan had arrived in Cardinia on amicable terms, they hadn't actually resolved any of their past difficulties.

She knew she wanted him, knew he wasn't quite as adverse to her now either, but was she actually going to marry him without knowing how he really felt about her? Knowing that he had decided he liked making love to her just wasn't enough. What about his aversion to her looks, his remark that they just weren't compatible? What about all those insults he'd heaped on her every time he was reminded of her supposed past? Was she going to have to deal with those things again and again in the years to come?

The man didn't even know that she loved him. Of course, it was plainly obvious that she did. Hadn't she forgiven him for everything? But he'd never heard her say it.

Tanya was on her way down the corridor before she knew exactly what she was going to ask Stefan, or tell him. Her personal guards fell into step behind her. She had been assigned twelve of them until the assassin was apprehended; they worked in three shifts, standing outside her door and following her everywhere she went, so at any given time she had four men dogging her footsteps, or stopping anyone who wasn't expected from entering her quarters.

But she didn't reach Stefan's rooms. Maximilian Daneff was coming down the corridor with his secretary and paused for a word with her.

"You should be resting, your Highness."

"Yes, I know, but—"

"If you are looking for Stefan, he is spending the evening with his father. He has been so busy since his return, they haven't had much opportunity to talk."

Did that ever sound familiar. And she wasn't about to interrupt them. But she looked so disappointed, Maximilian asked, "Perhaps I can be of service?"

"No, I... well, actually, maybe you can."

She looked pointedly at the secretary until Max dismissed the man. Her own guards had stepped back discreetly. There weren't too many people they would do that for. Their own Prime Minister happened to be one.

"Now, what can I do for you?"

Tanya simply came right out and asked it. "Do you know why Stefan wouldn't like the look of me?"

"The look of you?"

"He liked me better when he thought I wasn't pretty. I never have understood that."

Maximilian smiled. "I would imagine it has to do with the same reason he was against bringing you home."

"Just because he didn't want to marry me?"

"Because he was certain you would not want to marry him. He left here expecting you to be a beauty. If he saw you as other than that to begin with, he was likely greatly relieved to find it so."

"I still don't understand."

Maximilian frowned. "Has no one told you how sensitive he is about his scars?"

"Those damn scars again?" she scoffed. "Yes, I suppose they have been mentioned or implied. But what do they have to do with how I look?"

"Everything. Stefan stopped pursuing beautiful women after he was scarred. He felt they could not see beyond his disfigurement. I have seen it happen myself in a crowded room, how some women turn away from him, hoping he won't give his personal attention to them. I am sure he has had worse experiences. But the truth is, he did not want to marry you because he was sure you would be as repulsed by his scars as those other vain women were."