When she reached him, she was smiling, her relief was so great. But that was something she never did in the common room, because good humor just didn't match the haggard appearance she strived for. She was old Tanya, supposedly Dobbs' spinster daughter. However, this was a stranger, most likely from the riverboat that would be leaving in the morning, so she wasn't going to worry about one little slip.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

The smile confused Stefan, not because it was incongruous in that work worn face, but because women rarely smiled at him, not at first anyway. They were usually overcome with embarrassment for getting caught staring in fascinated horror at his scars, which were what everyone, men included, noticed first about him now. But this barmaid had yet to even notice, or if she had... perhaps she didn't find him quite so objectionable for the simple reason that she was beyond plain looking herself.

He was inordinately pleased by her reaction to him, however, particularly after his previous dark thoughts, but that didn't blind him to the fact that something wasn't quite right about her, something that nagged at the back of his mind.

She had the eyes of a laughing child, bubbling with humor. Certainly they didn't suit her, nor did the fine white teeth she'd revealed, but he had unusual eyes himself and all his teeth, so he could discount that as what bothered him about her. Her gray shirt and waistcoat were manly, bulky, ugly on her, the black skirt unadorned peasant's clothing, the knife on her hip— what the devil could she need that for? Her hands were small, red and callused on one side, peach and cream tinted on the other side, a sharp contrast to the sallow complexion of her face, engraved with dark smudges of exhaustion — another sharp contrast considering the bouncy step he had first noticed.

Intuition finally stirred and he took a wild guess. "Such black eye paint is the very devil to come off, isn't it?"

At her gasp, he burst into laughter, which only increased when she swiftly tried to correct the oversight he'd hinted at by wiping vigorously at her eyes. She made sense now, in all her strangeness. On the stage, she camouflaged her face, and no wonder, for she was singularly unattractive, except for those pale green eyes and perfect white teeth. Here in the common room, however, she camouflaged her body, again no wonder, for the costume she'd worn, though for the most part loose, had still revealed an eminently desirable form. The girl obviously played at two roles — the dancer who whored on the side, and the barmaid who didn't want to be bothered.

"It's not funny, mister," she said in a curt, irritated tone, glaring down at him now that she assumed she'd taken care of the smudges.

Still chuckling, Stefan asked, "Would you like me to help?"

"You mean it's still...? No, thank you," she gritted out ungraciously.

She grabbed the bottom of her shirt this time to try again, unaware that she left him staring at a patch of smooth stomach when her belt was pulled upward with the raised shirttail. Stefan's humor fled as lust instantly returned, full blown and prodding.

When her clothes were smoothed back into place, there were indeed faint smears of black on the material, though Stefan hadn't really seen any remaining kohl on her eyes. They were slightly puffy now, however. Even the dark shadows beneath them were lightened in color from all the rubbing she'd just done, which gave him a twinge of conscience that just upped the price he would offer for her.

"If you're finished picking out my flaws, maybe you'd like to tell me what you want now. I have other customers—"

"You."

"What was that?"

"I want you."

So she'd heard him right the first time! But he had to be making sport of her. She knew what she looked like. She'd spent seven years perfecting the disguise that now only took a few minutes to effect. Her appearance was meant to put off, not attract. Yet he was darkly good looking in a rough sort of way, like an uncut gem. He was also well to do, if the cut of his navy coat was any indication, fitting so snug across broad shoulders. But that combination, money and looks, made him the exact type of man she was always invisible to.

She'd thought him Spanish or Mexican at first glance because he was so dark and definitely foreign-looking, but she would recognize a Spanish accent, and that wasn't the accent she heard in his very correct English. Maybe he was a Northerner. They didn't get too many of them coming here, being too fastidious for the rough crowd The Seraglio drew. This one had lean, hawk-like features, with flaring black brows, thin, straight lips, a very strong jaw that was smooth skinned — except for the scars. They dotted his upper left cheek in half inch, downward slashes. The same kind of marks appeared on his lower jaw, as if some animal had sunk its teeth into the man's face and started to bite the whole side of it off, but had been stopped in time.

The scars made her feel a kind of empathy with him. He'd suffered pain because of them, and she understood pain very well. But that empathy wasn't going to let her accept a joke at her own expense.

The man's bald statement that he wanted her didn't even deserve an answer, so all she said was, "I think Aggie should be handling this order. I'll send her to you."

She turned and walked away, only to feel something catch her belt and yank her back — his hand. She came up against his legs, which precipitated a fall, right into his lap. For a moment she was too incredulous to move, much less speak.

She finally glanced up and said with clear warning, "You're really pushing your luck, mister."

"Shush," he told her, grinning. "You have nothing to be angry about." And he dropped five twenty-dollar gold pieces into her lap.

Tanya just stared at the money, never having seen so much at one time before. She knew for a fact April and Aggie earned only a dollar or two for their favors, which was still a lot more than Dobbs paid them for a night's work. When she thought of what she could do with that money, such as hire more help, buy new clothes, which she'd never had... then he wasn't joking?

Lord help her, she'd never been tempted like this. The urge was so strong to palm those coins... he really was a devil to make her even consider it. But all she'd have to do was let him have her virginity, which she wasn't saving for anyone anyway, since she was never going to marry, and how bad could that be? This close, he smelled heavenly. She'd already noted he was clean, impeccably groomed, and she didn't find him the least bit unpleasant to look at. She might just enjoy... oh, Lord, what was she thinking?

"You must be a devil," she said wondrously, more to herself than for his benefit.

He didn't know what had brought that on, but he replied, "A belief shared by many."

Her green eyes narrowed on him. "You should at least deny it!"

He laughed. "Why should I?"

"Because — because... oh, never mind."

She tried to get up, but his arms, which were wrapped around her waist, weren't letting her. Her eyes narrowed even more. He was still grinning.

"Look, mister, you've picked the wrong—"

She was cut off by an impassioned new voice. "Stefan, I refuse to feel guilty about a stupid slip of the—"

"Not now, Vasili," Stefan growled impatiently. "Use your eyes and notice that I am busy."

Tanya turned her head and found herself staring bemusedly up at what could only be described as a golden Adonis, blond hair in soft curls, golden skin, and brown eyes as light in color as those of the man who held her. But this newcomer, Vasili, held her just as firmly— spellbound, for he had to be the most handsome of God's creatures, certainly the most handsome she'd ever seen.

Likewise he was looking at Tanya as if he couldn't believe his eyes, but then he groaned, demanding of his friend, "You gave up without even trying, didn't you? But you don't have to settle for that, for God's sake," he said in disgust, jerking his head toward Tanya. "I will procure the dancer for you myself."

It took Tanya a moment to comprehend that she had been insulted in the worst way. She wasn't supposed to be pretty, but common decency kept a man's mouth shut about it. But to be made to feel that she wasn't good enough to be the rug they would walk on — that hurt, more than she would have thought possible. That she could be hurt by a few insensitive words, and from a stranger no less, also infuriated her. Two emotions that didn't sit well together raged within her.

Who did they think they were, these strangers, the one sure she could be bought, the other sure no one in his right mind would want to buy her? She wanted to disappear. She wanted to retaliate. First she had to get off the lap of the dark one.

She settled on two out of three, since the arms that had held her were now loosened. She rose with as much dignity as she could muster, carefully placed the gold coins on the table, and mindful that The Seraglio had witnessed a scene just last night and didn't need another, she turned to leave. A wise decision she could have been proud of, but her anger suddenly got the better of her and she swung around and slapped the golden Adonis with all her might.

What happened then was swift, no one's reflexes lagging. Vasili raised his arm with the clear intent of slapping her back, Stefan leaped up and caught his arm, while Tanya unsheathed her knife. But for once she didn't care to make good on her threat, didn't even demand that they leave. While they both stood unmoving, staring at her knife, Tanya backed away, turned, and ran out the back door.