Once a Princess

Chapter 15

Stefan's hand felt engulfed by flames. He couldn't begin to imagine what the girl's backside felt like. And yet not a single sound had he heard from her. Her tears had to be silent ones. He wished it were otherwise, for he couldn't bear the sound of a woman crying. He would have stopped sooner...

He resisted the urge to gather her in his arms and comfort her. He was not to blame. She had been warned. Her present behavior could not be allowed to continue. She had to be made to understand that it was her duty to return to Cardinia, that she mustn't try to avoid it again.

But the method he had chosen to instill this lesson had been too harsh. He could see that now. Her backside was cherry bright. But as usual, he was careless in his anger and sorry too late. That didn't relieve her pain. It merely made him ache with regret that he couldn't even reveal, or the lesson would lose its effect... To hell with that.

Stefan carefully turned her over and drew her up against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin and holding her tenderly. Still she made no sound. But she didn't reject his offer of comfort either. She just sat there with her head bowed, her hands in her lap, and let him soothe her.

Stefan held back a sigh. She confused him more than ever, this girl. From the moment he first saw her, she had stirred up powerful emotions in him. And each time thereafter it was the same. Lust, shame, fury, frustration — and possessiveness from the moment he was certain who she was. And right now confusion, remorse, and tenderness were tearing him up inside.

He had never intentionally hurt a woman before. What had made him think he could do so now with indifference? He knew from experience what kind of guilt the tiniest bruise would cost him, yet he had inflicted more than that on this delicate girl. How much worse could it have been if he had made love to her instead? That, at least, she was accustomed to. But it would have served no purpose other than to rid him of his anger. He still would have had her attempted defection to deal with.

Clearly, he didn't know how to deal with her. She was a royal princess, yet she wouldn't believe it. He would prefer to treat her as such, but she wouldn't let him. And when she finally cleaned herself up, he was afraid she was going to be as beautiful as her mother had been. Yet she didn't want to reveal her true self, even though they had already guessed the truth. And quite frankly, he was dreading the moment when she would reveal her beauty.

He had wanted her in all her unremarkable plainness. Beauty was for single instances of pleasure and no more. Beauty wouldn't return affection. But for some reason he had thought that this plainlooking girl could, possibly because she didn't seem to notice his scars when she looked at him. But she wasn't plain. He didn't know what she was, or why she hid it, but it wasn't going to be unremarkable, of that he was sure. And just because beautiful women no longer found him desirable didn't mean he wasn't attracted to them. He still wanted this girl — and was bound to suffer for it.

The situation was hopeless, no matter how he looked at it. Maybe he should just let her go as she wanted.

His arms tightened around her, his whole being rejecting that thought. This caused her to move finally, squirming in protest at the strength he was applying. He immediately loosened his hold, his hands soothing her again, caressing her back, her hair, her cheek— which was dry

Stefan frowned and tilted her chin up. "Where are your tears?"

"What tears?"

"The ones that should have left gray streaks along your cheeks."

"Oh, those tears," she said with a shrug. "I wiped them off."

"Liar."

"Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it? No, don't start scowling at me again. You want tears, get a stick. On second thought, that probably won't do it either. My tears dried up years ago when I figured out that Dobbs liked the sound of them."

"What has that to do with—"

Her laughter cut him off. "You seem to forget where you found me, Stefan. I'm not saying my life with Dobbs was all hardship and misery. It wasn't. But my defiant nature did bring frequent beatings. That tends to harden the soul, as well as the flesh."

He paid less attention to what she was saying than he did to what it meant. She hadn't cried. It was doubtful that he had even hurt her a little bit.

He asked her as much. "Did that spanking even hurt you?"

"Certainly." His eyes narrowed, so she added, "Well, not much."

He stood up so fast, she was dumped on the floor. "Of all the... what I went through. damned impudent wench! So your skin is as tough as hide, is it?"

"Are you going to get a stick now?"

"No."

"Then what are you ranting about? I got your point. You don't think I want to go through that again, do you?"

"Why not?" he replied with dripping sarcasm. "You didn't feel it."

"I felt it," she grumbled as she picked herself up off the floor, starting to rub her backside, then thinking better of it. "It just wasn't as disabling as what I'm accustomed to."

Stefan stiffened, the rest of what she had said clarifying in his mind. "Jesus, he beat you?" She blinked at him as if she didn't understand the question, so he rephrased it. "Did Mr. Dobbs beat you, Tatiana?"

"I thought I already said as much. I also told you I don't like that name."

"Devil take the name!" he snapped irritably. "How did Dobbs beat you?"

"Now, what difference does that make? A stick, a hand, the intention is the same — to hurt me."

There was a wealth of bitterness in that statement that Stefan understood very well. Bitterness was his own constant companion.

"I'm sorry for adding more unpleasantness to your life, Tanya. It was not my intention to hurt you—"

"You could have fooled me," she snorted.

"— merely to impress upon you not to try to leave us again."

"So consider me impressed."

She wouldn't even allow him to assuage his conscience with an apology. Just as well. He didn't want to forget what his temper had wrought this time. If she had not learned a lesson, hopefully he had.

"It is intolerable what you have suffered through fate," he told her with feeling. "You were supposed to be reared gently. A fortune was sent with you and Baroness Tomilova to ensure it. She would have trained you, thoroughly, in the duties that await you as Queen of Cardinia, the etiquette of court—"

"If you don't want another fight on your hands," Tanya interrupted coldly, "then do us both a favor and end the pretense for now. I've heard all I can stomach of that fairy tale for one day."

"Very well — if you will tell me why you don't believe it."

"Because things like that don't happen. A lost princess, Stefan? Like hell. How can you misplace someone as important as a princess?"

"Through secrecy and neglectful assumptions. Communication was forbidden because it could have led to your death. It was assumed you were being cared for in the manner that your status demanded. And you would have been told how to obtain help if something had happened to the baroness. But how could anyone know that she would die before you were even old enough to know who you were?"

"You've got a ready answer for everything, don't you?" she retorted angrily.

He smiled at that burst of temper. "Such is usually the case when one is dealing with the truth."

"Enough!"

He laughed now. "Very good, Princess. You have a definite knack for command, at least. You will learn the rest soon enough."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, an affectation, he supposed, meant to silence him on the subject. And he was silenced, not by that, but by finally noticing that her shirt had been so dampened by his that it was now clinging quite provocatively to her breasts. Fortunately, they were just barely covered. The last thing either of them needed right now was for his damn lust to run amok again.

"I — ah — believe I need a bath to get the filth of your river off me," he remarked and turned toward the door to summon Sasha.

"My river? Are you admitting I'm American?"

He glanced back with a grin. "You think you are. I know differently. Now, would you by any chance like a bath also?"

"No," she staunchly maintained.

"Then a change of clothes?"

"Are you offering to swim back and fetch mine?" she asked with a falsely sweet smile.

"Oh, clever, Princess, but I think I must decline. You may, however, feel free to avail yourself of my wardrobe. Since your taste in attire seems to run toward the masculine, that should prove no hardship. Once we reach New Orleans, we will have you outfitted properly."

"In dancing costumes?" she sneered.

"I don't know where you get these intriguing notions, but that one definitely has merit. If I had known you wanted to dance for us again, I would have spared the time to bring your own costume along. You will, however, have a captive audience, no matter what you choose to dance in. Wearing nothing at all would be even better."

She looked so furious at being misunderstood, Stefan left the room quickly before he burst into laughter again.