Once a Princess

Chapter 34

"Why so stiff, Stefan?" Tanya asked as soon as they settled into the waiting coach.

He'd grabbed her arm, whisked her out of her cabin and off the ship, all without saying a word to her, but she was determined to open him up today, to get inside his thoughts, even if she had to get him angry again to do it. Fortunately, the others weren't there to try to stop her. Lazar and Serge were seeing to the baggage and would follow in another carriage. Vasili was disposing of the ship. It seemed it had been bought only to fetch her home from America. Cardinia having no navy, situated so far inland as it was, they now had no further use for the ship.

"Is it the clothes?" she persisted when Stefan didn't even glance her way. "Do they make you feel more kingly, less like a — commoner?" No answer. "Well, you were right. Definitely too conspicuous for Mississippi."

"What are you talking about, Tanya?"

He still wasn't looking at her. Trying to get his goat was getting her own.

"Oh, nothing important. I understand now why you didn't open up that second trunk of clothes for use while you were in America. You would have stood out like a sore thumb in such strange garb, wouldn't you?"

Actually, he looked grand dressed all in black, in an outfit that seemed military in design. The gleaming kneehigh boots, with trousers tucked into them, were tight enough to define his leg muscles. The velvet jacket was more like a tunic, crossed with silvergray braid and frogs from neck to waist, then with an open seam, also braided, from waist to midthigh, where the tunic ended. Around his waist was a thick belt worked in silver with a splendid leather scabbard also set with silver, and containing a sword that was so fancy, it had to be mere decoration. He wore a sable-edged velvet coat draped over his shoulders like a cape, held in place by a silver link chain with jeweled clasps. To top this off was a hat of the same brown sable fur that merely circled his head, what Lazar called a kucsma.

Although her question was supposed to rile him, all Stefan said in reply to her observation was, "Look out your window before you call my clothing strange."

He was right as usual. There was no denying she was in a foreign land where people dressed and looked like nothing she was accustomed to.

Tanya had been told the country they were in might be Prussia now, but it had once been the kingdom of Poland, and was still populated mostly by Poles, especially here in the old harbor city of Danzig. And these Poles, men and women both, seemed to favor extremely long coats with the most unusual sleeves, wide from shoulder to elbow, then slashed down the front from elbow to cuff. They were long sleeves, much longer than the length of the arm, and hardly any were cuffed. People just let the sleeves dangle down at their sides or threw them back over their shoulders. One man who looked like a soldier had his tied at the back of his neck. The hats or bonnets were different, too, mostly flat, some tall and oddly shaped, and the men's hair was either shoulderlength or cut extremely short in a round crop on the very top of their heads.

"I see what you mean," Tanya allowed and gave up attacking his clothes, which were actually very moderate in comparison. She tried the congenial approach again. "You know, Stefan, I've learned so much about you on this voyage, I feel like we're old friends now."

His expression hardened considerably. He didn't know what she was referring to, and she could see that annoyed the hell out of him. Good. She smiled to herself and abruptly switched subjects again.

"Lazar couldn't tell me much about my father, other than how greatly he was admired for continuing the tradition of his ancestors in keeping the Ottoman Empire from taking over Cardinia as it has so many of her neighbors. Your father has also kept those people at bay, hasn't he?"

"We have excellent treaties with the Turks, but even more importantly, good relations. The Janaceks have always believed in offering a genuine hand of friendship — after they defeat the enemy. The Baranys are of the same philosophy."

"Yes, well, Lazar said I should ask your Prime Minister, Maximilian Daneff, about the more personal side of my father, since he knew him well. But he said that you could tell me about the blood feud that killed him and the rest of my family in a matter of months."

That finally made him look at her in surprise. "You still don't know why you were sent away? Vasili could have told you—"

"I didn't care to ask him," she interrupted. "But you, on the other hand, I can ask anything, since you're going to be my husband."

That startled him even more, enough to ask, "You have accepted it?"

Tanya shrugged with a degree of indifference. "That depends."

"On what?"

"You. "

"How?" he demanded, his gaze suddenly so intense, she had trouble holding it.

"Oh, I don't know. You could try convincing me that you want to marry me, that you have found you can't live without me, that you love me madly."

He was frowning so furiously now, she dropped her gaze. Well, she supposed she could have sounded serious instead of facetious, and ended with the words "want to marry me" instead of getting ridiculous with the rest. Now he thought she'd been making fun of him.

Great going, missy. You had a golden opportunity there that you just wasted. No damn guts.

She wondered if she ought to apologize. She stole a quick glance at him and nearly gasped. His eyes were as hot as live coals. She'd made him so angry, it was a wonder she wasn't already stretched out on her back and being devoured with kisses... Desire slammed through her system at the mere possibility, one she hadn't realized until that moment. She'd only been nipping at his temper to get him to reveal something of his feelings to her. She hadn't even considered the consequence of making him lose his temper completely, but the consequence was there, and she wouldn't mind if it happened right now. And how much easier to have it taken out of her hands so she wouldn't have to entice him and risk rejection.

"Do you require a reply, Princess?"

His voice was so low and menacing, she shivered. He was controlling his temper by a thin thread. The wrong answer to his question could snap it. Did she want to be made love to in a moving coach, in broad daylight? She didn't really care at the moment.

Her chin rose stubbornly. "Yes."

"Marrying me will make you a queen," he reminded her. "That is sufficient reason for you to accept it graciously — if not willingly."

That was not the answer she had hoped to hear. And it looked as if he was going to keep his temper under control, no matter what.

She made an effort to readjust her expectations to reality. Finally she sighed and turned to stare out the window again.

"I wouldn't know," she said to finish the subject. "I'm still adjusting to being a princess, and all I can say for that is the title comes with nice clothes." Then, more stiffly she said, "You were going to tell me about the blood feud."

"Was I?"

She glanced at him with a tight little smile. "Yes, you were, if for no other reason than because you feel I ought to know."

She waited, silently, while he just stared at her with those devil's eyes. When some of the heat went out of them, she knew he had decided that she would at least treat this subject with the seriousness it deserved.