anya’s second riverboat ride wasn’t as pleasant as her first would have been. The cabin wasn’t as large or as nice, nor was she allowed out of it. And whether she would have been forced to share that other cabin with Stefan on The Lorilie, she didn’t know and didn’t ask. But that she had to share this one with him was of little concern to her.

She slept in the bed. He slept on a pallet on the floor. She wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t answer him, wouldn’t even look at him. She totally ignored him as if he were merely another object in the room. The amazing thing was that he let her.

For the most part she had the cabin to herself, and without participating in any conversation when it was offered, she had little else to do but think. Of course, it wasn’t hard to conclude that she had once again been far off the mark in her estimation of what was happening to her. Too much money had been spent, in the purchase of horses, in the purchase of tickets on two riverboats—in the purchase of a tavern. God, she still couldn’t believe they had done that, and not even to make a profit, because they had turned around and sold the tavern at a loss.

Their action defied reason. It said money was of no account to them. It said they did it just for her benefit, as Stefan had claimed, to eliminate what kept drawing her back to Natchez. And she couldn’t even hold out the hope that he might have been lying about it, because she had made so much noise that night when he carried her out of the tavern that Bertha and one of her girls had come out on their porch to in­vestigate. And Tanya couldn’t resist asking the damn­ing question.

Actually, she’d screamed it. “Did you buy The Seraglio from this devil?”

“Sure did, honey,” Bertha had shouted back, not even recognizing Tanya without her camouflage, and no more than amused by her struggles. “I’m gonna fill it with bedrooms. Care to occupy one of them?”

The madam had laughed and gone back inside. Tanya had stopped struggling to get out of Stefan’s arms. She hadn’t spoken a word to him since.

But she knew now how wrong she’d been in trying to second‑guess Stefan and his friends. More money had been spent than could ever be regained by selling her to a brothel, so she was forced to let go of that idea as their motive. Yet their story of kings and lost princesses was still too fantastical for her to accept. The trouble was, now she couldn’t think of a single other plausible reason for her abduction, unless... Maybe her family was alive and had sent these men to find her. Maybe they had been warned not to tell her about it for some reason. Maybe... maybe she ought to stop driving herself crazy worrying about it.

After all, there were a number of other things to worry about, like what she was going to do with the rest of her life, now that her one chance at inde­pendence had been sold out from under her. She would have to find work. She would actually get paid for it, at long last, but she would be following orders again, forced to please, to do things the way someone else wanted them done, not the way she did. She’d been so close to never having to answer to anyone again... damn Stefan to hell.

Her rage over what they’d done wouldn’t go away. And it centered solely on Stefan, even though buying the tavern might have been a collective decision for all she knew. Revenge crossed her mind, but getting even was a new concept to her. She was so used to taking everything dealt her, with no recourse, that she wouldn’t even know how to go about retaliating in kind, hurt for hurt. She had promised to shoot Stefan, but of course she hadn’t meant that.

She thought about delaying the men some more. Time did seem to be important to them, even though she doubted the reasons given her. She also consid­ered causing dissension among them, though she wasn’t sure how that would work when she had yet to see them angry with each other—only with her.

But she couldn’t do anything as long as she was locked away with only Stefan. He wouldn’t even rise to the bait of her indifference. Not that she wanted him to; fighting with him never gained her anything but frustration.

“If you will change into one of the dresses we acquired for you, you may join us in the saloon for dinner tonight.”

Tanya had been pacing and hadn’t heard Stefan enter. She stopped now, but she didn’t turn toward him. She hadn’t even looked at the two dresses he had given her that night in the hotel. She had told him once that she wouldn’t accept clothes from them, and she had meant it. She had been washing her own clothes, one item a day so she wouldn’t have to strip down completely.

“I will need an answer this time, Princess, or I will assume that you prefer to eat alone again.”

She wouldn’t prefer that at all. She hadn’t even seen the others since they had left Natchez for the second time. And she couldn’t very well cause any trouble among them, if that was even possible, when she was kept isolated.

“All right,” she said tonelessly, still without look­ing at him.

“And you will change?”

She glanced at the small trunk that contained the two dresses as well as a number of new items that Stefan had bought for himself in Natchez.

“Why must I?” she asked.

“Because we do not care to be embarrassed again by your mannish attire.”

Tanya stiffened. Was he actually back to insulting her? Or was that the kindest way he could express the fact that she looked ridiculous in his waistcoat and shirt? That shouldn’t bother her, since she had never in her life dressed to look attractive, but it did coming from Stefan.

“Show me a man wearing a skirt before you call my clothes mannish,” she said merely to be disa­greeable. “Never mind. I’ll wear one of your dresses, but I hope to hell it doesn’t fit.”

“That is a possibility, in which case you may use your discretion to choose whichever is the least in­appropriate.”

So this order wasn’t set in steel? Then, remem­bering that Stefan didn’t like her to look pretty, she hoped she ended up looking downright beautiful. But that wasn’t very likely, considering she hadn’t been fitted for either dress, and men weren’t very knowl­edgeable about such things as sizing.

“How much time do I have?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“I will need some hair bobs.”

“You will have to do without.”

“You expect miracles?”

“Just something halfway presentable.”

She detected amusement in his answer, but wouldn’t look at him to be sure. “Then leave me to it.”

“Will you require help with buttons and such?”

“Not from you. But you can send Vasili to escort me. If I do need help, as my betrothed, he can provide it.

The slamming of the door was her answer to that. Tanya smiled for the first time in days. She had forgotten how easy it was to provoke Stefan. She wouldn’t forget again.