"One thousand rubles each, and not a ruble less," Pavel countered belligerently.
Vasili could feel Alexandra's midnight eyes slicing into him like daggers. He'd just insulted her "babies." He was surprised she hadn't thrown her plate at him. And he wasn't finished.
"Absolutely ridiculous," he said in his most derisive tone. "If you can't be serious, then we have nothing further to discuss."
"It is Stefan who will pay, aristo," Pavel replied confidently. "As for what he will pay for you, five thousand rubles, I think—no, ten thousand."
"You're crazy."
Pavel's fist slammed down on the table. "He owes me! If he does not pay, believe me, I will be happy to send you back to him in pieces."
Vasili had tried to be reasonable. He was tired. He was cold. Now he was angry.
He leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table, pinning Pavel's eyes with the heat in his. And he said very softly, "You shouldn't make threats you don't dare follow through with, Pavel. It weakens your position."
"And why wouldn't I do as I say?"
"Because we both know that if anything happens to me, Stefan will come here with his soldiers and this village will be no more. Death or profit. Which was it you had in mind when you stole my horses?"
Pavel had gone red in the face, either from fury or from embarrassment, because he was going to have to back down. The power of being leader for a while might have gone to his head, but Latzko would be returning, and Latzko would demand an accounting.
Vasili decided to make it a little easier for him to back down. "Forget about Stefan, Pavel. It's I who will pay, not Stefan, and it's me you are dealing with, not Stefan. I would suggest you sleep on that, and perhaps we can get back to negotiations in the morning. In the meantime, the wench and I require quarters where we can dry off—in private."
One of the other men chuckled, a reaction Vasili had counted on. Pavel was still red-faced, though, and it was a long, tense moment before he joined in the laughter, albeit with a hollow sound.
"By all means. You will want to be dry while the rest of us celebrate our good fortune."
23
They were shown to a ramshackle, vacant hut that belonged to one of the men who had accompanied Latzko on his journey to Austria. It contained the basics—a few chairs and a table, a narrow bed, some dishes, and some blankets—but nothing of a personal nature, since the owner hadn't seemed to trust his comrades enough to leave his valuables behind. It was also nearly as cold inside the one-room hut as it was outside, because the oven hadn't been used for several weeks.
There was one window, but it was boarded up from the outside. The door had no lock, so their escort had nailed a plank to it before he departed. It wouldn't be opened again until it was pried loose in the morning.
The best Vasili could say for the accommodations was that they were private. The one candle they'd been left with gave off a warm glow. There was a small stack of firewood in a corner, and the reason it was so small was because the oven was small. It was going to take hours for a fire to take the chill off the room, and he didn't intend to wait that long to get dry. But a fire was his first priority.
As soon as he was assured a guard hadn't been left outside, Vasili headed for the firewood. A wooden bowl glanced off his shoulder before he got there.
"What the—?"
He swung about, but had to duck as a plate flew past his head. Alexandra had moved to a cupboard against the wall where she had a wide assortment of missiles at her disposal, and she gave the impression that she intended to use every one of them. Considering the distance separating them, Vasili decided to talk quickly.
"Whatever I said about your horses, Alexandra, it was merely to get Pavel's price down. Or don't you want your animals back?"
Her answer was a glass mug that came damn close to his cheek. So it wasn't the horses?
He started moving slowly toward her as he tried again. "I also had to say what I did about you, and it had nothing to do with price. If Pavel thought you meant something to me, he could well decide to hurt you before selling you back to me, he's that unpredictable and vindictive. In his mind, what hurts me would hurt Stefan, and he'll do anything to hurt Stefan, whom he hates."
Vasili had to duck again, but he sensed that he was getting closer to what was bothering her. However, he obviously hadn't touched on her sore point yet, and her aim was improving.
His voice dropped to a menacing tone. "Spit it out, Alex, before I lose my patience."
Another plate came at his head, but also the shouted reminder: "Twenty-five rubles?"
Jesus, he should have known that was what she would take exception to the most. Women and their damn sensibilities. And he'd thought hers weren't normal—but, of course, they were only normal when he could have wished they weren't.
"You also heard that Stefan paid only fifty for Arina," he pointed out.
"Arina obviously gets passed around a lot, so that hardly counts. Who was the other woman, and how much did you pay for her?"
That question was accompanied by a breadboard hitting him squarely in the chest. He was so surprised by the impact, it took him several moments to realize that Alexandra had left the area of the cupboard and was heading for weightier missiles in the form of firewood.
Vasili shot across the room and caught her from behind, lifting her off her feet, his arms tight around her waist. She screeched. He shook her. She kicked backward, aiming for his knees. He shook her again. Her hat had come off, her hair spilling into his face. It was cold and silky and smelled of spring flowers.
He didn't dare hold her for long. "What other woman are you talking about?"
"Put me down!"
"When you've calmed down, I will," he replied. "What other woman?"
"The one your friend mentioned—"
"He's not my friend."
"—when he asked if I will be worth as much as the other one!"
She sounded so furious, it finally occurred to him why she might have been glaring at him out in the snow when Pavel had posed that question. "Were you jealous, Alex?" he asked softly by her ear.
He imagined he could feel her squirming in his arms; however, her reply, when it came, was a stubborn "Answer my question, Petroff."
"Answer mine first—or I might recall a promise I made to you about inflicting violence upon me—"
"You son of a—!"
His arms tightened around her waist just enough to shut her up so he could add, "I was going to suspend that promise temporarily, since these do happen to be unusual circumstances, but—"
"I wasn't jealous," she cut in quickly. "It's only the women you attempt to bed now who will feel the point of my blade. And I told you why."
"Yes, yes, because I'm yours," he said in a tone that implied he'd heard that too often. "That smacks of jealousy to me, sweetheart."
"What it is, is your loss," she growled. "Now, who was she?"
"Queen Tatiana."
"Who?"
"My cousin's wife, though she was merely a princess at the time. She was raised in America, was lost there in fact, but that's a long story I'm sure you're not interested in. Now, aren't you ashamed of your suspicions?"
"Of a man who has no shame? I don't think so," she retorted. "How much was paid for her?"
Vasili sighed. "Five hundred rubles, and before you go comparing yourself with a princess, you should know that that was a ridiculously high price to demand for a woman and that Latzko expected to have it haggled down. My cousin, however, was too angry to haggle. He just wanted his bride back. But he set a bad precedent by paying it, which is why Pavel is being ridiculous in his own demands."
Her tone became excessively haughty. "The price he asks for my horses is not ridiculous."
"You're missing the point, Alex. These are simple people with simple needs. The reason they survive up here in the mountains is that they never take too much. The people they rob or ransom are merely annoyed by the inc
onvenience. But if the bandits start taking too much, someone will get angry enough to do something about them. Latzko understands that. Pavel doesn't have enough sense to."
"Are you saying there is no danger?"
"If Latzko were here, I might say that.
However, with Pavel in charge, nothing is certain, particularly where we're concerned. And that's as I said, because he hates Stefan so much."
"You can put me down now, Petroff."
Vasili certainly hoped so. Holding her this long was giving his body ideas that his mind was trying desperately to ignore.
"No more throwing things?"
"I believe I can restrain myself for a while."
The sarcasm in her tone was actually more reassuring than a straight answer would have been, at least from her. He had found that when she was angry, she was extremely direct in her responses.
He set her down carefully. With the loss of her warmth, a chill went through him, and he turned immediately toward the firewood again.
He wasn't sure how she was going to take his next suggestion, but it had to be made. "We have to get out of these wet clothes."
"I know," she said in a small voice behind him.
She could be sensible? Thank God for small favors. And then it hit him. She was going to take her clothes off. And they were in a locked room, alone—with a bed. He was fully aroused within seconds and groaning.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he replied, but he had gone perfectly still, bent over the firewood.
"The fire, Petroff," she prompted impatiently. "Or do you think we can survive the night without one?"
He wasn't going to survive the night either way, so what did he care? But he got a grip on himself and went through the motions of starting the oven.
'Tell me why Pavel dislikes your cousin so much," she said.
Excellent. Something else to think about— besides what she was going to be doing soon.
"Pavel was in love with Latzko's daughter, Arina, and possibly still is. But she had higher aspirations. She met Stefan some eight years ago when he was the Crown Prince, and she became his mistress for a time. Then they had a fight and she came back here. Stefan followed her to make amends, and ended up having to pay Latzko the fifty rubles before he would allow her to leave with Stefan. Pavel also insisted that Stefan fight for the privilege."
"Did he?"
"Yes."
"That sounds rather romantic."
Vasili snorted. "There was nothing romantic about it. Pavel fought dirty, but still lost. The trouble was, he's a bad loser. When Tanya was captured—"
"Who is Tanya?"
He ignored the fact that her voice had gone sharp again. " 'Tanya' is what Tatiana insists she be called. As I said, she was raised in America and that was the name she was known by there. She didn't learn her true name until we found her last year ... but I digress. As I was saying, when she was captured, Stefan had to come here again, and Pavel saw it as an opportunity to have revenge. He challenged Stefan again, this time with knives, with the sole intent of killing him."
"I'm going to assume he lost that fight, too?"
"Indeed, but you heard him. He's still not satisfied, even though Latzko warned him the last time that he'd kill him himself if he ever challenged Stefan again."
"Ah, but Latzko isn't here to enforce that warning and ... you think he's going to challenge you before this is over, don't you?"
Did he hear concern in her voice? Jesus, now he was imagining things. Alexandra concerned for him? Maybe when cows learned to dance.
"He'd be an idiot to challenge me," Vasili scoffed.
"He strikes you as having some sort of intelligence, does he?"
Her tone was so dry, he almost chuckled. And that surprised him. When the hell had he started to find her wit amusing?
The fire had finally caught, and it wasn't as weak as he'd feared it would be. The clay oven would still take a while to warm the room completely, but surely not the hours he'd first thought.
He turned to suggest that Alexandra move closer to the oven before she took off her clothes. He wasn't prepared to find her already with a blanket wrapped around her, her coat, pants, and shirt draped over the back of one of the two chairs next to her, even her feet bare. He was breathless. His mind went blank, then abruptly focused on one thing. Was she completely naked under that blanket, or did she still have on some sort of underwear? Did she even wear underwear? He was about to embarrass himself by asking, when he knew damn well he didn't dare find out.
He looked away from her, but he couldn't find anything to settle his gaze on that would help him to ignore the reaction of his body. Had he been the one to ask for private quarters? He must have been out of his mind.
"You can take the bed," he blurted out. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"Don't be absurd. I'm not going to make any pretense of liking this situation—"
He whipped his head back around and interrupted her with an emphatic "We are in complete accord."
"—but we are adults, there is only one bed, and once you remove your boots, you will discover that the cold happens to be seeping through the floorboards. You would be extremely ill come morning if you attempted—"
"I get the point, Alex!" he snapped, albeit a bit too loudly.
She drew herself up stiffly because of his tone. "You can try to get someone's attention to ask for separate quarters, but from the distant sounds of revelry and music, our bandits are apparently barrel-deep in their celebration. I seriously doubt anyone will hear you."
He doubted it as well, but this wasn't going to work. He wanted her—well, he didn't, certainly he didn't, but his body did, and he was a man who too often allowed his body to govern him. But he couldn't allow it this time. He absolutely refused to let her find out how intensely she'd aroused him.
"You're right on all counts. I simply didn't expect you to be—sophisticated about this."
The stiffness didn't leave her posture. If anything, her chin had gone up a notch, and her spine was actually a little more stiff.
"There's nothing sophisticated about having the sense to share body heat on a night like this," she informed him. "So don't get the wrong idea, Petroff. I'd much rather sleep next to any other body than yours, but since yours happens to be the only one here—"
"Get in the damn bed and go to sleep," he growled. "Morning can't come soon enough for me."
24
Vasili felt her eyes on him as he stood near the oven, about to disrobe. He knew it wasn't so, that his imagination was running amok, because Alexandra had no interest whatsoever in his body. And she should be asleep. He'd waited long enough to ensure that she would be. Yet he imagined her watching him and he became so hard he ached.
It was pure self-torture, getting in that bed to lie beside her. She was tightly wrapped in her blanket, had piled every other one she'd been able to find on top of the bed, and the second he lay down, he could feel the heat radiating from her body.
As chilled as he still was, he was drawn to that heat as strongly as he'd ever been drawn to a female body, and it wasn't sexual attraction. The sexual need was there, too, pulling just as strongly, but this was another need, just as basic, a simple need for warmth.
And yet he didn't dare gratify that need. She'd said they must share body heat, she'd. said it, not he. But because of the state of his arousal, if he gave in to the one need, he'd lose control of the other. So he lay there, beginning to shiver, gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering, being torn apart by both needs.
Logically, Vasili knew that he would eventually warm up just as Alexandra had. Eventually his arousal would quiet down, too. And eventually he might even fall asleep. In the meantime, he was going to suffer through the worst night of his life; what he wanted was within his reach, yet it might as well be miles away because he was unable to take it.
But he could at least get as close to her as possibl
e without actually touching her. The bed was narrow. Lying on his side, facing her, he was already close. Just a few inches more...
Alexandra sucked in a breath and sat bolt upright when his foot accidentally brushed against hers. "God, your feet are freezing!"
In the next moment, she reached beneath the covers, pulled his nearest foot onto her lap, and began to rub it briskly with her warm hands. Her blanket opened in the front, held only by her shoulders, but he was in the wrong position to see what it revealed.
"Didn't you have sense enough to stick them in front of the fire?" she continued, her tone abrasive. "Don't you know that if your feet are cold, the rest of you doesn't stand a chance of warming up?"
There was a part of him that was burning hot, completely disputing that remark. He didn't mention it to her. He also didn't mention that he had sat before the fire, still in his damp clothes, and that the warmth had failed to penetrate them, reaching only a few parts of him.
But the cold hadn't been on his mind then; she had. He had been thinking of her lying naked in that bed, thinking about joining her there, just as naked, imagining her turning to him—and what would naturally occur after that. He hadn't thought of her scolding him, and sitting there warming his foot with her hands, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be doing.
It was a bit of a shock, being treated like a child. But the mere fact that she was touching him, albeit in a nonsexual way, gave him anything but childlike thoughts. And it was even more of a shock that she was touching him at all.
He couldn't figure out why she was doing it. For that matter, why had she practically insisted that they share the same bed? Had she merely suspended their differences for the duration of this misadventure, or...