He ignored her attempt to goad him. "We need to talk to you, mistress."
"You claimed your business was only with Dobbs and you've concluded that."
"Not to our satisfaction."
One flaring feminine brow arched. "I hope you don't think I care whether you're satisfied."
Lazar hooted with laughter. Vasili made a sound of disgust, but fortunately kept his mouth shut otherwise. Stefan cringed inwardly, seeing a double meaning there whether it was intended or not. Outwardly, he frowned.
"We have a few questions—"
"I don't have time—"
"— for you to answer."
"I said—"she started to reiterate, only to be drowned out by sheer volume.
"Enough, mistress! We apologize for last night. We also apologize for our sharpness with you earlier. But now we must insist that you cooperate."
A shouted apology wasn't worth a lick of salt as far as she was concerned. And while this apology was being forced on her by the one called Stefan, the other men were moving restlessly about the room, clearly not the least bit interested in what was supposedly a joint offering. But in that she was mistaken. What she'd taken as restlessness was a deliberate maneuver to block every exit from the room. Even the stocky one now stood close enough to her and the stairs to prevent a retreat in that direction.
Obviously, Tanya wasn't going anywhere until she "cooperated." That she was being denied any choice in the matter infuriated her. Of course, she could just sit down and stubbornly wait them out. They couldn't force words out of her mouth, could they? But she'd rather get rid of them, the sooner the better, and that meant answering their damn questions. Only she wasn't going to pretend she liked it. And if she could exact a little retribution, she would. To her delight, an opportunity came her way immediately.
She'd hesitated in replying just long enough for Stefan to offer, "If all you are worried about is your time, then consider it paid for," and he tossed a coin at her.
Tanya caught it by reflex, but just as swiftly tossed it back. "Keep your money. You want information from me, it'll cost an apology from him."
The "him" she dared to try bringing down a peg was the golden-haired Adonis. The others looked at him and waited, as if it were a foregone conclusion that he would comply. But he'd turned several shades of red, and was staring back at Tanya with murder in his eyes.
Well, it had been worth a try, to see that one humbled, but she hadn't really expected it to work, not when the other one had more or less spit out his apology as if she should be honored to receive it. And now she'd backed herself into a corner by putting a price on her cooperation. She'd have to attempt to leave. Her pride demanded it. She just hoped they weren't too rough in stopping her.
She waited another long moment before turning toward the door that led out back. The brown-haired man moved to block her way, as she had expected he would, but she didn't stop. She drew her knife instead, surprising him and herself, for she hadn't intended to go that far to protect her pride. Damned self-defeating emotion it was, too, having earned her a lot of extra beatings over the years. Today it just might get her killed, for the man wasn't backing down either. The very reason she hadn't insisted those other two leave last night, after she'd drawn her knife, was because she'd sensed they wouldn't. And this man was cut from the same cloth.
"Vasili!"
Tanya didn't know who had prodded him, the voice was so angry, but she heard Vasili grumble in response, "Oh, all right," then louder, imperiously, he added. "Attend me, mistress, and consider yourself apologized to for whatever it is I am supposed to have done or said that you found offensive to your so-called tender sensibilities."
He even apologized with contempt, and managed to insult her again by implying he didn't know what he'd done wrong to begin with. But Tanya knew she wouldn't get any better from the likes of him. He'd at least given her the out she needed to sheath her knife, which she did. The blue eyes in front of her were clearly relieved. She hoped her own relief was more concealed.
To that end, she swung about and gave Vasili a brilliant smile. "Thank you, kind sir. It does my heart good to know I wasn't mistaken about you."
Vasili frowned, aware that she was no more sincere in her thanks than he'd been in his apology. But he was unable to figure out if she'd just returned the insult, so he said no more.
Stefan cleared his throat, drawing her eyes to him. "Are you satisfied, mistress?"
Her smile didn't waver. "Oh, certainly. I'm just a tavern wench, after all, so ignorant I couldn't possibly know what he just wrapped up in that crock of eloquence. So why shouldn't I be satisfied? No, don't bother to answer that. " The smile was gone, along with the sarcastic tone. Her voice and her expression were now quite frigid. "Just ask me your questions and leave."
Vasili was flushing red again, but warning looks from the other three men kept him silent for the moment.
"You put that rather eloquently yourself, mistress," Stefan remarked as he moved to the nearest table and took down the chairs from it. "Who taught you to mimic your betters?"
"My betters?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing. "I don't have any—"
He cut in quickly, "Let me rephrase that. Your speech improves when you choose. Did your father have you educated?"
"My father? If you mean Dobbs, he doesn't believe in schooling or anything else that takes away from good work time. But Iris Dobbs was an educated woman. What I know I learned from her."
He held out a chair for her. "Will you sit, mistress?"
"No, thank you."
"Do you mind if I do?"
Her lips quirked slightly. "By all means. I'm used to looking down on men."
He almost didn't take the other chair after that, particularly with Lazar chuckling in the background. Stefan assumed she referred to serving men who were usually sitting down, but that other meaning... He sat down, only to get right back up and pace in front of her instead.
"Is Wilbert Dobbs not your father, then?"
"No, thank God."
He was curious enough about her to want to know why she was thankful, but that wasn't what they'd just gone through that unpleasant scene to discover. "Then you only work here?"
"I've lived here for as long as I can remember."
"Ah, then Mr. Dobbs' wife must have been your mother. "
Tanya frowned. "What is your interest in the Dobbses? Iris is dead, and Dobbs almost is."
"Just bear with me, mistress, and we will be finished the sooner. Now, was Iris Dobbs your mother?"
"No, she wasn't. Iris said my mother died when I was just a baby. "
"How did she die?"
"The yellow fever."
"Do you know her name?"
"My mother's name?" Her frown was back, not just because he was getting personal, but because she sensed an urgency in him now that hadn't been there before. "What has that got to do with anything? Either stick to the questions about Dobbs that you so politely asked me to answer, or I'm not answering any more."
"Everything that I ask you is related, mistress," he said sternly. "If my questions become personal, that is because you have lived with Wilbert Dobbs all your life. Now, your mother's name?"
"I don't know," she answered stiffly, dissatisfied with his explanation and not caring that he was frowning at her now.
"What of your own name? Tanya, isn't it? Was that the name you were born with, or was it given to you by Iris Dobbs when she took you in?"
"Both, I guess you could say. Iris was told my name, but she said it was too unusual— sounding for her to remember all of it, so I ended up with just a portion of it, or what sounded like it, which is better than nothing, I suppose."
He stopped in front of her then, staring at her for a long nerve-racking moment before he asked, "Would you like to know all of it?"