Page 58 of You Belong to Me
Pavel glanced at the three Cossacks surrounding her and laughed. “Pavel is not stupid, woman.”
That was certainly debatable and she started to say so. Vasili, guessing as much, said quickly, “All right, Pavel, but indoors, if you don’t mind. And the choice of weapons is mine, so have someone fetch the sword that I surrendered last night.” When Pavel just stared at him, looking a little green around the gills, he remarked, “No sword skill? Well, never let it be said I took advantage. You choose, then, but I should warn you, Stefan and I shared the same instructors. How is your shoulder, by the way?”
Pavel had become red in the face by that point. Vasili supposed he’d gone a little overboard, reminding Pavel of the knife wound Stefan had given him. But he was a man soeasyto goad, Vasili hadn’t been able to resist. However, he regretted it in the next moment.
“Whips,” Pavel said.
There were some collective gasps over the bandit’s unexpected choice. Vasili barely managed to contain his. “You call that a weapon?”
“Mine is going to cut you to ribbons. Youdon’tcall that a weapon?” Pavel countered with a chuckle.
“The choice of weapons was yours, Petroff,” Alexandra interjected. “Take it back.”
Vasili knew she didn’t think he could win with whips. That was obvious. Hell, she hadn’t thought he could win against the brawny bandit period, no matter the weapon, which was why she had tried to interfere earlier. Just as he’d labeled her promiscuous, she’d labeled him a useless, helpless court dandy, and refused to see him any other way. And thanks to his moment of generosity with Pavel—he should have stuck with swords—he wasn’t going to be able to prove otherwise, because he, too, doubted he could win with a weapon he’d never had occasion to use before.
But he couldn’t, honorably, do as she was suggesting either, much as he’d like to. That she thought he would was still another indication of how low her opinion of him was. That was fine, exactly what he had been striving for. But heseriouslyobjected to the label of court dandy.
Damn Pavel anyway, and his quest for one-upmanship. Whips, for God’s sake. How were you supposed to fight with whips? Take turns slashing at each other and see who could withstand the pain the longest?
Pavel had already sent someone for whipsand had reentered Latzko’s hall to wait. On Vasili’s right, Lazar caught his friend’s arm as he started to dismount.
“This is ridiculous. He’s using you as a substitute for Stefan.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Vasili replied with a sound of disgust.
“How about, ‘You don’t have to do this’?”
Vasili was quite aware of that. He was willing to pay the ransom, even though he’d end up with nothing to show for it once the betrothal was broken and Alexandra took herself and her horses back to Russia. He certainly wasn’t after her gratitude, which could only hurt his campaign. And to say that he refused to let Pavel take one of the thoroughbreds was pretty lame. So why had he accepted the challenge? Payment for that gift he’d received last night?
Disgusted with himself and the whole situation, Vasili dismounted. But he confided in an aside to Lazar, “Relax, my friend. If it gets too painful, I’ll concede and pay the double ransom.”
“Well, at least you haven’t gonecompletelycrazy,” Lazar remarked.
That was another thing that was debatable, but Vasili didn’t say so and headed for the house. Alexandra had also slipped off her mount, and she was practically blocking the entrance to the hall as he neared it. She hadn’t heard his exchange with Lazar, which was fortunate, since he didn’t feel like arguinganymore, and she’d no doubt insist he hang in there until the bitter end.
“Petroff—”
“Concerned for me, sweetheart?” He’d cut her off, the sarcasm in his tone saying he wouldn’t believe it if she tried to pretend she was.
And that sarcasm had her hissing, “Certainly not,” regardless of her true feelings.
“Then stay out of it. Whether I win or lose, you still get your horses back.”
He said no more, stepped around her to enter the house, and promptly closed the door in her face. But if he thought that would keep her out, he should have known better. She’d want to see him lose the fight, to have something to gloat over. If Lazar hadn’t followed her in, along with a half-dozen others, Vasili would have made an issue of it, insisting she leave. Now he merely shrugged mentally. Maybe she deserved this, too, for last night.
Pavel had removed his coat and was presently shoving the sleeping cots out of the way to clear an area. He was apparently going to remain shirtless. A prerequisite? Whether it was or not, Vasili supposed he ought to strip down himself, just to keep things sporting.
He had seen Pavel fight twice before with Stefan, and each time he had fought dirty. Vasili’s advantage would have been that Pavel had never seen him fight. With whips, though, he had no advantage, and was really at a disadvantage. Why the hell had he agreed to this?
Killing Pavel would have been an ideal solution, because he didn’t have Latzko’s sense of honor and couldn’t be trusted to stand by his word if he lost. But Vasili simply didn’t feel like killing him, even if they were going to usenormalweapons. The bandit was a bitter man, and a woman had made him that way. Vasili could certainly sympathize with him about that.
Knocking him out was another solution, since there was the possibility that if Pavel lost—for the third time to an aristocrat—and was still conscious at the end, he might be enraged enough to order them all shot. Some of the bandits wouldn’t follow that order, but some might, and the risk wasn’t worth the taking.
Since his skill with a whip wasn’t likely to get him either of those solutions, it seemed his only other alternative, intentional or not, was to lose, let Pavel have his moment of glory, and get the hell out of there. And he’d already assured Lazar that he would concede if it looked like he couldn’t win. But this option went against every instinct he possessed…
“Finally,” Pavel said.
Vasili turned to see a man coming through the door, holding a coiled whip in each hand. The whips seemed nearly identical, but they weren’t. He didn’t know how he recognized it, since he’d never given it more than a cursory glance when she’d worn it, but he knew which one was Alexandra’s. A glance her wayproved she had no trouble identifying it either.
