Stolen Splendor (10 page)

"Isabel," Kassandra began again, wincing from
the awful pounding in her head. Those damnable trumpets had only made it worse.
"I was trying to tell you that I'm not feeling very well. I'm sorry, but I
think I will have to leave the reception at once."

"Oh dear, you cannot mean that, Kassandra,"
Isabel blurted. "We only just arrived an hour ago. Perhaps some food might
cure whatever is ailing you. I was so looking forward to the music and dancing
after the banquet . . ."

Isabel bit her lip, embarrassed color rising in her
face. Perhaps that's why she is trembling so, she thought fleetingly. She took
Kassandra's hand in her own. "Forgive me, Kassandra, I'm being terribly
selfish. If you're not well, I can hardly expect you to suffer through the rest
of the evening on my behalf. I will call for our wraps and we'll leave
immediately."

"No, no, you must stay and enjoy yourself,"
Kassandra protested. "The driver can take me back to the estate and return
in plenty of time to fetch you home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll be fine," she insisted. She
clasped Isabel's hand warmly. "You'll have a wonderful time tonight,
whether I'm here or not—"

"Stefan!" Isabel suddenly exclaimed, her eyes
moving from Kassandra to a point just beyond her. "It's Stefan, Kassandra!
I was beginning to think he had missed the reception, but he's here at last.
Oh, you must at least wait another moment to meet him." She waved her
hand, calling gaily out to him. "Stefan!"

Perhaps there may yet be some hope for this evening,
Kassandra thought, her headache momentarily forgotten in her anticipation.
After all, she had awaited this meeting with Isabel's brother for a long time.
But Stefan or no, she decided quickly, she would still only remain at the Hofburg
for a few moments longer. She had no desire to risk another encounter with that
blackguard, whoever he was! Smiling brightly, she whirled around.

"Isn't he handsome?" Isabel asked in an aside
to Kassandra, watching proudly as Stefan strode toward them.

Kassandra stared in stunned surprise, her breath caught
in her throat, the smile fading from her lips. If the world had stopped at that
moment, she would have taken no notice. There was nothing but the fierce beat
of her heart thundering against her breast, and the flint-gray gaze that seared
boldly into her own.

"Kassandra, this is my brother, Stefan."
Isabel's voice came to her as if from very far away, a whisper in a deafening
maelstrom of emotion, one thought etched upon her mind.

Count Stefan von Furstenberg . . . the soldier at the
tavern . . . the rogue in the garden
They
were one and
the same!

Kassandra felt suddenly faint, the awkwardness of her
situation hitting her with physical force. She was living at the estate of the
man who had ravaged her! But she was jolted from her dazed thoughts as he took
her hand in his own and brought it to his lips, his kiss grazing her fingers.

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Lady
Kassandra," Stefan murmured, masking well his initial astonishment. So the
flame-haired temptress he had followed back to the palace was Lady Kassandra
Wyndham, the daughter of Isabel's Lord Harrington. He studied her with frank
appraisal, amusement lighting his eyes.

Damn, this intrigue seemed to have been fashioned by
the hand of Fate herself, he mused, watching emotions flicker across her face.
"Isabel has told me a great deal about you, and your father, in her
letters."

Spurred by the taunting laughter in his eyes, Kassandra
quickly regained her composure. Damn him, if he could play along, then so could
she! And there was no sense in giving Isabel the impression that something was
amiss, especially since they had only just been introduced. She smiled
prettily.

"And I have heard much of you, Count von
Furstenberg," she said simply.

"Why be so formal?" Isabel asked, looking
from Kassandra to Stefan with mock exasperation. "We're soon to be
family
. I insist you call each other by your given
names." She laughingly took Stefan's arm. "But where have you been
this evening, Stefan?"

"I walked in the garden for a short while—"

"The garden? Why, Kassandra just returned from a
long stroll as well. You must have just missed each other."

Kassandra looked down uncomfortably, not wishing to
meet Stefan's eyes, which were surely laughing at her. Her head was pounding
once again.

"Isabel, I really must be going," Kassandra
began, raising her head, but avoiding Stefan's gaze. She was struck suddenly by
how closely brother and sister resembled each other, with their hair as black
as midnight and eyes of the same striking gray. Why had she not guessed it?
she
wondered, recalling her intuition the night before.

"Of course, Kassandra, forgive me. I had
forgotten," Isabel said in a rush of apology. She looked up at her
brother, who towered over her. "Perhaps you might accompany Kassandra back
to the estate, Stefan. She's not feeling well and must leave the reception, but
I dislike the thought of her traveling alone in a carriage, especially at
night. Could you?"

"I'd be honored," Stefan responded before
Kassandra could protest, smiling rakishly at her as he took her arm. He nodded
to Isabel. "I'll return later in the evening for you."

Kassandra started at the pressure of his hand on her
arm. She flushed with warmth, her plan to retreat suddenly gone awry. Just like
everything else this evening, she thought, as they said their farewells to
Isabel and began to walk to the front entrance of the ballroom.

"Stefan, are you leaving so soon?" a
dark-haired woman called out as she moved toward them with provocative grace,
her gold brocade gown catching the light from the chandeliers, her daring
décolletage accentuating her alabaster shoulders and lush breasts.

Kassandra grimaced inwardly at her voice, recognizing
it as the one she had heard in the garden. She watched as the woman laid a hand
possessively on Stefan's arm, and strangely enough, felt him tense. The woman's
eyes, the color of dusky topaz, narrowed visibly.

"Stefan," she murmured sweetly. "I have
not had the pleasure of an introduction to this . . . lady."

"Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg, Lady Kassandra
Wyndham," Stefan stated, his voice cool.

So this was Stefan's paramour, Kassandra considered
appraisingly. She could not imagine the reason behind the odd change in his
manner. The archduchess was probably one of the most beautiful women she had
ever seen. She was uncommonly tall, like herself, yet where Kassandra was of
slender proportion, Sophia von Starenberg's figure was voluptuously curved. Her
luxuriant hair, piled high upon her head, was a deep mahogany that shone with
burnished highlights. Her profile reminded Kassandra of a statue of a Greek
goddess, singular in its beauty.

But her most startling feature was her eyes, tilted
slightly upward at the outer corners, almost almond-shaped, and heavily fringed
with thick lashes. They stared back at her, the dark depths glinting with so
much angry jealousy that Kassandra longed to tell the archduchess her
resentment was misplaced. She had no interest in Stefan von Furstenberg.

"Lady Kassandra is a guest of Isabel's, and
myself
, while her father is in Germany," Stefan
continued. "Now, if you will excuse us, Sophia, she is not feeling well. I
am escorting her home."

"How kind of you, Stefan," Sophia purred,
leaning seductively against him. "Will you be returning?"

"Yes, later. Until then, Sophia."

Kassandra could feel Sophia glaring after them as they
walked from the ballroom, the beautiful woman's gaze boring into her back as
surely as if it had been poisoned daggers. But her mind quickly turned to the
long carriage ride to the estate, a ride they would share . . . alone together.

"Your cape," Stefan murmured, taking the
luxurious fur-lined garment from the footman and wrapping it around her. His
fingers grazed her bare shoulder, and she drew back as if stung. But if he
noticed, he made no mention of it, his features implacable as he hailed a
carriage. It pulled around the magnificent entryway of the Hofburg, and in a
moment she was seated beside him and he was shouting for the driver to be on his
way.

***

"Good night, my lord," Kassandra said
tersely, her back proud and straight as she walked up the stairs, a surge of
relief overwhelming her.

She had thought the carriage ride might never end. But fortunately
it had passed in relative silence, after her initial excuse that she felt too
ill for any discourse. She had sat as far away from Stefan as possible,
discouraging further conversation by keeping her eyes trained out the window as
the carriage clattered through the darkened streets of Vienna.

Yet she could have been blind for all she had seen on
the way back to the estate. She had sensed his unflinching gaze upon her the
entire time, his unwanted presence arousing emotions she could not suppress.

"Sleep well, Kassandra."

His deep, rough voice carried from the foyer below,
causing her to stiffen momentarily, clutching the banister. She quickened her
pace up the rest of the stairs and down the corridor. She did not stop until
she was in her chamber, did not feel safe until her trembling fingers had
securely bolted the door. She was not about to take any chances with him in the
same house.

Kassandra leaned on the door for a long moment, her
eyes closed, her heart pounding. She started when a soft knock broke the
silence.

"Who is it?" she whispered, whirling around,
her hand to her throat.

"Berdine, milady," the maid replied in a
hushed voice. "Count Stefan said you had returned, so I've come to help
you undress."

Kassandra relaxed and unbolted the door, opening it
with a sigh. "Come in, Berdine," she murmured. She said little else
as the maid went expertly about her business, and soon she was free of the gown
and its ungodly stays. As Berdine hung everything in the closet, Kassandra
donned her linen sleeping gown, then followed the maid to the door, thanked
her, and bolted it once again.

At last she was alone. Kassandra ran to the bed and
climbed in, pulling the thick covers under her chin. She gazed unseeing at the
cream lace canopy above her, turbulent thoughts tumbling through her mind.

What was she to do? She wanted to ignore Stefan
completely, but that might arouse Isabel's suspicions that something was wrong.
And she couldn't leave the estate; she had nowhere else to go. Her father had
given up their apartment in the city when she had agreed to stay with Isabel.
No, she would have to remain at the von Furstenberg estate, how- ever awkward
it proved, until her father returned to Vienna.

Kassandra rolled onto her side, a hot tear trailing
down her cheek. Her situation was so wretchedly impossible!
she
raged silently, stifling her sobs with her blanket as a torrent of tears
streaked down her flushed face. She cried until she was spent, one determined
thought ringing in her mind.

She would do just as she had vowed in the garden . . .
give him no indication that she had ever seen him before this night. And if,
God help her, he challenged her, she would deny everything. He had no proof!

Except for the tattered gown in the closet, she
remembered with an awful start, and his velvet money bag. There was a chance he
might not recognize the gown, but the bag was another matter. She would have to
find a way to rid
herself
of the incriminating
articles, perhaps find a place to bury them during her ride in the morning. She
would be alone. Isabel trusted her prowess with horses enough not to require
any escort to accompany her, as long as she remained on the estate grounds.
Yes, that would be the perfect opportunity.

Closing her eyes, Kassandra prayed fervently that once
that was done, she could lay her fears to rest.

***

Stefan entered the library just off the foyer and
poured himself a brandy. He tossed it down, grimacing as the fiery liquid
burned his throat,
then
stared into the blazing flames
roaring in the fireplace, leaping red-gold flames that reminded him of the
glistening waves of Kassandra's hair.

God, she was beautiful, far more so than he had
remembered from the tavern, or even in his dreams. And she was here, in this
house. What a twist of fate! Lady Kassandra Wyndham. He could swear she was the
one he had been seeking, the woman who had given herself away on more than one
occasion tonight, though she pretended—quite convincingly, he thought, with a
hint of a smile—that they had just met.

Yet he had to be completely sure, Stefan considered,
setting the crystal glass on the mantel. There had to be a way to draw her out,
to confirm beyond any shadow of a doubt that she was the temptress who had
ensnared him with her passion.

Stefan chuckled deep within his chest. He was a
soldier. It would take time, yes, and patience . . .
like
mounting a campaign. Somehow she would give herself away completely, perhaps
with her own admission, possibly even with her kiss . . .

Stefan brought his fist down hard upon the mantel, the
memory of her lips parted beneath his own almost more than he could bear. This
woman had fired his blood and captured his imagination like no other!
he
thought, striding from the library and out the front
door. He must know the truth—whether the woman he had possessed was a lowly
tavern wench or a high-born woman of title and position.

Once outside, Stefan paused and gazed up at the
ink-black sky, glittering with stars. These warm autumn nights enlivened his
senses. He filled his lungs with the fresh air, his eyes drawn to the golden
cast of a lighted window on the second floor. Kassandra's window . . .