Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  A far cry indeed from the disheveled waif in the tavern, he thought incredulously. Yet he could swear she was the same woman. He had not consumed so much drink that he would forget such exquisite beauty. And now, just when he had been tormented by thoughts of her, wondering if he would ever find her, suddenly she was in his arms!

  He had been looking for her since he had awoken in the tavern to find her gone, along with his money. It was not the loss of his gold that had fueled his vow to scour the streets of Vienna until he found her. Never before had he met a woman who so fired his blood, who had so disrupted his life. She had become his obsession . . .

  No, not even his wanton Sophia so perfectly matched him in passion, Stefan thought wryly. He knew that now, especially after their garden tryst. All the while he had been thinking of the flame-haired beauty who had filled his senses with a raging tempest of desire.

  Yet he had almost despaired of finding her. No one had ever seen her before in the tavern, and no one had noticed her leave except a drunken woman and her sailor friend. All they could tell him was that a fiery-haired wench had dashed down the back stairs as if the devil was on her heels. And when he rushed into the street, she was nowhere to be seen. It was as if the earth had swallowed her whole, without a trace.

  Even after he had gone home to his estate in the early morning, his search interrupted for a few hours rest, he had not been free of her. She had come to him in his tortured dreams, a mysterious woman of many guises . . . whore, thief, innocent, temptress . . .

  Stefan started, searching her features in the moonlight. But this woman was none of those, he considered. She was dressed as a lady of the Imperial court, hardly a thief. He was not a man to doubt his instincts, but what if he was wrong, and she was not the woman he was seeking? Could there be two such women in Vienna, so alike in face and form?

  Kassandra's blood ran cold at his sharp scrutiny, yet she did not miss the flicker of doubt in his rugged features. Sensing his confusion, she felt hope flare within her that her plea had been answered. It fanned her anger and gave her sudden courage.

  "I demand that you let me go at—"

  "Surely we have met before, my lady," Stefan interrupted.

  Kassandra gulped, stunned, but she forced herself to think clearly. Do not give yourself away! her inner voice screamed. "You—you are mistaken, sir. I can assure you we have never met. As for calling me a spy, I was merely walking along this path and unwittingly came upon you and your lady . . . I mean, in the alcove . . . That is, I stood behind the tree for fear you might . . ." She blushed, unable to go on.

  Stefan chuckled at her discomfort, not ready to give up so easily. "But I could swear we have—"

  "Sir, you are no gentleman to hold me against my will," Kassandra snapped, her eyes flaring.

  "And you are no lady," Stefan replied easily, "to spy on lovers and frequent lowly taverns for your amusement."

  Kassandra gasped, her mind racing wildly. He knows! He had recognized her! She raised her arm to slap him, but he caught it and brought it to his lips. He kissed her open palm, his burning gaze never leaving her face.

  Kassandra jumped at the touch of his lips against her skin, a thrill of fire streaking to the core of her being, memories of shared, tempestuous passion flooding her mind and threatening to overwhelm her. She stared breathlessly at the unmistakable challenge in his eyes . . . It seemed she had given herself away without saying a word.

  Damn him! Damn his kisses and damn his eyes! she raged, swept by a terrible storm of emotion that battled within her until she thought she might be torn apart. She hated this man. God, how she hated him . . . for what he had done to her, and for the awful predicament she now faced.

  It was obvious from his attire, a rich brocade overcoat, waistcoat, and dark breeches, which he wore with casual flair, that he was a member of the aristocracy and not the common soldier she had thought. Would he cause a scandal?

  But all thoughts fled as he once again kissed her palm, lingeringly, possessively, his warm breath making her shiver. Unconsciously she leaned against him, unaware of the smoldering desire reflected in the depths of her eyes, conscious only of the feel of his lips upon her skin and the wild beating of her heart within her breast . . .

  "So beautiful . . ." Stefan murmured, a rakish smile tugging at his lips. The feel of her lithe body pressed against him was the sweetest torture; his blood raced hot through his veins. He could swear she was the woman he had been seeking. Kassandra blinked at the sound of his voice, the taunting smile on his face shattering the spell that held her captive. She tore her hand from his grasp, her eyes glinting fire.

  "How dare you," she whispered, steeling herself against trembling desire, a determined resolve forming in her dazed mind.

  She would give him no further indication that she had ever seen him before, she vowed. And if he challenged her, whoever he was, soldier, aristocrat . . . yes, and most certainly a scoundrel, she would deny everything. He had no proof, other than her own admission, and that she would never give him.

  Kassandra drew herself up, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. "As I said before, my lord, you are mistaken," she stated with icy reserve. "We have never met. And if we had, I am sure I would recall your brutish manners. As for spying on lovers and your strange talk of taverns" —she paused, drawing a deep breath— "it appears the full moon has addled your senses. Now release me at once."

  Stefan gazed down at her, amazed by her sudden transformation. Damn! but she was a tantalizing mystery, one he felt compelled to pursue . . .

  "If you truly wish it—"

  "I do wish it." Kassandra cut him off curtly.

  "Very well." Stefan released her so suddenly that she lost her balance. He caught her arm before she fell, steadying her, but she wrenched from his grasp. He merely smiled at her, a rogue's smile. "It has been a pleasure, my lady," he murmured with a gallant bow.

  "You are both mad . . . and a blackguard!" Kassandra tossed over her shoulder as she forced herself to walk calmly along the path leading to the palace. Yet she was shaking uncontrollably, her foremost thought to leave the reception at once.

  "Hardly mad, my lady," Stefan said softly under his breath. "Captivated." He waited for a few moments, then followed, determined not to let her out of his sight.

  Chapter 9

  Kassandra swept into the ballroom, her chest rising and falling rapidly from her labored breath. She blinked in the sudden brightness, yet she was not so blinded that she did not catch the appraising glances of several gentlemen standing nearby, who stared blatantly at her breasts straining against the low-cut bodice.

  Men! she cursed inwardly, ready to lash out at anything that wore breeches. She would never wear such a gown again! She fought to catch her breath, chiding herself for dashing up the stairs, but her stays were laced so tight she could scarcely breathe.

  "There you are, Kassandra," Isabel exclaimed, rushing toward her from the window where she had been standing. "I was almost ready to organize a search for you. You've been gone so long."

  Thank God she hadn't ventured into the garden, Kassandra thought grimly, imagining the expression on Isabel's face if she had found her in the arms of that, that . . . She shuddered, rubbing her temples with slender fingers. At least she didn't have to feign an excuse to leave the reception. Her head ached miserably.

  "I-I'm sorry, Isabel," she barely managed without gasping. "But it seems . . . the stroll did me little good—" A rousing blare of trumpets startled her, drowning out her words.

  "It's only the signal that the banquet will begin soon," Isabel explained with a laugh, noting Kassandra's unease. Why, she was practically shaking in her slippers!

  Isabel's forehead creased in a frown as another thought struck her. If it was already time for the banquet, where could Stefan be? she wondered, her eyes darting around the crowded room. Her gaze fell on a statuesque, dark-haired woman standing beside an aged court minister, who was nodding off in his chair. The woman caught her look and s
miled, yet the expression in her lustrous dark eyes was hardly friendly. Isabel smiled tightly in return before looking away.

  At least he is not with Sophia, she thought, pleased. She turned back to Kassandra. "Let's sit over there," she said, pointing with her fan to a nearby table.

  "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 magnif
icent 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.