Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  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 . . .

  A lithe form passed in front of the window, a tantalizing silhouette. Stefan's breath caught in his throat, a searing pang of desire ripping through his body. Then the light was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.

  "I will have you," he whispered fiercely, shaken by the intensity of his need for this one woman. He knew he was letting his desire get the better of him—he was behaving like a brute—but he couldn't help himself. Nothing could stop him . . . Abruptly he wheeled about and climbed into the waiting carriage.

  "To the Hofburg, man," he shouted to the driver, the snorting horses leaping forward at the crack of the whip above their heads. As the carriage lurched into motion, Stefan leaned against the seat and closed his eyes.

  Ah, but what of Sophia? Even now she was waiting for him at the palace, waiting to begin again nights of passion such as they had enjoyed before he left on the last military campaign.

  There would be no more of those nights at least not with Sophia. But she would understand. He had never led her to believe there was anything more between them than the erotic pleasures they had shared. She had always known it would end one day, for whatever reason.

  Sophia would easily find another man to fill her bed, Stefan thought with wry humor. As for him, he could wait . . .

  Chapter 10

  "Stefan, I have a favor to ask of you," Isabel murmured, closing the door to the library. She turned to find he had already seated himself in the leather chair near the fireplace, his long legs stretched in front of him, his boots crossed casually. A gentle smile played upon her mouth to see him in the room he loved so well, among his books and papers. It was so good to have him home again.

  "Ask away, dear sister," Stefan replied, arching a black brow. What could Isabel wish to discuss so early in the morning, and in such secrecy? he wondered. She had interrupted his morning meal—one he sorely needed, he thought, his stomach growling loudly, since he had missed the banquet at the palace the night before. She had insisted they speak at once, before the rest of the household was awake, so he knew it had to be important. Isabel was not one to rise early.

  Isabel sat down in the chair across from him, her morning gown falling in gentle folds. "It's about Kassandra," she murmured, her delicate fingers worrying at the lace flounces edging her sleeve.

  Noting her nervous gesture, Stefan narrowed his eyes. Had Kassandra perhaps gone to Isabel's chamber late last night and told her of their exchange in the Hofburg gardens? Considering he was still not certain she was the woman from the tavern, he had to admit his behavior toward her had been brazen and ungentlemanly. Yet she had had a chance to mention it when they were introduced, and she had not . . .

  "I'm worried about her, Stefan," Isabel began, interrupting his thoughts. She leaned forward, her voice a raised whisper. "Why, just the other day she was nearly killed when she went into Vienna by herself."

  "What do you mean, killed?" Stefan queried tightly, tensing.

  Isabel shook her head in consternation. "I invited her to attend a royal gala with me at the Favorita, but she insisted she'd rather remain at the estate . . . to write letters and perhaps go riding. Instead" —she paused briefly, taking a breath— "she had Zoltan take her into the city on errands. While she was there, a carriage nearly ran her down. She lost her cloak under its wheels. Oh, Stefan, it could have been a dreadful accident!"

  Stefan's mind raced with this news. So Kassandra had been in the city the other day. Another clue to his tantalizing mystery. But if Zoltan had escorted her, she wouldn't have been alone. Or would she? He would have to speak with the carriage driver later and discover the truth.

  Isabel rose and paced in agitation. "And if that wasn't enough" —she sighed heavily— "Kassandra refused an escort, even at Gisela's insistence. What would Miles say if he knew his daughter was roaming the streets of Vienna with only a carriage driver to protect her? It's not only unsuitable, but dangerous! There are so many soldiers in the city now, carousing, drinking, and whoring—"

  "Isabel!"

  "I'm no green girl, Stefan," Isabel countered, "and hardly ignorant of the ways of men, in this city of all places, where infidelity is encouraged. You can hardly blame the soldiers, really, after enduring another long campaign. But think of what might have happened, Stefan, if Kassandra had fallen into such ill company."

  Stefan nearly choked. Thank God Isabel could not read his mind! he thought, suddenly conscience-stricken. He rose from his chair, anxious to put an end to the discussion.

  "So what is this favor you ask of me?" he queried, rankled by his unease
.

  "If you could watch out for her, Stefan, at least until Miles returns from Hanover," Isabel replied. "I would rest easier knowing she was in your hands." A bright smile lit her face. "You could think of yourself as her warrior knight."

  Stefan exhaled sharply. If only she knew how far from Kassandra's savior he really was. But Isabel's request would give him an excuse to remain in Kassandra's company. And being near her might further unravel the mystery that spurred him on . . .

  He nodded. "Agreed."

  "I knew you would!" Isabel exclaimed, embracing him warmly. "You have my thanks, and Miles's as well." And it will give them a chance to become better acquainted, she thought, her hope that she could match them together flaring higher than ever.

  "Now, Isabel, if you know me so well," Stefan said, "I'm sure you won't take offense if I return to the dining room and finish my meal—"

  "Of course." Isabel laughed, walking with him to the door. She stopped suddenly and brought her finger to her lips. "Ssshhhh."

  "What is it?" Stefan asked, perplexed. He heard light footsteps in the foyer, then the front door opening and closing.

  Isabel only shook her head, motioning for him to look out one of the tall, arched windows. He drew back the velvet curtain, his eyes widening as he spied Kassandra, dressed in a form-fitting riding habit and walking briskly across the lawn toward the stable. Immediately he wanted to follow her, and was chagrined by his own eagerness. Never before had he had so little control where a woman was concerned . . .

  "You agreed, Stefan," Isabel said, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm afraid your meal will have to be postponed." She shrugged, her eyes dancing. "The lady awaits her protector." She held the door open for him. "She's gone for a ride every morning since she came here, without fail, except for yesterday. It is her passion."

  One of many passions, Stefan amended, the mere thought of that afternoon in the tavern arousing his desire.

  "Very well, Isabel." He winked playfully. "As I am a man of my word, a warrior knight should be about his duties." His laughter echoed through the hall as he whipped his black cloak over his broad shoulders and stepped outside, dosing the door firmly behind him.

  ***

  Kassandra veered off the path leading to the stable and walked determinedly toward the carriage house, Zoltan's woolen cloak draped over one arm while under the other she clutched a tight roll of clothing. The heavy cloak was slowing her down, much to her irritation, but it was time she returned it to the burly driver. It had looked out of place in her chamber, another glaring reminder of a day she would rather forget.

  Her breath was becoming labored, hanging like a fine mist upon the morning air, which was tinged with the first cold snap of the season. At last she neared the large outbuilding. The great wooden doors were open, so she stepped inside, her eyes adjusting quickly to the darkened interior. It smelled of horse dung and varnish, the sort used to lacquer the fine wood of the carriages.

  "Zoltan?" she called out. "Are you here?" A burst of laughter startled her, then the carriage house fell silent again except for the low drone of masculine voices deep within the building. Hesitating, she shrugged and followed the sound past a line of well-kept carriages, almost stumbling into a group of drivers seated upon the hay-strewn ground. They all jumped to their feet, holding bowls of steaming porridge in their hands.

  "Lady . . . Kassandra," Zoltan managed, hastily swallowing a hearty mouthful with a gulp.

  "I-I'm sorry . . . Please, go back to your meals," Kassandra stammered, almost as surprised as the wide-eyed drivers. She stepped to the other side of the carriage and waited for Zoltan to set down his bowl and hurry to her side. She looked up at the huge Hungarian, gratitude shining in her eyes. His kindness the other day had touched her deeply.

  "Here is your cloak, Zoltan," she murmured, holding it out to him. "Forgive me for not returning it yesterday. I rose late, and then there was the reception to prepare for—"

  "It is no matter, milady," he replied, his deep-set eyes intent on her face. "Are ye all right, miss?" he asked, absently twisting the cloak with his huge, callused hands.

  "Yes, I am fine," she replied. "And thank you for waiting for me at the cathedral the other day." She chewed her lip nervously. Could she ask him? she debated, then shook her head. She had to . . . "Zoltan?"

  "Yes, milady?"

  "There is something I must ask of you," she said softly, meeting his gaze. "If—if anyone should ask if we, I mean, if you followed me in the carriage during the day as I went about my errands" —she paused, gauging his reaction, but his swarthy features were devoid of expression— "would you tell them that you never lost sight of me?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  Surprised, Zoltan mulled over her unexpected request, yet in his heart he already knew his answer. God help him, she was so beautiful, he could hardly deny her plea. For he knew it was a plea, and a desperate one.

  Something had happened to this young woman two days past—he was no fool; he had seen the anguish in her eyes when she had met him at the cathedral—something she wanted to keep hidden. Now she trusted him enough to ask him to lie for her, aye, to knowingly deceive whoever might ask any questions about that day. And, Zoltan decided firmly, he would not be the one to betray her trust.

  "Aye, milady, I will," he answered gruffly, nodding his shaggy head.

  A wide smile broke across Kassandra's face, but she had no time to thank him, for just then another voice called within the carriage house. "Zoltan!"

  Kassandra tensed, her smile disappearing. Stefan! Clutching the roll of clothing to her breast, she brushed past the startled driver and, skirting his equally astonished companions, slipped through an open side door just beyond where they were seated.

  She headed straight for the stable, her heart lurching. Was it a coincidence, or was he following her? She entered the low building and hurried to the stall where her favorite roan mare was quartered.

  "I have her all ready for ye, milady, just like every day," a young stableboy piped up, his fair complexion reddened by the frosty morning air. An eager grin split his face. "Shall I walk her out for ye?"

  "No, I'll manage, Hans, thank you," she murmured, taking the reins from his chapped hands. "Go and warm yourself."

  "Aye, miss." He nodded and raced back to the small brazier in a far corner of the stable, where several other stableboys were huddled.

  Kassandra walked the frisky mare into the stable yard, her only thought to be on her way as quickly as possible. She wanted to find a place far out in the woods surrounding the estate to bury the telltale roll of clothing—the tattered gown, petticoat, and stockings, and the velvet money bag that still contained several clinking coins. She was about to set her foot in the stirrup when, out of the corner of her eye, she spied Stefan striding toward her from the carriage house.

  Dear God, what was she to do with the clothing? She flipped the reins over a nearby post, tethering the mare, then hurried back into the stable, her eyes darting about the shadowy recesses. Quickly she ran to the wall and buried the roll beneath a heaping pile of straw, then straightened and shook the dust from her skirt. Obviously she would have to wait for another time to rid herself of the offensive garments . . .

  He must be following her, the bastard! Kassandra raged, forcing herself to walk calmly back outside into the bright sunlit morning. How could she possibly act civilly to this man, when at the very least she wanted to scratch out his eyes?

  Ignoring him as he called to her, she again set her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself into the sidesaddle. She clucked to the mare, digging her heel gently into its side, and they set off at a canter through the stable yard, then out onto the road that led away from the estate.

  It seemed only a moment had passed when she heard the pounding of hooves not far behind, then the fierce snorting of Stefan's mighty black destrier as he reined in beside her. The mare tossed her head at the sudden intrusion, her hooves pawing the earth as she threatened to rea
r.

  "A lovely morning to you, my lady," Stefan offered gallantly, reaching for the mare's bridle and steadying the frightened animal. "Whoa now," he murmured in soothing tones, until the mare had settled down. He laughed, a deep, husky sound that rang out in the surrounding woods. "Would you mind if I rode along?"

  Kassandra bit her tongue against a bitter retort. Play the part, she admonished herself. Remember, there is nothing more between you than your recent acquaintance.

  "Not at all," she replied, smiling brightly, her heart thumping against her breast as she was struck again by his dark good looks. He smiled back, his teeth a flash of white against his bronzed face.

  "Good," Stefan said, matching his destrier's pace to that of the mare's as they set off at a walk. "I was hoping for a chance to offer an apology for my behavior last night at the reception."

  Stunned by this statement, Kassandra felt her skin flush with sudden warmth. She kept her eyes trained on the winding road before them, fearful that he might see her discomfort. "An apology, my lord?"

  "Yes, for what happened in the garden," Stefan replied easily. "I was certain I had seen you somewhere before, but of course, that's impossible. I'm only surprised you didn't mention to Isabel that we had already met, so to speak, in the garden."

  Kassandra swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry. What game was he playing? she wondered. "I saw no need," she finally managed, glancing at him. "It was an error easily made in the dark, and certainly not worthy of mention. But I do accept your apology, Stefan." She turned away, flustered, and rubbed the coarse hairs along the mare's neck. Strange, that was the first time she had called him by his given name.