Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Stefan inhaled sharply as his eyes moved over Kassandra, her beauty stunning to behold. She wore a cream lace nightgown that left little to his imagination, the curves of her lithe, long-limbed body barely concealed by the flowing folds of the gossamer fabric. Her long hair, brushed to a burnished glow, curled softly around her furious face and tumbled down the front of her gown, concealing the high, firm breasts he ached to caress. It was all he could do not to go to her and crush her in his arms, but he forced himself to think clearly, rationally. There would be time enough for that . . . later.

  "That's better," he murmured, sitting down in one of the comfortable upholstered chairs at the foot of the bed. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and nodded toward the other one. "Sit down, Kassandra. We have an important matter to discuss."

  She eyed him suspiciously, shaking her head. "No."

  "Very well, then, stand if you wish—"

  "We have nothing to discuss!" she stated hotly, cutting him off. She nervously fingered the poker. The blasted thing was so heavy. She set its point down upon the ceramic tiles in front of the fireplace on which she was standing, one hand still gripping the curved handle. "Now, I have already asked you to leave my chamber, Count von Furstenberg."

  Stefan sighed. His attempts at civility were getting him nowhere. Best to get on with it, he decided quickly. He brought his legs up and leaned forward in the chair, his mild expression becoming deadly serious. "It's time to put an end to this charade, Kassandra," he said simply.

  She paled, though she did not fully understand his meaning. "Charade?"

  "I know you are the woman I found in the tavern, though why you were there, I have yet to discover. Our . . . encounter in the woods this morning only confirmed what I have believed all along, and what you have sought, for obvious reasons, to conceal from me since we met at the Hofburg." He paused, studying her face, but her lovely features were set and immobile. It was her eyes, wide and full of turmoil, that gave away her true feelings.

  Do not be swayed, Stefan told himself. It is the only way you will have her. He continued relentlessly. "But I have not come to speak of our past, though it has much to do with why I am here, but of our future."

  Our future . . . What could he possibly mean? Kassandra wondered dazedly. She licked her lips, a glimmer of fear coiling in the pit of her stomach. "What do you want from me?" she whispered, her throat constricted. So many tormented thoughts had assailed her while she had paced furiously back and forth across the room, playing out so many scenarios of what he might do now that he had discovered the telltale clothing and his cursed money bag. Yet as she faced him now, she could not fathom what he might demand from her.

  Stefan rose from the chair and crossed to stand in front of her. Startled, she looked up at him, looming so large before her, his masculine frame so much broader and more powerful than she remembered. His eyes, so arresting, caught and held her own, penetrating to some hidden part of her, and it took all her effort not to tremble uncontrollably.

  "I want you to become my wife."

  Chapter 14

  Kassandra stared stupidly up at him, uncomprehending, her grasp on the poker loosening. It dropped to the tiles with a clatter, but she did not even blink.

  "I want you for my wife, Kassandra," Stefan repeated, noting the sudden pallor of her skin, her eyes blank and devoid of emotion. Her lack of response struck a painful chord within him, a feeling akin to rejection. But he shrugged it aside. By God, what had he expected? He knew her initial reaction was merely the calm before the storm. "But you must know I am not asking you to be my wife," he went on, his tone almost harsh. "I have decided that is what you shall be."

  His last words sank into Kassandra like a knife cutting cruelly into her flesh. "Your . . . wife," she murmured, completely stunned. "You have decided?" Her eyes focused on his face once again, disbelief, fury, and incredulity boiling just below her facade of restraint. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have expected this preposterous demand! She could have exploded, screeched, and raged at him, but instead she felt a strange inner calm, an answer forcing itself to her lips with striking clarity.

  "Impossible," she stated simply, brushing by him. "I despise you."

  Stefan felt another jagged emotion at her words, a disquieting pain like nothing he had ever felt before. But again he defiantly stifled it, his face implacable as he grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly into his embrace.

  Kassandra gasped in surprise, the coldness of his gaze striking fear into her heart. She tensed in his arms, scarcely breathing, his iron grip on her wrists a painful vise.

  "But I haven't finished, my lady," Stefan said, his breath warm on her cheek. He almost smiled, recalling the sword on the bed and the episode with the knife that morning and thinking of the spirit she had shown. "I had anticipated your response, as you have already made known your feelings toward me on two occasions." He paused, pulling her so close she could feel the beating of his heart against her breast. "I offer you a choice."

  "A ch-choice?" Kassandra stammered.

  Stefan nodded, his chiseled lips a grim line. He had to have her—as much for her sake as his own. "I have already decided what I want. Now you must decide what you want. Either become my wife . . . or risk a scandal that could destroy not only your reputation, but your father's career as ambassador as well."

  It was done, he had said it, Stefan thought dully, a stab of remorse shooting through him at the stricken look on her face. He had sworn he would do whatever was necessary to have her, yet the role of villain set uneasily upon him. Still, there was no turning back . . .

  "It's a simple choice, Kassandra," he went on mercilessly. "You know there are those in the Austrian court who would delight in such a scandal, influential aristocrats with a distaste for the English and their self-serving trade concerns with our enemies, the Turks. No doubt they would find the story most amusing."

  Stefan bent his head and whispered against her ear. "I can hear them even now. An ambassador's beautiful daughter seeks sensual diversion in wine taverns . . . How gloriously decadent. You must agree it would make for a perfect opportunity to contribute to the downfall of an English ambassador."

  Kassandra stared at him, dumbstruck. This was worse than she could ever have imagined. The man was not merely a rogue, he was despicable, the devil incarnate to force her to make such a choice! And he seemed so sure of himself, as if he already sensed what her answer would be. Rage mounted within her at this infuriating realization, and a bitter retort, a vehement refusal of his vile offer of marriage, rose to her lips. She would pit her word against his own, and see him rot in prison for what he had done to her!

  But she bit back her words, forcing herself to think clearly. It was true. There were those in the Viennese court who would seize upon this story with glee, if only to create such a stir that her father would be recalled to England. Then all he had worked for would be lost.

  And she would be branded a whore, however unjustly, the brunt of malicious gossip and innuendo, just as her mother had been so many years ago. She felt sickened by the cruel hand Fate had dealt her, could almost feel the vicious lies and insults that would consume her life if she chose to deny his offer.

  And what of her father's relationship with Isabel? The countess had made him happier than Kassandra had ever seen him before, a lonely, driven man rejuvenated by the power of her love. That, too, would be destroyed.

  Would Stefan do that to his own sister? Kassandra wondered. A sister he clearly cherished? Hope flickered.

  "But what of Isabel?" Kassandra blurted, her voice strained and shrill. "Have you thought of what such a scandal will do to her?"

  Stefan exhaled sharply. He had suspected she might think of Isabel and her father, and he knew he had to answer carefully. If Kassandra sensed he would never do anything to harm his sister, then he would lose her. She would deny his proposal of marriage, and call his bluff. And if she did, what then? Would he go through with his threat? He doub
ted it. No, he had to play off her fears, which would only make him more loathsome in her eyes. But there was nothing else he could do; honor, integrity, and his overriding desire demanded that they wed.

  "The choice is yours, Kassandra," he replied tersely. "You are responsible for the outcome of your decision, and whose lives will be affected by it."

  Sudden tears stung Kassandra's eyes and she quickly looked down at her tightly held wrists, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. She felt chilled to the very core of her being by his answer, so cold, so ruthlessly uncaring. What had she done to bring this upon herself? she cried wordlessly, struggling to understand. Why would he do this to her, knowing how she felt about him? She shuddered, the tears she had fought to quell coursing unchecked down her face. Sweet Lord, nothing was making sense anymore.

  "Kassandra, your answer," Stefan demanded softly.

  She started, his voice a death knell upon her heart. Yet there was one burning question she had to ask him before she would answer, one last attempt to dissuade him from shattering her life. She raised her head defiantly, her chin quivering, her vision blurred by her tears.

  "What of love, Stefan?" she asked simply, her voice almost a whisper. "Would you not seek a bride who harbored some affection for you, rather than one who hates you, who abhors you for being no better than a beast who thinks only of his own selfish desires?"

  Stefan flinched visibly at her words, which cut into him far deeper than he would ever admit. An angry tic worked along his jaw, his darkened eyes a maelstrom of unfathomable emotion. "Love has nothing to do with it, Kassandra," he said almost tonelessly. "I have no time for such a useless emotion. I am in need of a wife, in need of an heir, and I have chosen you for reasons that shall remain my own. Now make your choice."

  There is no choice! Kassandra's inner voice screamed helplessly. Either way I will lose! Mustering all the strength in her body, she suddenly twisted free of his grasp and, before he could grab her, dashed across the floor in a flurry of cream lace and flying red-gold hair. But she stopped abruptly at the nearest chair, her back to him, one hand tightly gripping the upholstered rim.

  You have already lost, Kassandra, she thought dazedly, her breasts heaving against her sheer gown. Though she would wish it a thousand times to be otherwise . . . Stefan had won. Perhaps she could endure the rest of her life branded as a whore, but she could never, never make her beloved father, and Isabel, suffer for her own folly.

  Somehow she had to accept that, however unwittingly, she had brought herself to this moment, a fleeting moment that would remain forever etched in her memory, and to a marriage in which there would never be any chance for happiness . . . or love.

  At least there was a way to prolong the inevitable, she consoled herself, lifting her hand and wiping the tears from her face, a tiny ember of hope still glowing within her. And perhaps give her the time she needed to think of a way out of this cursed agreement.

  Kassandra turned, her eyes meeting Stefan's across the room. "I will marry you."

  Stefan let out his breath, his heart pounding fiercely against his chest. He felt curiously hollow, the wild elation, the thrill of triumph conspicuously missing. "You have made a wise choice—" he began.

  "When my father returns from Germany," Kassandra broke in with a faint smile at his look of dark displeasure. "Surely you realize we cannot marry, or publicly announce our betrothal, without his consent."

  Stefan irritably ran his hand through his hair. Damn it all, that could be months. He had been so captivated by the idea of possessing her, of the marriage taking place without delay, that he had given little thought to the proprieties. He had no choice but to agree. To marry without Lord Harrington's consent would cause a scandal of its own.

  "Of course," Stefan replied tightly, moving toward her, his eyes devouring every tantalizing inch of her.

  Kassandra took a nervous step backward as he approached, clutching her nightgown and gathering it about her as if she could hide her near nakedness from his fervent gaze. Heaven help her, he wasn't going to force her to . . . to . . . ?

  Impassioned thoughts, wanton memories of a shared afternoon, rose unbidden in her mind, and she shivered, her flesh tingling. She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to dispel the throbbing images—the rugged masculinity of his body, his kiss upon her lips, the heat of his breath and hands upon her, caressing her, evoking sensations she had never before imagined were possible—but she could not. For a brief moment she was lost in the moment, reliving it, her senses reeling in a wild tempest of delirious remembrance of sight, sound, touch, taste.

  The sound of the door to her chamber creaking open forced her back to reality. Her eyes flew open to find Stefan standing in the threshold, his face lost in flickering shadow. "What—?" she choked, then flushed with embarrassment, praying he had not guessed her thoughts.

  "In the morning I will have your belongings moved to the room adjoining my own, the better to know your comings and goings," he said evenly, denying the raging fire that burned in his loins. He'd surmised her thoughts a moment ago had matched his own, and it had been all he could do to walk away from her. But he was determined not to force himself upon her again.

  That she had agreed to the marriage was enough, for now. In time, she would admit to the desire he had seen smoldering in the depths of her eyes, would admit to wanting him as much as he wanted her. Then, and only then, would he come to her.

  "If need be, Berdine will help you pack your belongings," Stefan continued. "I will not have my future bride stealing out on any more solitary trips into the city. Good night, Kassandra." He began to close the door, but a sudden idea struck him.

  "I strongly suggest you bolt your door at night, if you wish to protect your virtue, my lady," he added, noting that once again she was staring at him with venom in her eyes, her fingers curled into tight fists. "For if I ever find it unlocked, I will take it as an invitation to enter."

  "You may rest assured my door will remain barred against you," Kassandra murmured with vehemence, shaking visibly. "Now get out."

  Stefan obliged her, closing the door firmly behind him. He paused, listening to the sound of her footsteps rushing to the door, then winced as the bolt grated into place.

  He walked down the silent corridor to his chamber, sudden weariness overtaking him as he crossed to the tall window overlooking the snow-covered lawn, and stood there lost in thought.

  He felt no glory in his victory, only a bitter taste in his mouth. He had won Kassandra, but at what price? Her biting words still rang in his ears. She despised him, just as he had feared.

  What could he have done differently? Stefan agonized. If he had wooed her gently, would she have come to him on her own accord, the secret of their first meeting forgotten . . . forgiven? Perhaps, and then again, perhaps not.

  Good God, what is coming over you, man? Stefan thought grimly, clenching his fists in utter frustration. He was a soldier, a rational man, not some fool who left his fate to chance or the whims of fickle emotion. He would not undo what he had done.

  He turned abruptly from the window and sat down in the chair pulled close to the fireplace, watching as the orange flames in the dying fire curled and licked around the edges of the charred logs.

  Kassandra. It seemed she had completely taken over his every conscious thought. And when at last he fell asleep, she would be in his dreams, a vision of fiery hair, porcelain skin, and bewitching violet eyes. He knew he would never forget how proud she had looked as she agreed to his proposal; how vulnerable and defiant—and more beautiful than any other woman.

  Stefan sighed heavily, resting his head in his hand. Perhaps there was still a chance of winning some modicum of her favor before her father returned. Then she might look upon their marriage in a more promising light. It was worth a try.

  ***

  Kassandra stood with her back against the door long after Stefan's footsteps faded down the hall. She felt as if she were being ripped apart by a storm of e
motions . . . and all because of one man. She hated him—he was callous, cruel, selfish, a devil!—but no more than she hated herself.

  For despite everything he had done, everything he had said to her, she could not quench the fury of desire that raged within her. A desire that had racked and tormented her since their first meeting, a desire so beyond her comprehension that its power left her shaken, her will no longer her own.

  It was tearing out her very soul. Kassandra slumped to her knees, her realization sapping her last ounce of strength. She shook her head numbly, silent tears streaking her face. She had to defy him, or find herself forever in thrall to a man who could not love, who would use her only to beget children to carry on his name. Somehow, she vowed, her eyes closing with exhaustion, she would hurt him as much as he was hurting her now.

  "And then, Count Stefan von Furstenberg," Kassandra swore bitterly, "you will rue the day you forced this choice upon me!"

  Chapter 15

  "Stefan, is this really true?" Isabel asked breathlessly, her spoon suspended in midair, her vivid blue eyes dancing with excitement. "You and Kassandra are to be married?"

  At his simple nod, the silver spoon fell from her hand and on to the table with a tinkling clatter. She bounded out of her chair with a squeal of delight and dashed around to the other side of the dining table. When she reached him she laughingly threw her slender arms about his neck, hugging him tightly, then plopped down in the chair beside him, her delicate features alight with a curious mix of happiness and bewilderment.

  "But when was this decided, Stefan? It's so sudden, so unexpected! I had hoped you might consider it at some point . . . marrying Kassandra . . ." Isabel paused, blushing bright pink at the inadvertent confession of her secret hope, then threw up her hands, giggling sheepishly. "I mean, it was . . . I'd thought it an intriguing possibility . . . Oh, Stefan!" She looked down at her lap, flustered.