Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Wasn't it just like him to wait until Isabel had gone to her chamber, then try Kassandra's door! He was obviously thinking only of his own selfish desires, even after she had almost been killed. She brushed off a niggling thought that he might have simply come to inquire after her, perhaps to see that she was well. No, that was unlikely. Such concern did not match his true character!

  Kassandra plopped down on the edge of her bed, then restlessly rose once again and moved to the window, the folds of her linen nightgown swirling about her slim legs. She leaned against the sill and gazed out over the snow-covered lawn, glowing an eerie white in the light of the full moon. Then she tilted her head back, marveling at the myriad stars glittering in the dark blue heavens. It never ceased to amaze her how there could be so much turmoil in the world, and in her own life, yet the night sky was always so peaceful . . .

  An odd shiver disrupted her quiet reflection. Why did she feel someone was watching her? She looked down, her eyes widening at the sight of a cloaked figure seated atop a black horse just below her window. Though she could not see the rider's upturned face in the dark, she instinctively knew who it was.

  Her breath caught in her throat as Stefan sharply veered the stallion about in a spray of glittering snow and set off at a breakneck gallop down the drive. In a moment he was gone, disappearing into the darkness as he had done so many other nights while she watched from her window, wondering where he was going . . .

  Probably on his way to see that mistress of his. Kassandra sniffed with feigned indifference. Or perhaps some other tart he'd found in a tavern somewhere. A stab of jealousy pierced her, surprising in its fierceness. But she quickly stifled it and turned furiously from the window.

  She didn't care one whit where Stefan was off to! she raged, throwing herself on her bed. But jealousy flared in her heart once again as she imagined him in another woman's arms, a statuesque beauty with almond eyes . . . and she knew she lied. Heaven help her, she did care, more than she would ever admit. And this startling realization only made the harsh reality of her predicament even harder to bear.

  Kassandra futilely pounded her fist into the bed, outraged tears filling her eyes. Bastard! To think he would use her only to beget children, yet all the while continue his whoring with his mistresses, too.

  She cried until she was spent, her wracking sobs fueled by confusion, anger, and hopelessness, then she rolled onto her back and wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She felt dazed, numb, yet one thought echoed in her mind. Somehow she had to find a way to defy him. Somehow . . .

  Suddenly an idea of such simplicity, such clarity took her breath away. It was perfect! She turned on her side and leaned on one elbow, propping her head in her hand, her expression rebelliously determined.

  "I will find a lover," Kassandra murmured. If she was condemned to a loveless marriage, it would only be fair. It was an accepted practice in Vienna for married women to have their paramours, obliging gentlemen who supplied the affection and devotion missing in many an arranged—or forced—marriage. She, for one, had no intention of going through her life without ever knowing what it was to love and be loved in return.

  Feeling a sudden chill through the thin fabric of her nightgown, Kassandra crawled under the coverlet and settled into the snug warmth of her bed, a plan taking shape in her mind. Yes, that was exactly what she would do. Though she wasn't yet married, there was no harm in casting her eye about for a lover. Then when the wretched day of her wedding finally arrived—if she could find no way to escape it—and she became Countess von Furstenberg, she would have someone to give her what Stefan could not. . .

  Growing drowsy, Kassandra closed her heavy eyelids. What would he be like? she wondered languidly, attempting to conjure a vision of this future lover. But as sleep overcame her all she could think of was a man with piercing gray eyes with a hint of blue, hair as black as midnight, and a smile that even now dared her to enact her plan.

  Chapter 21

  "So this is the famous Winter Palace," Kassandra breathed excitedly, her gaze sweeping the length of the building as Stefan lifted her from the carriage, his strong hands encircling her slender waist beneath her cape. He set her down gently upon the walk, a black brow lifted in puzzlement at her winsome smile, surprisingly directed at him.

  "And you say Prince Eugene lives here all alone, Stefan, in this massive place?" she asked, enchanted by the way the high white walls gleamed golden in the light of the streetlamps. She accepted his proffered arm.

  Stefan nodded, the light pressure of her hand in the crook of his arm and the sound of his name upon her lips unexpected favors. She called him by his name so rarely, usually making do with either his title, a simple 'my lord,' or, he considered wryly, a wide range of colorful expletives that would set a nun's ears to burning.

  Come to think of it, he mused, walking alongside her to the main entranceway, she was unusually animated this evening. He had seen her laughing and conversing gaily in Isabel's presence, but never alone with him . . . at least not since those first few weeks at the estate when they had spent a great deal of time together and she had played out her pretty charade with remarkable verisimilitude. But Isabel would not be with them tonight. She had taken ill at the last moment with a headache, so it was just he and Kassandra in attendance at the gala.

  He was amazed that Kassandra had agreed to accompany him after the shock she had suffered the night before at the theater. Then again, he thought ruefully, she had been well enough to bolt the door when he had neared her chamber to inquire after her comfort.

  A few moments later, when he had saddled Brand and was preparing to ride from the estate, he had spied her at her window, gazing dreamily at the moon. He had been mesmerized by the ethereal picture she made, the fiery luster of her hair in stunning contrast to her creamy skin and flowing white nightgown.

  He gazed down at her as she walked past the long line of gleaming carriages, as much a vision now as she had been the night before. Her eyes shone with excitement and her cheeks blushed with a healthy glow. Yes, all in all, she had made a remarkable recovery.

  Which was more than he could say for himself, he thought, feeling strangely subdued. He had spent the night at his hunting lodge, not for fear he might be tempted to break down her door, but because he needed to be alone. Kassandra's close brush with death had shaken him deeply, unleashing a barrage of feelings within him. He had slept little, instead pacing the wood-planked floor and raging at the four walls over what he had done to her, and agonizing about what he could do to make amends . . . to show her how much he loved her—

  His expression grew mildly self-mocking. Yes, he, Stefan von Furstenberg, a man who had sworn he would never be ruled by his emotions, had finally fallen in love, and it had taken a near disaster for him to realize it.

  Ah, but this dinner gala was neither the time nor the place to bare his soul to her. When the time was right, he would know it.

  His lips drew into a faint smile. This shift in her manner seemed to be evidence that perhaps her heart had softened toward him. Yet it was so sudden, he couldn't help wondering how it had come about.

  Could it simply be gratitude for saving her life? Or had his efforts of these past weeks at last won her favor and acceptance? Whatever it was, it was enough to give him some hope that all was not lost between them.

  Kassandra paused in front of the center doorway, the largest of the three flanking the street. She tilted her head back to admire the monumental building, created by the joint efforts of Vienna's greatest architects, Hildebrandt and Fischer von Erlach. There were seventeen tall windows on the first story, above each window an elaborate ornament, while the three windows above the doorways had graceful balconies. The building was crowned with a richly sculptured frieze, a balustrade, and eighteen statues, each posed differently.

  "Impressive, isn't it?"

  Kassandra felt Stefan tense at the unfamiliar though pleasant male voice. How strange, she thought, glancing ov
er her shoulder to return a most engaging smile. The extremely stylish aristocrat standing just to her left seemed hardly the person to elicit such a reaction from Stefan. He looked harmless enough, in his powdered bobwig and elaborate plum-colored coat bedecked with frothy cream lace.

  "Yes, it is," Kassandra replied, suppressing an urge to giggle. She had never before seen such a preening dandy. She extended her hand as he stepped beside her, then glanced up pointedly at Stefan.

  He caught her look, and frowned with displeasure. "Lady Kassandra Wyndham . . . Count Frederick Althann," he said gruffly. He watched disdainfully as the younger man pulled his tricornered hat from his head with a decidedly feminine flourish, then bent over Kassandra's gloved hand and lightly kissed her fingers.

  "I am most honored," Frederick murmured pleasantly. He straightened, his gaze moving to Stefan. "I have not had the pleasure of congratulating you, Count von Furstenberg, on the glorious success of the last campaign. As ever, your legendary valor is to be commended."

  Stefan merely nodded in acknowledgment. "If you will excuse us, Count Althann," he said tersely, cueing Kassandra with a light squeeze on her elbow. She looked up at him, perplexed by his rudeness, then sighed and walked with him up the curved steps and through the entranceway, determined to query him about his behavior later. She sensed that the young count followed not far behind, and when Stefan wasn't looking, she threw him an apologetic smile.

  A flurry of liveried servants rushed to and fro in the marble hall just beyond the entranceway, taking capes, canes, and hats from the arriving guests. As Stefan shrugged off his dark woolen cloak, Kassandra could not help but notice how strikingly handsome he looked this evening.

  He was dressed with intensely masculine flair, from the fine cut of his brocade coat, a deep burgundy that heightened his bronzed coloring, and the laced waistcoat beneath it that stretched across the powerful breadth of his chest and shoulders, to the dark breeches that hugged his muscled thighs, and the well-fitting black boots that came to just below his knees. He wore no wig—he had been vocal on several occasions regarding how much he despised them—and though it went against fashion, his thick hair was tied together at his nape with a black ribbon.

  It suited him, Kassandra mused, lowering her eyes as she smoothed a satin flounce on her gown. For if there was one thing she had learned about Stefan von Furstenberg, it was that he was his own man, and did exactly as he pleased.

  She looked up, not surprised to find him also appraising her. Liquid warmth raced through her limbs as his heated gaze moved slowly over her, from the elegant coif of her hair, which had been swept up and fastened at her crown with two silver combs, then allowed to tumble down her back in a riot of curls interwoven with silver ribbon, to her satin shoes, which peeked from beneath the hem of her skirt. Her gown was a rich sapphire-blue concoction bedecked with matching satin ribbons and delicately embroidered flowers in silver threads, and a daringly low neckline that showed off to perfection her flawless breasts and shoulders.

  Kassandra used her fluttering fan to hide her smile. She had once sworn never to wear such a gown again, but on this occasion she was pleased by his obvious approval. She had dressed for the dinner gala with special care, and she was determined to enjoy herself, even to the extent of letting down her guard toward Stefan. She did not want their verbal sparring to spoil this evening.

  For, though as a rule she disliked these social gatherings and was not accustomed to playing the coquette, tonight was different. Tonight was the perfect opportunity to begin her search for a lover. And if Stefan found her alluring, perhaps other gentlemen might as well . . .

  Kassandra again took Stefan's arm as they were ushered up the white spiraling staircase, which was supported at the landings by writhing stone giants, and into the ballroom. A portly footman announced their names in reserved tones to the thirty or so guests present.

  Kassandra's gaze swept with pleasure about the well-appointed room, lit by gleaming chandeliers holding hundreds of candles. Although this room was built on a much smaller scale than the ballroom at the Hofburg, it far surpassed it in richness of decoration and furnishing, like a finely wrought jewel box filled with gems.

  She marveled at the profusion of gilding and elaborate carving about the tall windows and the doors leading to the balconies. The windows were polished to a sparkling shine and framed by curtains of the finest Genoa damask, the hems fringed in gold lace. Paintings by well-known masters graced the paneled walls, while manicured orange and lemon trees were set about in large gilt pots. In the center of the ballroom, a curved table in the shape of a horseshoe was dressed with the whitest of linen tablecloths, polished silver candelabra, and china plates edged with gold.

  "As you can see," Stefan murmured, following her gaze, "the emperor well rewards those who serve him. For a man who has saved our country from the Turks, there can never be enough praise or compensation."

  Kassandra nodded, following him through the throng of guests to where Prince Eugene was engrossed in sober discourse with a thin, sallow-faced man, who, like most everyone in the room, seemed to tower over him. The general turned at their approach, his dark eyes flickering over her and quickly lighting with recognition.

  "Lady Kassandra Wyndham," he murmured graciously, his lips barely grazing her fingers. "It is a distinct pleasure to see you again." He glanced at Stefan, his expression genuinely warm. "I should commend you, Count, for escorting such rare beauty to my hall. Rousseau here" —he nodded toward the middle-aged man at his side— "would do well to set his pen to paper and write a glorious ode in her honor." He quickly commenced introductions to the celebrated French poet, who was under his patronage during a brief stay in Vienna.

  "I am charmed, mademoiselle," Rousseau murmured, bending over her hand. He straightened, studying her intently, as a painter might appraise a model. "My kind patron is most apt in his assessment of your beauty. You are lovely indeed. I would be delighted to compose a poem for you."

  His peaked features grew animated as he warmed to his favorite subject. "In truth, I have begun one already, dedicated to the beauteous ladies of the Viennese court. Each verse is represented by a different flower. When completed, it will be a bouquet of prose to enrapture the senses. Hmmm . . . which shall you be?"

  "I love roses," Kassandra offered, flattered. "Cream roses, tipped with scarlet."

  "So it shall be," the poet agreed with a thin smile.

  "You will have to meet Count Stefan's sister, Rousseau," Prince Eugene said with indulgent humor. "No doubt you will wish to include her in your composition as well." He glanced around the room. "But where is Countess Isabel?"

  "Unfortunately she has taken ill," Stefan began, his gaze moving from Kassandra's pleased expression to his general.

  "Nothing serious, I trust."

  "No, my lord, but she sends her fond greetings, and her regrets. She had been looking forward to this evening for some time."

  "As have I," Kassandra broke in, smiling prettily. "Isabel has told me that you possess a remarkable library, sir. Perhaps I might have the opportunity to view your collection at some point in the evening?"

  "So, an intellectual as well," Prince Eugene remarked, his sparse brow lifting with interest. The faintest of smiles touched his serious face. "An unusual trait in a woman, but one to be admired and encouraged." He held out his arm to her. "I fear that once the banquet begins, there will be little chance for a tour, my lady. But if you would care to view the library at this moment, I would be more than happy to show you its treasures."

  "Oh, yes, that would be delightful," Kassandra agreed, taking his arm. She glanced at Stefan. "Do you mind—"

  "Not at all," he interjected evenly, quelling his sharp jealousy. The emotion startled him, for it was not one he had ever felt before, and so strongly. Yet he knew he had nothing to fear from his commanding general. Prince Eugene's life was devoted to his passion for military conquest and strategy, his longstanding affair with Countess Eleanor Batthyany t
he only sensual diversion he allowed himself. Kassandra's request had merely appealed to his love of books and his great pride in his library.

  "Will you accompany us, Rousseau?" Prince Eugene queried. "I would swear you know more about my library than I."

  Stefan watched silently as Kassandra and Prince Eugene strolled arm in arm from the ballroom, followed by the poet. He could not help chuckling. Obviously his general was far more aware of propriety than he had allowed.

  "Oh, what a pity." A woman's sultry voice broke into his thoughts, a bejeweled hand pressing intimately upon his arm. "And I was so hoping to congratulate her on your marriage plans, Stefan."

  He turned, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. "Sophia," he murmured with a short nod. "You look well." His gaze flickered over her, the black satin gown she was wearing incongruously extravagant for a woman in mourning. "Kassandra will return shortly, and you may greet her then," he continued tersely. "Though I must ask you to refrain from discussing our marriage openly. Consent has not yet been given."

  "Oh, yes, Stefan, forgive me," Sophia murmured, removing her hand from his arm. "I had forgotten." She gazed up at him from beneath thick, curling lashes. "There has been so much on my mind of late."

  Stefan shifted uncomfortably, chiding himself for his callous lack of manners. "I was saddened to hear the news of your husband's death," he offered in a gentler tone. "Though many a man would envy such a peaceful end. Archduke von Starenberg was a respected minister of the court. I am sure the emperor will miss his thoughtful wisdom, as well as his company."

  Sophia sighed deeply, averting her gaze. "Yes," she agreed. "It was so kind of Prince Eugene to invite me to this splendid gala," she exclaimed, abruptly changing the subject. "I can hardly wait for the dancing later. I have not been out of the house since—" She glanced back at him, wrinkling her nose in distaste, then caught herself. She turned away, feigning a light sneeze. "Excuse me, Stefan," she said, pulling a black lace handkerchief from her pocket and delicately dabbing her nose.