Stolen Splendor (16 page)

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 emotions . . . 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.

Stefan's deep laughter resounded through the
high-ceilinged room. He was unused to seeing his poised and sophisticated
younger sister at a complete loss. He lifted her chin, his gray eyes twinkling
with merriment, a tender smile curving his lips. It was best to have her think
she had some hand in the matter, he decided quickly.

"Your matchmaking has been no secret to me,
Isabel," he said fondly. "Let me think. I believe you said something
about my being a . . . now, what was it again? Oh yes. A warrior knight."

Isabel blushed anew at his teasing, but she smiled back
at him. "You're impossible, Stefan," she blurted. "Now tell me,
when did you propose—"

"Last night," he broke in, his smile
tightening imperceptibly. "When I returned from Vienna."

"It must have been late. I waited up for you until
ten o'clock,
then
decided to broach the matter this
morning."

"What matter?"

"About Kassandra. She spent the entire day locked
in her room," she said with concern, as Stefan turned his attention to the
table, absently toying with the fork beside his plate, a plausible story taking
shape in his mind. "Gisela saw her come in from her ride. She fled to her
room without a word to anyone, slammed and bolted her door shut, and when I
pleaded with her to come out, she would only say she wanted to be left
alone!"

"I can easily explain, Isabel," Stefan said,
turning back to her. "We had a slight disagreement before I left for
Vienna yesterday morning, a situation that could not be remedied until I
returned late last night. But all is well now, as you can surmise from my
news."

"So that was it . . . a lover's quarrel,"
Isabel breathed with relief. She regarded him sharply. "You must have
really upset her, Stefan. I have never heard her so distressed. What could you
have possibly—
"

"The matter was between Kassandra and
myself
," Stefan interjected, his expression strained.
"Forgive me, Stefan," Isabel apologized, chiding herself for
overstepping her bounds. They might be brother and sister, and very close, but
they each had the right to privacy when it came to personal matters. She would
no doubt have done the same if he had questioned her so tactlessly about Miles.

Isabel immediately sought to brighten the tone of the
conversation and dispel the unsettling tension. "Have you considered a
date for the wedding ceremony?" she asked lightly, curling her small hand
within his.

Stefan sighed, his brow furrowing. The thought of
possibly waiting until early spring to claim Kassandra as his own was almost
more than he could bear. "That decision will have to wait until your Miles
returns from Hanover and gives his consent to the marriage," he stated
darkly.

Isabel did not miss the sudden coldness in his eyes,
though she misread it. "But surely you don't think he will deny you,
Stefan," she exclaimed. "He will be most amenable, I am sure of
it."

She rose with a rustle of crisp silk and rested her arm
reassuringly across his broad shoulders. "I will write to him this very
moment, before I leave for Countess von Thurn's gala, and tell him the happy
news. Then if you could post the letter in the city today" —she paused,
thinking out loud— "let me see, it will probably take the post-carriage
one or two weeks to reach Hanover, hmmm, maybe longer if the snows are deep . .
." She shrugged. "Well, he shall at least have it soon after the New
Year."

Small comfort, Stefan thought wryly. Even if Lord Harrington
received the letter within a few weeks, it did not necessarily mean its
contents would hasten his return to Vienna. He would probably remain in Hanover
as long as King George and his entourage were holding court there, in all
likelihood until the worst of the snow had melted and the roads were once again
safe to travel. It was well known that the German-born king of England held
little regard for the city of London, and no ability or inclination to speak
the language. Surely he would linger in his home city to the last possible
moment.

Stefan shook off his disgruntled thoughts, forcing a
smile. "Go write your letter, Isabel, and bring it to me in the library
when you are finished. I have an appointment this afternoon in the city, so I
will post it then."

"An appointment?" Isabel asked, searching his
face. An odd thought struck her, her red lips drawing into a pout. Surely he
wasn't going to visit Sophia, not after what he had told her about Kassandra.
"Stefan—"

"You know me too well, sister," Stefan interrupted
her, reading her sullen expression. "Yes, I'm going to see Sophia—"

"But surely it is over between you," Isabel
blurted angrily. "How can you do this—
"

"Hear me out," Stefan admonished gently,
taking her hand. "It is for that very reason that I must see her. Sophia
and I have been friends—"

"Friends?" Isabel interjected with unusual
sarcasm, her eyes flashing.

"Yes, friends, for a long time. And
it's
best she hear of Kassandra, and our plans to be
married, from me. She deserves that much, Isabel."

Isabel sighed in frustration. Archduchess von
Starenberg deserved nothing, as far as she was concerned. But she knew she had
little sway over her brother's will. When he made up his mind to do something,
it might as well be set in stone. "Very well, Stefan, do what you must. I
am only glad you are at last breaking your . . . ties with that woman."

Her mood lifted at that gratifying thought. She bent
and kissed him on the cheek, then hurried through the open archway. "It
won't take long to write my letter, Stefan," she said over her shoulder.
"I shall only fill it with news of you and Kassandra. I have another
letter already written for Miles, if you could post it as well." Then she
was gone, her footsteps tapping across the parquet floor.

Stefan groaned, rubbing his forehead. His life had
certainly changed since his return from the campaign, yet it was much the same.
Just a few months ago he had been in the lowlands of Hungary, fighting
alongside his men against the Turks, Tartars, and fierce Magyar tribesmen, and
now here he was, doing battle with women instead.

He rose from the chair, threw his linen napkin on the
table, and strode from the dining room. He only hoped his meeting with Sophia
would be less fraught with difficulty.

***

Kassandra walked briskly up the steps leading to the
front entrance of the mansion, exhilarated from her morning ride, her troubles
temporarily forgotten. She cast a casual glance at the carriage fronted by four
horses pawing anxiously at the frozen ground of the drive, then smiled broadly
as she spied Zoltan atop the coachman's seat.

"Good morning to ye, miss," he shouted out
heartily, lifting the woolen cap off his dark head with a flourish.

"And to you, Zoltan," she enthused, pausing
on the last step. "Where are you bound this morning?"

"I'm takin' the countess to the von Thurn estate,
not far from here," he replied, turning from her suddenly to scold one of
the lead horses for leaning too heavily into its harness. "Whoa there,
boy," he yelled out, pulling hard on the reins. "We'll be off in a
flash, ye devil, so hold with ye."

Kassandra could not help laughing at Zoltan's colorful
oaths. Her eyes were still on him as she moved toward the door, and she almost
bumped into Isabel, who was just stepping outside. She gasped in surprise,
drawing back.

"Kassandra!" Isabel exclaimed. "I was
hoping to see you before I left for the gala. Stefan has told me your wonderful
news. I'm so happy for both of you!"

Kassandra blushed hotly, the feelings she had managed
to escape during her ride overpowering her once again. So already he was
proclaiming his victory to the world, she thought angrily. She swallowed hard,
stiffening as Isabel embraced her.

No, she must not give Isabel cause to think anything
was
amiss,
Kassandra chided herself, willing her body
to relax. She suddenly remembered something Stefan had said the night before
about putting an end to the charade. She smiled at the irony. For her, the
charade was only beginning.

"Th-thank you, Isabel," Kassandra murmured,
bringing her arms up from her sides and returning the countess's embrace.

Isabel drew back, chattering excitedly. "There's
so much we have to talk about, and so much to do. Perhaps we could even share a
ceremony, Kassandra; wouldn't that be lovely? You and Stefan, your father and
me." She smiled and pulled two sealed envelopes from her pocket. "And
I have already written a letter to Miles, this one here; the other I wrote to
him yesterday" —she flushed a becoming pink— "urging him to return as
soon as possible. I know he has his diplomatic mission to consider, but perhaps
it is nearing completion. We shall hope as much . .
. "

Isabel stopped, a frown creasing her forehead. "I
asked Stefan if he would post these letters for me when he goes into the city
this afternoon, but he's not in the library. I thought perhaps he might be in
the stable, saddling Brand, and I was about to take them to him."

"I just came from the stable," Kassandra
said, her eyes fixed on the letters. "I didn't see him there."

"Oh, dear, and I really don't have time to look
for him." Isabel sighed,
then
brightened.
"Could you find him, Kassandra, and give him my letters?"

"Of-of course," she replied, her mouth
suddenly dry. Her fingers trembled as Isabel handed her the two small packets.

"Good! Now I must go, or I will be late for
Countess von Thurn's gala. We can talk more when I return." Isabel clasped
Kassandra's arm, squeezing it warmly. "I'm so glad you're to be not only
my stepdaughter, but my sister as well," she said sincerely. Then she
turned away in a swirl of luxuriant gray fur and dusky blue velvet, and walked
quickly to the carriage while Kassandra stepped through the front door, held
open for her by the bewigged footman.

"And do tell Stefan not to worry about your
father's consent," Kassandra heard her call as the carriage pulled away.
"I'm sure Miles will be elated with your choice of a husband."

Kassandra flinched at Isabel's words, tightly clenching
the letters. When she realized with a start what she was doing, she opened her
palm and stared at them, the fine loops and curves of Isabel's handwriting
burning like a brand into her mind. It was only the sound of Stefan's footsteps
moving along the corridor at the top of the staircase that brought her back to
reality, and she quickly came to a decision.