Stolen Splendor (19 page)

"Yes," he agreed. "To Kassandra."
He tossed down the fiery contents in one draft.

Sophia's hand shook as she raised the goblet to her
lips, the sweet wine nearly making her gag. Yes, to Lady Kassandra Wyndham, she
thought malevolently, smiling at Stefan. The bride who would never live to see
her wedding day.

"Now I must go," Stefan said, setting down
his glass. "There are matters I must attend to at the estate."

"Of—of course," Sophia replied, momentarily
taken aback by his abrupt manner. "I will walk with you to the door—"

"No, but thank you, Sophia. I can see my way
out," he murmured. He strode to the double doors of the salon, anxious to
be on his way. There was no sense in prolonging this meeting.

"Stefan," Sophia called out, her knuckles
white as she gripped the goblet.

"Yes?"

Sophia swallowed hard, a tremulous smile fixed upon her
face. "Please give my fondest greetings to your future bride," she
murmured.

Stefan nodded, then with a flashing smile he was gone,
his footsteps echoing across the hall, followed by the awful finality of the
front door closing behind him. Sophia waited, motionless, until the thundering
of hooves upon the drive had faded away, then she threw her goblet against the
tall enameled stove in the corner, sending shards and splinters of glass flying
everywhere.

"Adolph!" she screamed, rushing into the
hall. "Adolph!"

It was only a moment before he appeared from the
kitchen, hastily swallowing a mouthful of cold mutton and wiping his greasy
fingers on his breeches. "I am here, milady," he muttered, eyeing her
cautiously. He marveled that such a beautiful face could contort so viciously,
revealing the true nature of the woman he had no choice but to serve.

Sophia looked down at him, her hands clenched into fists,
her breasts heaving against the stiff fabric of her bodice. It was really a
simple matter, she thought shrewdly, a scheme forming in her mind as she
appraised him. Once this Kassandra was dealt with, then Stefan would come back
to her and all would be as before. And she possessed the very accomplice to
carry out her bidding . . .

"I have a task for you, Adolph, an important
task," she commanded imperiously. "One in which you will be able to
use all the . . . skills" —her eyes narrowed— "and attributes that
your previous owner claimed you possessed."

She knelt, her gaze level
with his
own
. "If you succeed in this task," she murmured sweetly,
"I will be sure to reward you well. If you fail . . ." She shook her
head, sighing regretfully. "Well, you can imagine, eh, Adolph?"

He licked his lips, nodding, a flicker of fear lighting
the depths of his black eyes.

"Good. Now come with me to my chamber, and we will
discuss this task . . . further." She rose to her feet and glided across
the polished floor to the staircase, then turned and held out her hand.
"Come along, Adolph."

Chapter 18

Kassandra closed the thin volume of English verse she
had been reading for most of the morning and leaned against the leather chair.
It had been unexpectedly generous of Stefan to allow her the use of his
extensive library, she mused, and she had done so with great pleasure on many
occasions during the past weeks—but only when she was certain he would not be
there. It was unnerving to be alone in the same room with him.

She had tried once, at his insistent invitation, to
read a book there while he was poring over various maps and manuscripts at the
massive table he used for a desk. But she had been unable to concentrate on the
page before her, his every movement, every rustle of paper,
a
jarring torment.

It seemed each time she looked up he would be studying
her intently, almost curiously, as if he sought to know what she was thinking.
His gaze alone was enough to send her mind
reeling,
tinged with the desire that was always reflected there, and something else she
could not fathom. Flustered, she had hurriedly sought her page again, but
finally gave up and fled the room, fearful that he might see her own hated
desire smoldering in her eyes.

No, it was far more to her liking to be here by
herself, among the hundreds of leather-bound volumes gracing tall shelves that
reached to the ceiling. Her gaze drifted around the large room, silent but for
the ticking of the ornate gilded clock on the mantelpiece, and she noted the
trappings—oak paneling, heavy, imposing furniture, a collection of swords and
pistols upon the walls—that gave it a decidedly masculine ambience. The only
liberty she allowed herself whenever she entered the library was to draw back
the velvet drapes so the bright winter sunlight could stream into the room.

Kassandra sighed as she set the book on a table beside
the chair, then rose to her feet and crossed to the window. She gazed out, the
sunlight warm on her face, marveling at the blinding snow covering the ground.
She had never seen a winter quite like this one, so unlike those she had known
in Sussex. It snowed very little there, if at all. Here, although it was only
January, the sparkling drifts already reached well above the lower panes of the
windows.

Kassandra's fair brow furrowed in thought. Surprisingly
enough, the deep snows had not kept them confined to the estate, as she might
have expected. The past few weeks had been a blur of activity, much of it due
to the Christmas season and the coming of the New Year. She suspected some of
it was due to the unsettling conversation she and Stefan had shared a few days
after she had moved her belongings into the sumptuous bedchamber adjoining his
own.

She had done her very best to avoid him altogether, or
at the very least spend as much time in Isabel's company as possible so he
would not catch her alone. But on this particular night Isabel had retired
early, so she'd sought the solace of the drawing room.

Sitting down at the harpsichord, she had skimmed her
fingers lightly over the keys, her lilting soprano quietly accompanying her
favorite melodies. She was so lost in her music, she did not hear the door open
and close quietly, nor did she realize Stefan was silently watching her until
his voice sounded from across the room.

"Do you play only sad melodies?" he queried
gently, stepping from the shadowed background into the flickering light cast by
the candelabra atop the harpsichord.

Kassandra's hands froze on the smooth keys, and she
flushed with sudden warmth. It never ceased to amaze her how even the sound of
his voice could send her senses reeling. But she quickly regained her
composure. "I play what is in my heart," she retorted hotly. "If
it is not to your liking, you have only to leave."

Stefan chuckled softly, seemingly unperturbed at her
tone. "Ah, but it is very much to my liking, Kassandra. You sing
beautifully," he murmured, pulling up a chair. He seated himself,
then
leaned forward, a pleasant smile on his handsome face.
"Please go on."

Kassandra had no wish to remain in this room with him.
His accommodating mood hardly suited the picture of him—cruel, callous, a
blackguard of the worse kind—she nurtured as a constant reminder of what he had
done to her.

She stood up from her chair and swept hurriedly across
the room, leaving a good distance between them. She was almost to the door when
his next question caused her to stop abruptly in her flight. Her heart lurched
within her breast.

"How did you come to be in that tavern,
Kassandra?" he asked gently.

At first she was too stunned to answer, but the
bitterness of her recollection soon forced her to speak. "What does it
matter, especially to you?"

"I wish to know," he replied softly.

Kassandra sighed heavily, pondering his request. Her
eyes stared unseeing at the intricate pattern woven into the carpet. Then she
shrugged. There was no reason not to tell him, she decided. She no longer had
anything to hide.

"I wanted to lose myself in the city," she
began, her voice a monotone. "To experience Vienna without the burden of
my identity as the daughter of an ambassador. So I dressed as a maid and set
out on my own through the streets, chancing upon a cattle parade. One of the
oxen broke loose, and there was a great deal of commotion" —she paused,
taking a deep breath, the vivid memory looming before her— "and I was
fortunate enough to stumble into the tavern, probably saving my life."

Kassandra looked directly at Stefan, her gaze locking
with his. "Yet it seems in truth I was not so fortunate. Your city was not
what I imagined it to be,
nor
its inhabitants. I lost
my life at that moment, or at least control of my own fate, almost as surely as
if I had been trampled to death," she whispered fiercely, startled to see
his expression of pain. But it quickly passed, and only a slight tension in his
square-cut jaw betrayed any emotion. "May I go now?" she queried
tersely.

His only answer was a short nod,
then
he looked away. She swept angrily from the room, and was making her way up the stairs,
guided by a footman holding a silver candlestick, when she heard him call out
her name. She turned to find him standing at the bottom, one foot resting on
the step above it, his arm braced against the balustrade . . . as if he had
stopped himself from following her.

"Beginning tomorrow, I will show you a different
Vienna," he said seriously. "One of beauty . . . and laughter."
His eyes gleamed with an intense emotion she had never before seen there.
"You cannot blame the city for what fate has ordained, Kassandra."

A stinging retort flew to her lips, but she bit it
back. She could see by his determined stance that he would not be swayed. And
she was too tired to battle with him further tonight, even if it was only a war
of words. "As you wish," she replied, turning her back on him.

***

And so it had been, Kassandra mused, absently fingering
the delicate gold chain around her neck, just as Stefan had said. During the
past weeks he had given her a glimpse of the imperial city she might never have
experienced without him, a peek into the splendid wonder that was Vienna.

A few times Isabel accompanied them, but after a while
she claimed she was not well suited for the role of chaperone. With a playful
glance at her brother, she laughingly insisted they were better off without
her. Kassandra had protested, albeit lightly, always fearful that she might
give Isabel the impression that something was amiss. It was to no avail. Like
it or not, she had to contend with Stefan as her sole companion.

Yet aside from the interminable carriage rides, which
passed in uncomfortable silence on her part and studied amusement on Stefan's,
at least she had some consolation. Everywhere he had taken her there had always
been other people, so in her mind they were never truly alone.

They attended all manner of musical events, from
impromptu concerts of flute, violin, and zither held in luxurious cafés, to the
grandest performances of the Hofmusikkapelle, or Court Orchestra, at the
Hofburg. She watched in astonishment as Charles VI himself, from sheer love of
music, conducted the orchestra from the harpsichord, his virtuosity a wonder to
behold. Stefan whispered in her ear that the emperor spent several hours each
day working at his singing and playing various instruments, as a refuge from
the burdens of power and responsibilities of court life.

They went to an opera where the wonderful singing was
nearly surpassed by the amazing light effects—a wild storm complete with
thunder and jagged streaks of lightning, then the twinkling of stars as the
veiled clouds rolled away. Remarkable whirring machines had moved the scenery
to and fro, some causing the actors to disappear beneath the floor as if by
witchery.

Stefan even took her to a puppet show, though she found
it very strange . . . a ballet performed by dwarfs and lifelike marionettes. At
times it was hard to discern what was real, and what
was
illusion
. The ballet was coupled with the latest optical effects:
lanterns that projected phantoms upon pale backdrops, eerie winds stirring the
curtain. And all the while, moaning voices carried forth from the sides and
back of the stage, sending shivers down her spine.

They had twice dined in sumptuous restaurants, Stefan
insisting she sample specialties from many nations—Slav, Italian, German, and
Czech—and varieties of wine, both red and white. Each time, she declined more
than a few sips of the fragrant vintages, fearful lest she lose control of her
wits. She was determined to remain wary of him, despite his obvious efforts to
win some measure of her favor.

For that was exactly what he was doing, Kassandra
reflected, settling
herself
on the wide windowsill.
She was no fool. For some reason Stefan was showing her a different side of
himself, more like the man Isabel had so fondly described to her before she had
met him. In the fascinating whirl of the past weeks it was all Kassandra could
do to remind herself of his true character, lurking just beneath his
devastating charm.

Kassandra's eyes darkened, her head racked with
turmoil. She would be a liar to say she was not affected by him. Each passing
day was becoming an increasing torment for her, and she had still to think of a
way out of her predicament. She tugged with exasperation at the jeweled locket
dangling from her necklace,
then
looked down at it,
wincing. Set with precious rubies and diamonds, it caught the sunlight,
glittering brightly in the palm of her hand.

Kassandra cursed under her breath. Stefan had given her
the necklace on Christmas Day with a touching sincerity that had left her
breathless and perplexed. She had wanted to refuse it, but he had a deliberate
habit of presenting her with gifts in front of Isabel, so she had no choice but
to accept. He had drawn it about her neck, his fingers brushing lightly against
her nape as he fastened the clasp, causing her to tremble. The locket fell just
above the hollow between her breasts, its smooth weight against the beating of
her heart a much-needed reminder of his selfish treachery.