Stolen Splendor (21 page)

Stepping into the snow-packed street, Kassandra did not
hear the thundering hooves until they were almost upon her.

"Look out, miss!" a woman screamed behind
her. "Oh God, the carriage!"

Kassandra turned her head, her eyes widening in horror
as a black carriage, led by four galloping horses—like snorting dragons, she
thought fleetingly—careened directly at her. There was no time to flee. She
closed her eyes, bracing herself for the awful impact.

Suddenly she was yanked violently backwards and hit
something broad and hard. The breath was knocked from her body and her eyes
flew open in surprise, just in time to see a face peering out at her from the
dark interior of the carriage as it raced by her, the deadly metal-rimmed
wheels barely a foot away.

Kassandra gasped for air, her dazed mind unable to
register that visage. Then she realized. It was the dwarf from the theater! But
her thoughts were interrupted as she was roughly spun around, and enveloped in
a fierce embrace, that left her feet dangling above the ground.

"Kassandra, my love," Stefan murmured
raggedly against her silken hair, his heart clamoring within his chest. Dear
God, if he had arrived a moment later! He shuddered, drawing her closer, her
jasmine scent enveloping his senses. In the next instant a great surge of anger
welled up inside him, and he wanted to shake her for her incredible folly. He
set her down so abruptly that her head snapped back, his hands gripping her
upper arms like a vise, his eyes searching her ashen face with grim intensity.

"Good God, woman, what were you thinking?" he
demanded, his voice dangerously low. "You could have been killed."
With a brusque nod he indicated where he had left her standing. "I told
you to wait over there."

Kassandra stared up at him, dumbstruck. Stefan had
saved her! Yet his harsh tone stirred her own anger, and she railed at him, her
eyes flashing. "What do you mean, what was I thinking? What were you
thinking, to leave me standing on the corner, freezing to death? None of this
would have happened if you had asked Zoltan to wait for us near the front of
the theater!"

Stunned by her shrewish tone, Stefan loosened his grip
on her arms, though he did not release her. Obviously she was overwrought by
what had happened . . . perhaps even in shock, he thought grimly, noting the
pallor of her skin and her glittering, overbright eyes. He sighed heavily. It
was best to leave at once for the estate.

"Zoltan!" he called out, waving his arm. The
carriage, set on smooth wooden traineaus that enabled it to be drawn through
the deep snow like a sleigh, pulled up alongside them. Zoltan jumped to the
ground with a grunt, his dark eyes clouded with concern, and held the door open
as Stefan lifted Kassandra and stepped up into the carriage.

"Drive swiftly, man," Stefan muttered as the
door closed firmly behind them. Zoltan nodded, then climbed into his seat and
cracked his whip above the heads of the dappled horses. The carriage jerked
into motion,
then
slid effortlessly along the winding
street, guided by lighted lanterns swinging from curved hooks on both sides of
the front panels.

Atop his lap, Kassandra struggled against Stefan's firm
hold on her, but finally slumped against his chest in futility. A ragged sigh
escaped her as she glanced up at him, his expression barely discernible in the
dark interior.

"I can assure you, my lord," she said through
gritted teeth, "that I am quite able to sit upon the seat without your
assistance." To emphasize her words she wriggled some more, but to no
avail. He merely tightened his arms.

"Be still, Kassandra," he admonished softly,
yet in a tone that brooked no argument. He said no more, but held her against
him all the way back to the estate as if he would never let her go.

Chapter 20

Adolph walked slowly into the darkened hall of the von
Starenberg villa, its high ceiling and paneled walls draped in black crepe. His
every step took great effort as he made his way to the salon where the
archduchess awaited him, or, more aptly, he thought with a grimace, awaited the
news she longed to hear . . . that Lady Kassandra Wyndham was dead . . . as
dead as her own recently departed husband.

Outside the double doors, he inhaled a great breath.
The archduchess would not be pleased, he thought miserably,
then
defiantly clenched his small hands.

"What's the matter with you, Adolph?" he
chided himself in an indignant whisper. The devil knew
,
he had faced worse before. Let the witch do with him what she would. He squared
his narrow shoulders with false bravado and rapped boldly on the door.

"Enter," a dusky voice sounded from within,
bringing on a fit of trembling. He swallowed hard as he opened one of the doors
and stepped into the salon,
then
froze at the
incongruous sight of his beautiful mistress, dressed from head to toe in black
mourning. Her topaz eyes gleamed in the candlelight, reminding him fleetingly
of a cat just before it pounced on its unwitting prey.

"What news have you, Adolph?" Sophia asked
breathlessly, rising from her chair and walking toward him. "Have your
little spy games paid off? Were you able to find your quarry?"

Adolph nodded slowly. "It was a perfect
opportunity, milady, the one I had been awaiting for many weeks." He
looked down, gaining courage, then raised his head and steadily met her gaze,
though he was quaking in his boots. "But it was not to be."

"Not to be?" Sophia queried sharply, her
expression hardening. "Spare me your riddles, Adolph. Tell me simply—does
she still live?"

"Y-yes, milady," he stammered, taking a small
step backward, then rushed on in hasty explanation. "It was the count
himself who saved her from the wheels of the carriage. Death was so close,
milady, only a hair's breadth away—"

"Then you will have to try again, Adolph," Sophia
cut him off, gripping the starched fabric of her skirt and turning away.
"And still again, if need be, until the task is completed."

Adolph gaped at her stiff back, stunned by her simple
response. It was so unlike the blind rage—and the beating—he had expected.
"V-very well, milady," he managed.

"Now leave me."

Adolph turned on his heel so suddenly that he nearly
bumped into the door. With his heart thumping in his chest, he hurried from the
salon and fled across the hall and up the stairs as if the hounds of Satan were
snapping at his heels.

***

"I'm fine, Isabel, truly I am," Kassandra
insisted, throwing back the woolen blankets the countess had draped on top of
the goosedown coverlet on her bed. "It was only a scare, nothing more. I
don't have a fever, or chills, and I certainly don't need these extra blankets.
But I am tired—"

"Of course you are tired, Kassandra; forgive
me," Isabel interjected, her delicate features etched with anxious
concern. She wrung her small hands together, at a loss. "Are you sure
there isn't something I may bring you—hot tea, perhaps, or a sip of brandy to
help you sleep?"

Kassandra shook her head and settled back upon the soft
pillows. "You are so kind, Isabel, to worry after me so, but I think all I
need now is a good rest." She smiled and held out her hand, and Isabel
rushed forward, squeezing it affectionately. "With Prince Eugene's dinner
gala tomorrow, you should also get some rest."

Isabel nodded. Indeed she was tired, and after this
unexpected turn to the evening, she could hardly wait to seek the solace of her
bed. Her nerves were fairly frazzled. "Very well, then," she agreed.
"But I shall have Berdine sit outside your door for a while in case you
need anything." She bent and lightly kissed Kassandra's forehead. "I
am only grateful Stefan was there with you, Kassandra. I cannot bear to think
of what might have—" She stopped abruptly, shuddering. "Well, it's
enough that you are safe. Sleep well."

Kassandra watched as Isabel cupped her hand and blew
out the candles beside the bed, then turned, and with a last glance over her
shoulder, quietly left the darkened room.

Kassandra sighed heavily and closed her eyes, longing
for sleep. Instead her thoughts flew unbidden to the vivid image of the black
carriage bearing down upon her. She tensed, in her mind's eyes reliving the
terrifying moment, then just as suddenly her body relaxed as she recalled the
soothing strength of Stefan's arms.

It was as if he had come out of nowhere to save her
from certain death, she mused, remembering the stricken look on his face, his
breath warm and comforting against her hair. And he had said something to her .
. . What was it? She tried in vain to recall his words, but they escaped her,
lost forever in the panic of that moment.

Another face, malevolent and cold, loomed suddenly in
her memory, and she shivered despite the warmth of the coverlet drawn up under
her chin. Had it been the dwarf peering out at her from the carriage?
she
wondered. It had all happened so fast, she really wasn't
sure anymore. Perhaps she had only imagined it . . .

No, she didn't want to think of that odd little dwarf,
or the dreadful incident, anymore. She rolled onto her side, plumping the
pillows beneath her head,
then
froze at the sound of
muffled voices just outside her door. She could not make out the words, but she
recognized Berdine's girlish chatter, and the richer, deeper voice . . .
Stefan's.

Kassandra sat upright in her bed, her hand flying to
her throat. Sweet Lord, she had forgotten to bolt the door to her chamber! She
frantically threw back the thick coverlet and swung her legs over the side of
the mattress, then ran barefooted to the door and slid the bolt firmly into
place. Relief swept through her at the sound of his footsteps moving down the
hall,
then
they faded altogether.

Kassandra walked slowly back to bed, her forehead
crinkled in thought. She had not seen Stefan since they had arrived back at the
estate. He had carried her up the stairs and into her chamber, laying her
gently on the bed. For a fleeting moment it had seemed he wanted to tell her
something,
then
Isabel had rushed into the room,
clearly overwrought and demanding to know what had happened. After a terse
explanation on his part, Stefan had abruptly left them.

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.