Stolen Splendor (22 page)

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 over 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 the only sensual diversion he allowed himself.
Kassandra's request had merely appealed to his love of books and his great
pride in his library.