Stolen Splendor (23 page)

"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.

Stefan eyed her quizzically, laughter welling up inside
him. He had almost been fooled by her display of grief, but this last gesture
confirmed his suspicions. He knew Sophia far too well. She had never expressed
any concern for her husband while he was alive. Why should it be different
after his death? He lifted her chin, her topaz eyes meeting his steadily.

"Sophia, you cannot fool me," he said,
smiling. "You are incredibly wealthy and free at last from a marriage you
despised. Now, tell me. What will you do with this newfound freedom?"

Sophia did not speak for the briefest instant, her gaze
softening,
then
her red lips drew into a smile.
"Oh . . . there are many things to occupy me for a time," she
breathed huskily. "But when they are completed, perhaps I shall seek a
husband . . . someone who is more worthy of me."

"Then as you drank a toast to me, I shall drink to
you," Stefan offered gallantly. He signaled to- a servant bearing a silver
tray laden with crystal glasses filled with red wine. With a flourish he took
two glasses from the tray and held one out to her, then lifted his own.
"To this most worthy of husbands . . . may he bring you
happiness.
"

Sophia raised the glass to her lips and drank deeply,
her eyes never leaving his face.

Chapter 22

"Your knowledge of literature is extraordinary,"
Prince Eugene complimented Kassandra as they walked along the hall leading back
to the ballroom, the thin poet following them like a discreet shadow. "My
library is open to you whenever you should take a fancy to visit it," he
offered graciously.

Kassandra smiled her thanks. She studied with interest
the paintings, lustrous clusters of rock crystal displayed on marble pedestals,
and alabaster statues he pointed out to her along the way, his comments
punctuated by knowledgeable remarks from Rousseau. She had very much enjoyed
her tour, even though it had passed so quickly, and truly hoped she would have
occasion to visit the palace again.

Prince Eugene had shown her not only his magnificent
library, which was filled from floor to ceiling with thousands of books bound
in Moroccan and Turkish leather dyed red, blue, and yellow, but also three
drawing rooms hung with portraits, both life-size and miniature, and the finest
tapestries from Brussels. He had even allowed her a glimpse of the Blue Room, with
its splendid furnishings upholstered in complementary shades of blue and
turquoise, and the Golden Cabinet, its walls hung with shimmering gold brocade.

"And now, Lady Kassandra, I must take my
leave," Prince Eugene murmured, with a courteous bow, at the entrance to
the ballroom. "The banquet is soon to begin, and I must see that all is in
readiness. Perhaps we may have a chance to converse again later in the
evening."

He lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her
fingers. "You have been most charming, my lady," he added, his dark
eyes twinkling kindly. "Count Stefan is a man to be envied. I must
congratulate him on his excellent fortune."

Kassandra gazed after him as he moved away, followed by
Rousseau after
he
, too, had expressed his pleasure in
her company. The two distinguished men were immediately surrounded by other
guests.

Congratulate Stefan?
she
wondered, mulling over his words. Surely he hadn't already told Prince Eugene
of their marriage plans . . .

His
marriage
plans, she amended irritably, her gaze sweeping the ballroom. Blackguard! He
had no right to discuss even the possibility of a wedding until they had
received consent from her fath—

All thoughts fled her mind, her gaze widening in shock
as it came to rest on Stefan. He was seated upon a wide divan, engrossed in
conversation with a curvaceous dark-haired woman whose back was turned to her.
She watched
,
motionless, her feet rooted to the floor,
as he threw back his head and laughed at some private joke, then suddenly spied
her across the room. After a quick word to the woman, he abruptly rose and
strode toward her.

It was only when the woman rose as well, in a swirl of
shimmering black satin, and began to follow him, that Kassandra recognized her.
"Sophia," she whispered, her heart lurching within her breast, just
as Stefan reached her side.

"Did you enjoy your tour?" he asked with some
concern, noting the heightened color on her cheeks and the animosity simmering
in her eyes. Strange, he thought fleetingly. Her expression was hardly what he
would have expected, considering she had been so gay only a half hour past,
when she had left with Prince Eugene.

"Perhaps not quite as much as you have enjoyed my
absence," she replied cryptically, barely restraining her angry words.
Damn him! It wasn't enough that he sought the company of his mistress virtually
every night. Now he was flaunting their sordid relationship in her face so she
would have no doubt as to her own role in his life.

What the devil could she have meant by that? Stefan
wondered, puzzled. But Sophia's graceful approach prevented him from answering,
much to his rising irritation.

"What a pleasure to see you again, Lady
Kassandra," Sophia purred smoothly. Her careful expression was one of
polite concern, but her almond eyes glinted harshly. "Stefan has told me
of your narrow escape from serious harm at the theater yesterday
afternoon." She leaned forward and lightly touched Kassandra's arm.
"You must be watchful of Viennese carriage drivers, my dear," she murmured,
shaking her head. "They are the most daring in the world, and the most
skillful, but often foolhardy in their haste to reach a destination."

Kassandra shivered at her touch and stepped back.
"I shall take your advice to heart, Archduchess von Starenberg," she
said with a fixed smile, though her throat constricted painfully. "Now if
you will both excuse me, I believe I shall find my place at the table. Prince
Eugene has informed me the banquet is soon to begin."

With a stiff nod, she brushed by them and walked
swiftly to the table, searching the gold engraved placards set beside each
plate for her name. She was so intent in her task that she bumped headlong into
Count Frederick Althann as they both converged upon the same chair.

"My apologies, my lady," he exclaimed, catching
her around the waist. Fighting to regain his own balance, he brought her hard
up against his chest, one hand firmly grasping the back of the nearest chair as
his other arm held her tightly.

"Oh!" Kassandra gasped, blushing with acute
embarrassment. Yet she could not help thinking he was amazingly strong, all
vestiges of the effeminate posturing he had displayed earlier now vanished.
Then, just as suddenly, he drew away from her, fluttering his hands about his
person, adjusting his linen cravat, smoothing his waistcoat, and checking the
alignment of his wig, which had been knocked slightly askew.

Kassandra stared up at him, both bemused and intrigued.
How odd, she thought, quickly regaining her composure. She could almost swear
this gentleman was pretending to be something he was not.

"I believe this seat is yours, my lady, not mine
as I had thought," Frederick offered, one red-heeled shoe placed before
the other as he bowed elegantly. He pulled the cushioned chair away from the
table, waiting until she was seated before pulling out his own and sitting down
beside her. He pursed his lips indignantly. "The servants have placed the
placards so close
together,
it's hardly clear which
seat belongs to whom—"

"Please, it was a simple mistake," Kassandra
interrupted, studying his features. "Don't trouble yourself any
further."

"You are most forgiving, my lady," Frederick
murmured, averting his eyes and fussing with the napkin on his plate. Careful, man,
he berated himself. This is the closest you have come to giving yourself away .
. .

He let out a breath. It was just his luck that he was
seated next to the most beautiful woman in the room, making his foppish role
all the more difficult to play. He had seen the flash of intuition in Lady
Kassandra's gaze when she looked at him a moment before. No doubt it would take
all of his resources not to further arouse her suspicions, as well as keep his
mind on his mission . . . to see and hear everything, and forget nothing.

Just think of the Sultan's gold, Frederick, he
admonished himself sarcastically, with a faint smile. It always gets you
through.

Kassandra started at the jarring sound of a chair
scraping along the floor and turned her head, noting that Stefan was sitting
across the wide table that separated them. Her face fired heatedly at his dark
scowl, directed more at the gentleman on her left than at her, but it gave her
an idea.

Two can play at your little game, Stefan von
Furstenberg, she thought defiantly, pointedly ignoring him and turning back to
Count Althann. She quickly appraised him. He was handsome enough, with his
ice-blue eyes and angular features, as blond as Stefan was dark. Though she
wasn't attracted to him, she could not deny that she sensed an air of mystery
about him, as revealed to her during their mishap.

Not a lover . . . but an intriguing dinner partner, to
be sure, she mused, leaning toward him and returning his smile.

***

Stefan stood at one end of the ballroom, watching in
grim silence as two lines of couples met at the center of the polished floor
where the table had been, now cleared away for the dancing that would last well
into the evening. The lilting strains of a minuet floated through the air and
the first dance began, the men bowing and advancing, the women retreating in a
rustle of petticoats, silk, and satin. Then the women advanced, dipping and
swaying, and joined hands with the men, each graceful turn punctuated by
whispered compliments, furtive glances, and seductive smiles.

Stefan took a long swallow of brandy, his eyes darkened
with fury. He briefly noted Sophia in the group of dancers,
then
dismissed her from his mind, his gaze moving instinctively to Kassandra. He
followed her every movement, her lighthearted laughter ringing in his ears, as
she stepped blithely from one gentleman to the next, finally arriving again at
her original partner, Count Frederick Althann.

Stefan's hand tightened on the glass, his jaw set in
anger. Damn it all! If Count Althann wasn't such a useless fop, he would have
called him out at dinner and been done with it. But somehow he had restrained
himself. He knew he could hardly test his sword against a man who was better
known for his impeccable taste in clothes—and his rumored predilection for
young boys, he thought with disgust—than his prowess with weapons.

Stefan's lips drew into a sardonic smile. He could not
believe he was so jealous of such a man, if one could even call him that. But
he was, painfully so. Or perhaps it was any man who looked at Kassandra with
the slightest interest; he had certainly seen many occasions this night. It
seemed she had charmed every gentleman at the gala, including his commanding
general.

As she has never sought to charm you, he thought
fiercely.

He quickly set down his glass for fear he might crush
it in his hand. Try as he might, he could not suppress the feelings Kassandra
roused in him, feelings of wild, extraordinary proportions. That she would
bestow her vivacious charms, smiles, such precious laughter, on other men
infuriated him beyond reason. Except for the brief period when they had first
arrived at the gala, she had never granted him what she was so freely giving
this night!

Women! He would never understand them. He had actually
begun to think he had won her favor,
then
only the
devil knew what had happened to cause her sudden change of heart. Now he was no
longer sure of anything.