Stolen Splendor (25 page)

He paused, drawing a shuddering breath, his unflinching
gaze searing into the violet depths of her eyes. "As to your other charge,
you must be referring to the nights I have spent alone at my hunting lodge, my
only refuge against the torment of having you so close to me . . . wanting you,
more than I have ever wanted any woman, while I have waited for that moment
when you admit to the desire that is raging within you, a desire that is
matched only by my own."

"No . . ." Kassandra whispered fiercely,
tossing her head. "No, it's not true. I hate you . . . despise you!"
She felt as if she were being ripped apart, long-repressed emotions welling up
inside her, vivid memories of shared passion, shivering sensations . . . aching
desire,

"It's true," Stefan insisted, drawing her
closer, his powerful arms like bands of iron. "For you have just revealed
something to me this night, Kassandra, something I have not seen before,"
he murmured, stroking her hair, then running his finger lightly along her
cheek. "Your jealousy."

Stunned, she renewed her struggles, kicking, lashing
out with her arms, anything to be free of him. "Blackguard! You're
mad!" she exclaimed, striking his chest with her doubled fists. But he
easily caught her hands and drew them behind her back, making her lithe body
arch against his.

"And when there is jealousy, Kassandra . . . there
is desire," he said softly, his eyes holding her own with an intensity
that took her breath away. "I know that because I, too, have felt
unreasoning jealousy possess me tonight. I believe you want me now as much as I
want you."

She shook her head, the fierce pounding of her heart a
deafening roar in her ears. It seemed the room was crashing down around her,
along with her will, her resolve to resist him. Nothing made sense anymore but
the truth in his words, and the stirring power of his arms.

"Then deny it and I swear I will leave you,"
Stefan said abruptly, releasing her.

She fell back against the foot of the bed, groping for
the corner post so she might regain her balance. Her breath tore at her throat,
her breasts heaving against her taut bodice as she brought herself around to
face him.

Sweet Lord, deny him!
her
inner voice screamed. Deny him! She met his eyes, and in that fleeting moment
he knew . . . as she knew. She opened her mouth to speak, to cry out, but no
words came.

Kassandra's hands slid limply down the corner post and
she slumped to her knees, her gown fanning out around her. She bowed her head
in defeat and sighed raggedly. She could no more deny him than she could deny
she lived and breathed.

When Stefan bent over her and lifted her gently to her
feet, she did not protest. The muscled strength of his arms around her once
again thrilled her, and she returned his embrace, knowing she was lost . . .
yet no longer caring. She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, a mirror to
his fervent desire. Then his lips touched
her own,
tentatively, sweetly, deepening into a kiss that seemed to draw her soul from
her body.

"Kassandra, my only love," Stefan murmured
huskily against her mouth, as she entwined her slim arms about his neck. They
twirled slowly about in the center of the room, lost in their embrace, their
solitary dance serenaded by moonlight and the rustle of satin.

Then his hands were sliding over her while his mouth
continued its tender assault down her throat. He expertly unpinned the outer
robe of her gown from her bodice and pulled it gently from her shoulders and
arms, letting it drift to the floor in a cloud of sapphire blue and glinting
silver threads. Then he deftly untied the drawstring of her satin overskirt,
and next her hoopskirt. The heavy garments fell from the graceful curve of her
hips and sank to the floor. All that was left were her stays, with the
beribboned bodice pinned to its front, her stockings and satin shoes, and her
linen drawers.

Stefan lifted Kassandra from the midst of her crumpled
gown as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, holding her against his chest
as he moved to the door adjoining their rooms. He unbolted the lock, pulled
open the door, and crossed the threshold into his own chamber. Laying her
gently on the great bed, he moved away for the briefest moment, quickly kicking
off his boots and stripping away his clothing.

Kassandra watched through eyes half-closed with passion
as Stefan's magnificent body was revealed to her, a ruggedly powerful
silhouette in the flood of moonlight from the tall windows. Then he was sitting
beside her, and she rose up to meet him, her arms once again weaving about his
neck as his strong hands caressed her. She shivered deliciously as his fingers
crept beneath the stiff fabric of her stays to the curve of her waist,
exploring a silken path to the small of her back, where he reached up and
around and quickly untied the laces, flinging them with her bodice to the
floor.

"
Lie
back, my love,"
Stefan murmured thickly, kneeling over her as she sank languidly against the
down pillows. He kissed the tempting hollow between her breasts, their taunting
beauty at last bared to his torrid gaze. He eased off her shoes and unrolled
her stockings from her long legs, his feather-light touch sending shivers of
anticipation through her body. She caught a glimpse of a roguish smile, a flash
of white in the shadows, as he tossed her hose playfully over his shoulder,
then bent his dark head to grasp the delicate laces of her drawers with his
teeth, untying the tiny bows one by one.

Kassandra arched against the tingling warmth of his
breath playing across her skin, impatient to be free of this last vestige of
clothing. Stefan seemed to sense her thoughts. In one swift movement he slipped
the drawers from her body and cast them to the end of the bed, then stretched
his hard-muscled length atop her and captured her mouth with his own.

It was a savage kiss, possessive, all-encompassing, as
Stefan sought to slake his driving need, too long denied. He rolled onto his
back, pulling Kassandra with him, his fingers freeing the silver combs and
ribbons from her hair and entwining in the fire-gold mass cascading about them
like a gossamer veil.

A low moan escaped Kassandra's throat as her repressed
desire for this man exploded within her, and she returned his kiss deliriously.
Her moan suddenly became a gasp of pleasure as his warm mouth moved down her
throat, across her smooth shoulder, seeking her breasts.

He nibbled at the pouting nipples, flicking them with
his moist tongue, suckling lingeringly, exulting in the sweetness of her skin,
and marveling that there could ever have been a woman fashioned as beautifully
as she.

Kassandra knelt above him, her thighs hugging his
tapered hips, the swell of her womanhood pressed against the hardness of his
desire. A flutter in her belly surged outward through her limbs, a tightening,
a hunger building up inside her that she knew only he could fulfill. She
trembled, her hands resting on the sculpted span of his chest, her fingers
enmeshed in the dark mat of curls. She reveled in the sinewy strength of his
battle-hardened muscles, rippling beneath her palms with his slightest
movement.

Then he was lifting her from him and she felt strangely
bereft, moaning the loss of the overwhelming sensations, only to find herself
suddenly impaled upon his thrusting manhood. He filled her completely, and an
impassioned cry tore from her throat as he began to move within her, slowly at
first, then faster, his large hands gripping her to him, urging her on with
sweet words and whispers, her name a caress upon his lips.

Kassandra arched against him, again and again, panting
breathlessly, her skin bathed in a fine wash of perspiration as he sought to
lose himself within the soft warmth of her body. She felt him tremble beneath
her, heard him groan with passionate urgency, then she knew nothing more as
jagged streaks of light burst before her closed eyelids, her mind, body, her
very soul lost in the shuddering rapture that enveloped her. She cried out,
dragging her nails across his chest, and felt his own throbbing release deep
within her, as he pulled her to him, crushing her lips with his own.

They clung together for a long time, drawing breath
after ragged breath, a tangle of limbs and flaming hair. Then Stefan gently
rolled to his side, bringing her with him, and stroked the sleek line of her
hips while she rested peacefully with her head nestled on his shoulder. He
gazed down at her face, swathed in moonlight, his heart aching with love for
this one woman.

He knew he was hardly sated. He would rouse her
soon,
even now his overwhelming desire for her was
rekindling in his loins. He had no doubt that this storm of passion finally
unleashed between them—wild, shared, freely given—would rage well into the
night, even until the first rays from the rising sun streaked the morning sky.

Chapter 24

Kassandra's eyes flickered half-open and she brought
her arms above her head, stretching languorously. She yawned, covering her
mouth with the back of her hand, then smiled contentedly and closed her eyes
again. She rolled to her side, fitting her hands under her chin, and snuggled
into the downy warmth of the bedding. Sighing softly, she felt sleep stealing
over her once more, seducing her, lulling her . . .

"A good morning to you, milady," Berdine said
cheerfully, bustling into the room with a silver tray laden with a steaming
teapot, toasted bread slathered with butter and honey, and two boiled eggs set
in a china bowl that rattled against the delicate teacup and saucer. Humming a
lilting tune, she set the tray on a small table near the bed and moved to the
window, drawing aside the lacy curtains.

Kassandra's eyes flew wide open, her brow knit in
confusion. Where was she?
she
wondered hazily, her
thoughts muddled with fragments of dreams and whispered memories. She was in
Stefan's room, wasn't she? A sudden wave of panic gripped her. Dear God,
Berdine had found her in his bed!

Kassandra sat up abruptly, her unfocused gaze darting
about the bright room, decorated in feminine shades of rose, cream, and pale
lavender. With a start she realized she was in her own chamber. She sank back
onto the bed, relieved yet still bewildered.

"Or perhaps I should say 'good afternoon' to you,"
Berdine said, giggling.

"W-what time is it?" Kassandra murmured,
almost afraid to ask.

"Why, three o'clock, milady. Prince Eugene's gala
must truly have been grand to keep you up till all hours. You've slept through
two meals this day." She set the pot down upon the tray. "It was
Countess Isabel who decided I should wake you."

Berdine plopped the silver tea ball into the cup,
glancing over her shoulder while she allowed the tea to steep. "I would
have come to your room to help you undress, milady, however late, if you had
only called me," she apologized, her gaze shifting back to Kassandra.
"But it appears to me you had no trouble at all, even with your
stays."

Kassandra sat up at this statement, her eyes widening
at the sight of her gown—overskirt, hoopskirt, stockings, everything!—neatly
draped over the divan, which was set exactly where it should be, at the foot of
her bed. Even her satin shoes were placed toe to toe near her closet. She
shivered despite the warmth of her linen nightgown.

Nightgown! Kassandra's glance fell to the fine lace
garment, her cheeks flushing heatedly. She had no recollection of donning a
nightgown . . . Her gaze flew to the door adjoining her chamber with Stefan's.
It was bolted securely, as if it had never been opened.

"Now lean back, milady, and I'll hand you your
tea," Berdine murmured, plumping up the large down pillows.

Kassandra did as she was told, her mind racing. Surely
she hadn't imagined last night, she thought dazedly. A blush crept across her
skin as a secret smile touched her lips. No, never in her wildest dreams could
she have envisioned such a night . . . or such a lover.

"I hope the tea is to your liking, milady,"
Berdine said, handing the teacup to her carefully. She slid the table a little
closer to the bed. "And the cook made a nice breakfast for you." She
paused, smiling. "Well, brunch, that is. Now then, will there be anything
else?"

"No. This is wonderful, Berdine, thank you,"
Kassandra replied. She blew gently on the surface of her tea,
then
took a sip. It was one of her favorites, sweet
cinnamon.

"Very well, milady. I will return in a short while
and prepare your bath. The water should be just about heated in the
kitchen." Berdine bobbed a short curtsy, then hurried from the room and
closed the door behind her.

Kassandra took another sip of tea, her gaze sweeping
the room. There could only be one explanation. Stefan must have carried her
into her chamber while she slept, slipped a nightgown over her head, and tucked
her into bed, then arranged her clothing to look as if she had done so herself.
He knew as well as she the impropriety of being found sharing a bed together,
despite their plans for marriage.

Their plans for marriage . . . Funny, she mused. For
the first time, the thought of marrying Stefan did not rankle. She set the
teacup on the tray and rested her head against the pillow, closing her eyes.
She tentatively touched her lips, still tender from the fiery passion of his
kiss, her skin tingling with vibrant memories of his embrace.

A warm sense of fulfillment welled up inside her. It
enveloped her completely, and she sighed, recalling the male scent of him, the
taste of his mouth,
the
rough texture of his skin, the
giddy excitement whenever his eyes, startling in their gray depths, caught and
held her own. And most of all, his words of love and desire, thrilling her
still as they echoed in her mind. He had called her his only love . . .