Stolen Splendor (32 page)

Frederick was slightly
taken aback by her intimate request, but he shrugged it off. Anything to
indulge the lady, he thought dryly. "Very well. Sophia," he murmured,
with a deferential nod. "Your invitation was most unexpected, and though I
am charmed by your sudden interest, perhaps you could tell me why I have been
so honored."

"Of course,
Frederick," Sophia replied, leaning forward on the divan. "There is a
certain matter I wish to discuss with you—"

A sharp rap on the door
interrupted her, and she rose in a cool rustle of silk. "Ah, I believe
Adolph has brought us some refreshment," she murmured. Perfect, my little
man, she mused. You are right on cue.

Frederick glanced over
his shoulder, blanching as a dwarf, swathed in a Turkish costume complete with
turban and boots with curled-up tips, stepped into the room bearing a silver
tray laden with crystal goblets and a tall decanter filled with deep red wine.
An unsettling feeling gripped him. He could swear he had seen that dwarf
somewhere before. But where?

Sophia noted his
expression with a satisfied smile. All was proceeding exactly as she had
planned. Adolph stopped in front of her and held the tray while she poured wine
into the two goblets, then she set the decanter on a nearby table and offered
one of the goblets to Frederick. He rose from his chair and accepted it,
waiting as she lifted up her own.

"Leave us,
Adolph," she commanded softly. "But stand just beyond the door, in
case I have need of you."

Frederick's gaze
followed the dwarf as he quietly left the room. Then he looked back at Sophia.

"Surely you
realize, my lady, that all things Turkish are banned in Vienna." He
sniffed, holding his handkerchief to his nose in feigned distaste. A reaction
any outraged citizen would have made if presented with such a scene, he thought
shrewdly.

Sophia waved off his
comment. "Only a trifling indulgence on my part, Frederick, within the
confines of my home," she explained with a throaty laugh. "I am sure
there are many in this city
who
harbor a fascination
for . . . the Orient."

Frederick's hand
tightened imperceptibly on the stem of his goblet, but he smiled and nodded.
"It shall be our secret, then," he offered gallantly.

"Our secret,"
Sophia agreed, raising her goblet. She threw back her head, her topaz eyes
alight with a strange fire. "Let us drink a toast, Frederick."

"Very well."

"To secrets . . .
may they be well kept . . . and to our new alliance."

The rim of the goblet
stopped abruptly against Frederick's mouth, some of the wine sloshing out and
staining his cream silk cravat. "Alliance?" he queried, perplexed,
lowering the goblet to his side. "What alliance?"

Sophia set her glass
down next to the decanter. Her wine, too, was untouched. Her smile had faded,
replaced by an expression of deadly seriousness. "Funny," she
murmured, almost under her breath. "If you were truly a fop, as you
pretend to be, you would have been more concerned with your precious cravat
than with what I have just said."

Frederick set down his
goblet and took a step toward her. "What are you talking about?"

"Cease your game,
Frederick. It has grown tiresome," she replied. "I know everything
about you. Everything." Her eyes narrowed with cunning. "Perhaps in
the future, when you frequent decrepit taverns for your clandestine . . .
meetings, you might do well to look about you first. You never know who might
be listening."

As if by an arranged
signal, Adolph stepped into the room, grinning from ear to ear. He leveled a
cocked pistol at Frederick's chest, knowing well that desperate actions were
committed by desperate men. "My lord," he muttered with a slight bow
of his turbaned head. "Your costume today fits you far better than that of
a Bohemian peasant."

Frederick felt a
sickening knot in his stomach, his thoughts racing. The tavern . . . That's
where he had seen this ugly little dwarf, drooling into his beer! Stunned, he
looked from Adolph back to Sophia, her sinister smile sending a cold shiver
through his body. He longed for nothing more at that moment than to grab her by
her slender throat and throttle the self-satisfied expression from her face.
But with the pistol trained at his heart, it appeared these two accomplices had
thought of everything.

Except for the emperor's
guard, he mused darkly. If he was discovered, then where were the authorities?
Surely Sophia was aware of the rich reward paid for the capture of spies.

Sophia's dusky laughter
broke into his thoughts as if she had read his mind. "You're far too
precious a commodity to waste upon the bloody rack, Frederick. And as you can
see" —she waved her arm around the opulent room— "I have no use for
the emperor's reward." She took a step toward him, her eyes flashing
menacingly. "What I do have need of is an assassin," she stated
bluntly.

Frederick understood
immediately, though he said nothing. Obviously there was a bargain to be struck
here, an evil one.

Sophia paced slowly in
front of him, the heavy scent of her perfume drifting over him like an ominous
cloud. "You're no fool, Frederick," she began, studying his face.
"I'm sure you are aware that your life is forfeit if it becomes known you
are a spy for the Turks. But perhaps, to avoid such an unpleasant fate, you
might consider taking on a certain task, of a distasteful nature in itself but
one in which you would earn my undying gratitude . . . and my silence."
She stopped in front of him. "Shall I go on?" she queried.

"Please,"
Frederick muttered.

"Good. It's quite
simple, really. If you accomplish my task, then I will keep your secret. Now,
what do you say?"

There was no choice but
one, Frederick mused grimly. Life . . . or death.

"What is your task,
my lady?" he asked quietly, an unspoken agreement passing between them. As
she clapped her hands together with sheer pleasure, he could only guess as to
the depths of her depravity.

"There is a young
woman who must die," she said simply. "Her name is Lady Kassandra
Wyndham."

Frederick's eyes widened
in shock, but again he held his tongue.

Sophia had not missed
his response. "Yes, you know her. That simpering English girl," she
muttered bitterly, her almond eyes reflecting the intensity of her hatred.
"She must die at once . . . for reasons that shall remain my own."

At his terse nod, Sophia
moved closer to him. "I do not wish to know of your method, Frederick . .
. Just see that it is done. And one other thing," she murmured, smiling
faintly. "It must appear to be an unfortunate accident, or our agreement
is waived. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Frederick could barely
suppress a shudder. He did not doubt she meant exactly what she said.
"Yes," he said.

"Splendid,"
she purred, trailing a cold finger down the side of his face. "Oh yes,
Frederick, I'd almost forgotten. If you perhaps entertain any thoughts of
revenge, I would suggest you consider such a move very carefully. I've written
a letter, which is in safekeeping, outlining everything we have discussed this
day, including your chosen profession as a spy. A letter that would certainly
fall into the proper hands if, shall we say, anything should happen to me . .
."

Bitch! Now he truly had
no alternatives, Frederick thought. He was not only a spy, but a soon-to-be
murderer. He might as well have sold his soul to the devil, for it seemed that
Satan and Sophia were one and the same.

Sophia moved away from
him so suddenly, he was taken by surprise. She sat down on the divan and leaned
back against its soft upholstery. "You may leave us, Adolph," she
commanded. "I think we have nothing to fear from our handsome spy."
She waited until he had left the room, than she spoke again, her voice almost a
whisper.

"Adolph told me
something else about you, Frederick," she murmured, stretching her arms
languidly above her head. "I don't think I believe those rumors about you
anymore . . . that you prefer boys to women."

Frederick appraised her
heatedly, desire flaring within him at the open invitation gleaming in those
unfathomable topaz depths. So he was to be her whore as well. Well, there were
worse fates, he considered with dark amusement. He walked slowly to the divan
and knelt down beside her.

"Show me that you are a man, Frederick," she
breathed huskily, her arms snaking around his neck. Her laughter echoed as he
expertly forced her scarlet bodice down beneath her breasts, the voluptuous
globes,
high
and firm, leaping into his hands. She
laughed no more, but shrieked in wild delight as he bent his head over a taut
nipple, and bit it.

Chapter 31

Isabel sighed heavily as she closed the door to
Stefan's chamber, her attempt to discover the reason for the lovers' quarrel
between him and Kassandra thwarted once again. She simply could not get an
explanation out of either of them! A strained pall had hung over the mansion
for over a week now, ever since they had been found safe and unharmed—much to
her tearful relief!—at the hunting lodge the morning after that dreadful
thunderstorm.

She walked slowly down the corridor, shaking her head
in bewilderment. She had never seen such strife between two people who were
intending to be married. Stefan and Kassandra had virtually avoided each other
at every turn.

When she would breakfast with Kassandra, and Stefan
would walk into the room, he would wheel around and stalk out again. Or when
she was discussing an estate matter with Stefan in the library and Kassandra
would enter, she would slam her book shut and practically flee at the sight of
him.

And then there was the evening that, in hopes of
encouraging a reconciliation, she had planned a special dinner for them,
complete with many of the cook's most elaborate dishes—pheasant, roast mutton
stuffed with oysters, brandied custard sprinkled with sugared almonds for
dessert, and more. But she had ended up eating alone, Kassandra pleading a
headache and Stefan concocting some nonsense about important letters he had to
write. The past few days had been a dizzying whirl of such perplexing events,
with, unfortunately, no end in sight.

It was not the homecoming she had envisioned for Miles,
she thought unhappily. She had wanted everything to be perfect. But there
seemed to be no rhyme or reason when it came to matters of the heart,
especially between those two. They couldn't be more stubborn and strong-minded.
And though she fervently wished it otherwise, there didn't seem to be anything
she could do about it. Obviously this quarrel would have to take its natural
course, without any help from her.

At least she was feeling more like herself, she mused,
pausing at a large oval mirror to study her reflection. Her lively blue eyes
stared back at her, fringed by black, curling lashes, and she forced a smile,
her right cheek dimpling becomingly. It would not do for Miles to find her so
glum when he finally arrived at the estate.

Isabel turned from the mirror, her smile fading.
Whenever that might be, she thought, her dark mood drifting over her once
again. She had been expecting him for well over a week. They had been separated
for so long, and these last few days had been achingly slow, their tedium
compounded by Stefan and Kassandra's silly quarrel.

Perhaps Miles can set things to rights once he gets
here,
Isabel consoled herself, continuing down the corridor.
She could only hope his diplomatic skills extended to Kassandra as well. She
held out her hand for the banister as she reached the staircase but stopped it
midair at the sound of a familiar voice wafting up to her from the hall below,
deep, resonant, tinged with good humor. Her heart skipped a beat, her skin
flushing with warmth. Could it be . . . ?

"Miles, is that you?" she cried out, barely
able to contain her excitement. She leaned over the banister, her face lighting
with happiness at the tall gentleman standing just inside the front doorway, a
beaming Gisela at his side. He turned and looked up at her, grinning broadly,
his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Miles!" Isabel fairly flew down the stairs,
her arms outstretched,
laughing
and crying at the same
time as he rushed to meet her at the bottom of the staircase. Lost in his
embrace, Isabel felt as if time stood still for her, the private agony of many
months of waiting washed away in a single moment.

"Oh, Miles . . ." she sobbed, standing on
tiptoe, her delicate frame pressed against his well-toned body. She hugged him
as if she would never let him go, and truly, she swore to herself, she never
would again.

"Isabel, my love," Miles Wyndham murmured
soothingly, tasting the salt of her tears as he kissed first her cheek, then
her mouth. They drew life's breath from each other, embracing, tenderly
caressing, their kisses punctuated by joyous laughter, oblivious to the comings
and goings of their silent audience.

Gisela, her eyes shining with approval, watched her
mistress with her handsome beloved for a fleeting moment. Then she rushed to
the kitchen to bid the cook prepare a hearty midday meal for his lordship, who
most certainly must be starved after his long journey.

Stefan, his expression haunted, watched them from the
banister on the second floor. He had heard Isabel's outburst from his chamber
and had decided to go and greet his future brother-in-law, dropping the
documents he had been merely staring at anyway. But upon seeing them, so
blissfully lost in their embrace, he had changed his mind. He swallowed against
the bitter taste in his mouth, knowing he would never possess such a love as
theirs, knowing Kassandra was lost to him.