Stolen Splendor (37 page)

"I-I am dizzy, my lord," she stammered.
"I . . ." She paused, biting her lower lip. How did he know she had
been asleep for a day? Unless . . . unless he had something to do with why she
was here.

Kassandra stifled the twinge of fear in her heart,
rising to her feet. "What game are you playing, Count Frederick?" she
asked, indignation fueling her courage. "Where is Stefan? I demand to know
what this is all about."

Frederick, amused by her pretty show of temper, allowed
his thin lips to curve into a smile. But it faded as he leaned forward in his
chair, his ice-blue eyes piercing
her own
. "You
demand, my lady? You are in no position to demand anything. And as for Count
von Furstenberg, he is quite far away. Now, sit down."

What did he mean, Stefan was far away? Kassandra
shuddered, gripped by an icy chill. She sank down upon the bed, her hands
falling numbly to her lap.

"I am now responsible for your fate, Kassandra. He
laughed dryly. "I hope you don't mind my calling you by your given name.
We shall be in close quarters for the next few weeks, and I think it best to
dispense with . . . all formalities." His gaze raked over her. "You may
call me Frederick."

He settled into his chair, deciding to toy with her a
little. "You really should thank me, Kassandra. I have spared your life.
That is why you are here" —he paused, his hand sweeping about the cabin—
"and not at the bottom of some river."

Kassandra's eyes narrowed at him, her chin trembling.
Spared her life? What had she ever done to him that he would wish to harm her?
"Was it you at the hunting lodge?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes," he answered. "The dizziness you
complained of will soon
pass,
an unpleasant
complication of the mild drug I used on the cloth." He raised a blond
eyebrow. "It seems you've made some enemies in high places,
Kassandra," he continued cryptically. "Or should I say, one enemy,
although one seems to be quite enough in your case. This . . . enemy would see
you dead."

Kassandra's thoughts raced. "Wh-what enemy?"
she queried shakily. "Who would w-wish my dea—?" She stopped,
blanching, unable to say the word. She swallowed hard. "And why would
you—"

"You mustn't trouble yourself with questions for
which there are no answers, Kassandra," Frederick interrupted soothingly,
placing his hand atop hers. "There are some things that must remain a
secret." His fingers caressed hers. "But you needn't worry. You have
nothing further to fear from this enemy."

Kassandra slowly drew in her breath. Suddenly it was
all becoming horribly clear. If what Count Frederick was telling her was true,
and he had spared her life, then it was for some other dark purpose entirely of
his own making. He had already alluded to a journey lasting several weeks, had
said he was now the master of her fate. Yet what fate, she could not begin to
imagine.

Kassandra pulled her hand away. "On the contrary,
Frederick, I believe I have much to fear," she objected, grim understanding
reflected in her steady gaze. How strange, she thought fleetingly. She could
not believe the calm that had settled over her, despite her obvious peril.
"Where are you taking me?" she queried.

Frederick's eyes widened, startled by her sudden grasp
of her situation. He sat back, clearing his throat. "Suffice it to say we
are journeying south, Kassandra, far from Vienna." He rose abruptly.
"That is enough talk for now. You need rest, to recover from the shock you
have suffered." Indeed she does, he considered, noting the dark smudges
beneath her eyes. He could not have her looking pale and wan.

"I must apologize for the accommodations. This
Croatian fishing vessel was the only transport available on such short
notice." He smiled faintly. "I believe you will find everything you
need in the armoire, even some books to while away the hours. I recall you
saying how much you enjoyed reading. If there is anything further you wish, you
have only to ask—"

"I wish to return to Vienna," Kassandra
interjected softly.

Frederick stiffened but ignored her comment and walked
to the door. Almost as an afterthought, he turned, his eyes flashing
dangerously. "I must warn you, Kassandra. If you are entertaining any
fantasies of escape, you would do well to reconsider. The
crew
have
been well paid for their services, one of which is to guard you
well, and will resist all bribes for fear of losing their reward . . . and
possibly their heads, if I am deceived before we reach our destination."

He began to close the door behind him, pausing to
glance once again at her. "And if you anticipate any daring rescue on the
part of your . . . lover," he stated coldly, "rest assured, my lady,
there will be none. He believes you have drowned, and is no doubt, at this
moment, mourning your death." At her stricken expression, he looked away.
"Your midday meal will be brought to you shortly. I hope you like fish
stew." He shut the door with a resounding thud, the key grating in the
lock.

Kassandra stared blankly in front of her, her hands
clasped tightly in her lap. She felt as if she were suffocating in the confines
of the small cabin, her sense of restrained calm crumbling in the face of
desperate anguish.

"Stefan . . ." she whispered. No! No! She was
not drowned, not dead! She was here! She had to get out. She had to get out!

Kassandra jumped from the bed and hurled herself at the
window, her clenched fists beating at the slats. They held fast. She slipped
her fingertips through one of the tiny openings. Maybe she could pry one loose
. . . and if one, then another! She could create a space wide enough to slip
through and swim to shore. She yanked and pulled, but again she was defeated.
The openings were too narrow. Damn it all, she simply could not get a firm
hold.

She sank helplessly onto the bed, tears of frustration
swimming in her eyes. Soon they tumbled down her
face,
a tormented flood as wrenching sobs wracked her body. Yet through it all kept
silent, her hand clasped against her mouth, until finally she threw herself on
the bed and buried her cries in the woolen coverlet, one defiant thought
burning in her mind. She would not give that . . . that bastard the
satisfaction of hearing her grief!

When her tears were spent at last, she rolled onto her
back and stared at the planked ceiling, a plan forming in her mind. She would
not give in to despair. She was alive, and that was all that mattered. Somehow
she would escape and find her way back to Vienna, and Stefan.

Kassandra's doubled fists pounded into the bed. And she
would make her captivity so difficult for Count Frederick, he would rue the day
he had brought her aboard this wretched boat.

Chapter 35

"But I tell you, Stefan is not seeing
anyone," Isabel insisted, her hands pressing into her black crepe skirt.
Oh, if only she had been closer to the door, she thought irritably. She would
never have allowed the footman to grant this woman entrance.

"Isabel . . ." Sophia purred, her eyes
narrowing. "It has been over a week since" —she paused, shaking her
head sadly— "well, since the unfortunate accident. Surely he would allow a
visit from a friend, an old friend, who wishes only to offer him comfort and
condolences at this trying time."

Isabel shook her head firmly, raising her voice.
"No, Archduchess von
Starenberg, that
simply won't
be possible. Stefan has left express wishes that he does not want to be
disturb—"

"But I insist on seeing him!" Sophia
exclaimed, cutting her off. "I lost my own husband, dearest Stanislav,
only a few months ago, and I can well imagine what Stefan must be feeling. Who
better than I to offer him consolation, when I have recently experienced such
grief, such anguish, myself." With a determined smile fixed upon her
beautiful face, she swept past Isabel, her voluminous mauve taffeta gown
rustling vigorously. "Where is he, in the library?"

Isabel rushed after her, grabbing her arm, undaunted by
Sophia's height. "I demand that you leave at once, Archduchess. You are
sorely testing the limits of my hospitality, which when it comes to you, are
narrow indeed!"

"What is going on out here?" Stefan shouted,
opening the door to the library. His eyes widened at the sight of Sophia, his
expression hardening.

"I-I'm sorry, Stefan," Isabel murmured.
"I told her you did not wish to be disturbed."

"Oh, Stefan, I only wanted to let you know how
truly sorry I am," Sophia began, composing her features into an
appropriate expression of sympathy. She took a step forward. He didn't appear
to be suffering overmuch, she thought with quick appraisal. He was dressed
well, in his dark blue uniform, shaven . . . all in all, a good sign. "If
we could talk, for only a moment."

Stefan abruptly threw open the door and strode back
into the room. "It's all right, Isabel," he said over his shoulder.

"You see," Sophia murmured in an aside to Isabel.
"We're old friends." She threw a smug smile,
then
flounced into the library, closing the door firmly behind her.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn, and only a few
candles lit here and there. Sophia shuddered. What a dreary place, she mused.
Well, when she was Countess von Furstenberg, she would redecorate the room more
to her liking. Her gaze settled on Stefan, who was intent upon throwing
documents and rolled maps into a leather satchel. He was clearly ignoring her,
and she didn't appreciate being ignored.

"You're packing?" she inquired, trying to
keep her tone light.

"Yes. I'm leaving shortly for the Imperial camp.
You have excellent timing, Sophia. A few moments longer and you would have
missed me entirely."

Sophia smiled, not sure whether his words were a
compliment or not. But she remained unruffled. She took a few light steps
forward. "What a pity, Stefan. I was hoping I might persuade you to leave
this gloomy house for a while and share supper with me tonight." She
mistook his raised brow for interest. "Perhaps you might reconsider your
journey, and linger another day or two—"

Stefan's lips drew into a tight line. Was the woman
mad?
he
mused incredulously. Surely she didn't think
he might be interested in . . . His mouth curved into a sardonic half smile.
With Sophia, nothing surprised him.

"I will have to decline your invitation," he
stated bluntly, resuming his packing. "Prince Eugene is expecting my
arrival by nightfall."

"Prince Eugene, Prince Eugene," Sophia
muttered. She had heard enough of that pompous little man and his plans for
glory and conquest! It seemed the talk in Vienna was of nothing else but the
summer campaign, which would part them again for six months or better. Why did
she have to fall in love with a soldier?

Ah, but what a soldier. Sophia sighed softly, her gaze
moving over him, her pink tongue flicking over her lips. Although he was fully
clothed, she could imagine the sinewed muscles beneath the taut fit of his
uniform, the sculpted planes of his body, the black hair matting evenly across
his chest, trailing down the tight muscles of his belly, past his navel, that
tempting hollow she longed to kiss and suckle, trailing to the dark triangle at
the juncture of his powerful thighs . . .

She drew in her breath, her face flushing. How she
wanted him, how she loved him. Now there was no one between them, no husband,
no meddling English bitch . . . nothing but this odious summer campaign. Sophia
slapped her fan irritably against her palm, her ire rising once again. Perhaps
she should rid Austria of Prince Eugene as well.

Stefan buckled the flap on the satchel, and the
clicking sound startled Sophia from her venomous reverie. She reached a quick
decision. She was not about to give up so easily, not after she had expended so
much effort to free them of any entanglements. She sauntered over to him and
laid her hand on his arm, caressing his sleeve.

"You are a commander yourself, Stefan," she
purred persuasively. "One of the highest-ranking officers in the Imperial
army. Surely you have the power to determine your own schedule. What will
another evening matter?" She leaned against him, plying him with all of
her seductive power. "I promise you, I could help you forget."

Stefan flinched at her words, his eyes flashing
angrily. "As you have so quickly forgotten your own husband, Sophia?"
he tossed at her, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I think not. I do not
wish to insult you, but nothing you could say—or do—will help me forget
Kassandra. Nothing." He moved away, his breathing hard, his hands doubled
into tight fists. "If this is your idea of offering sympathy, Sophia, it's
a wasted effort. Now, if you'll excuse me, I still have much to do before I
leave."

Sophia stiffened, the blood rushing from her face. If
he had struck her, she could not have been more stunned. He'd never spoken to
her like this before, never! She whirled, seeking to hurt him as well. But she
bit her tongue. She knew he didn't really mean it. He was merely speaking out
of his momentary grief. Stefan was a virile, passionate man. It wouldn't be
long before he sought out the company of a woman. And when he did, she would be
there, waiting. She decided to try another tack.

"I've heard they have not as yet found a
body—"

"Not a body," Stefan cut her off vehemently,
"Kassandra
. "

"Oh, so you still hope to find her alive,
then?" Sophia scoffed lightly, not surprised when he did not answer.

Thankfully that would never happen, she mused. She had
no doubt that Frederick had carried out his end of their agreement; he would be
a complete fool to have done otherwise. His gloating letter had assured her
that Kassandra had drowned, that he had accomplished his task easily, and well.