Stolen Splendor (11 page)

A lithe form passed in front of the window, a
tantalizing silhouette. Stefan's breath caught in his throat, a searing pang of
desire ripping through his body. Then the light was extinguished, plunging the
room into darkness.

"I will have you," he whispered fiercely,
shaken by the intensity of his need for this one woman. He knew he was letting
his desire get the better of him—he was behaving like a brute—but he couldn't
help himself. Nothing could stop him . . . Abruptly he wheeled about and
climbed into the waiting carriage.

"To the Hofburg, man," he shouted to the
driver, the snorting horses leaping forward at the crack of the whip above
their heads. As the carriage lurched into motion, Stefan leaned against the
seat and closed his eyes.

Ah, but what of Sophia? Even now she was waiting for
him at the palace, waiting to begin again nights of passion such as they had
enjoyed before he left on the last military campaign.

There would be no more of those nights at least not
with Sophia. But she would understand. He had never led her to believe there
was anything more between them than the erotic pleasures they had shared. She
had always known it would end one day, for whatever reason.

Sophia would easily find another man to fill her bed,
Stefan thought with wry humor. As for him, he could wait . . .

Chapter 10

"Stefan, I have a favor to ask of you," Isabel
murmured, closing the door to the library. She turned to find he had already
seated himself in the leather chair near the fireplace, his long legs stretched
in front of him, his boots crossed casually. A gentle smile played upon her
mouth to see him in the room he loved so well, among his books and papers. It
was so good to have him home again.

"Ask away, dear sister," Stefan replied,
arching a black brow. What could Isabel wish to discuss so early in the
morning, and in such secrecy?
he
wondered. She had
interrupted his morning meal—one he sorely needed, he thought, his stomach
growling loudly, since he had missed the banquet at the palace the night
before. She had insisted they speak at once, before the rest of the household
was awake, so he knew it had to be important. Isabel was not one to rise early.

Isabel sat down in the chair across from him, her
morning gown falling in gentle folds. "It's about Kassandra," she
murmured, her delicate fingers worrying at the lace flounces edging her sleeve.

Noting her nervous gesture, Stefan narrowed his eyes.
Had Kassandra perhaps gone to Isabel's chamber late last night and told her of
their exchange in the Hofburg gardens? Considering he was still not certain she
was the woman from the tavern, he had to admit his behavior toward her had been
brazen and ungentlemanly. Yet she had had a chance to mention it when they were
introduced, and she had not . . .

"I'm worried about her, Stefan," Isabel
began, interrupting his thoughts. She leaned forward, her voice a raised
whisper. "Why, just the other day she was nearly killed when she went into
Vienna by herself."

"What do you mean, killed?"
Stefan queried tightly, tensing.

Isabel shook her head in consternation. "I invited
her to attend a royal gala with me at the Favorita, but she insisted she'd
rather remain at the estate . . . to write letters and perhaps go riding.
Instead" —she paused briefly, taking a breath— "she had Zoltan take
her into the city on errands. While she was there, a carriage nearly ran her
down. She lost her cloak under its wheels. Oh, Stefan, it could have been a
dreadful accident!"

Stefan's mind raced with this news. So Kassandra had
been in the city the other day. Another clue to his tantalizing mystery. But if
Zoltan had escorted her, she wouldn't have been alone. Or would she? He would
have to speak with the carriage driver later and discover the truth.

Isabel rose and paced in agitation. "And if that
wasn't enough" —she sighed heavily— "Kassandra refused an escort,
even at Gisela's insistence. What would Miles say if he knew his daughter was
roaming the streets of Vienna with only a carriage driver to protect her? It's
not only unsuitable, but dangerous! There are so many soldiers in the city now,
carousing, drinking, and whoring—"

"Isabel!"

"I'm no green girl, Stefan," Isabel
countered, "and hardly ignorant of the ways of men, in this city of all
places, where infidelity is encouraged. You can hardly blame the soldiers,
really, after enduring another long campaign. But think of what might have happened,
Stefan, if Kassandra had fallen into such ill company."

Stefan nearly choked. Thank God Isabel could not read
his mind!
he
thought, suddenly conscience-stricken. He
rose from his chair, anxious to put an end to the discussion.

"So what is this favor you ask of me?" he
queried, rankled by his unease.

"If you could watch out for her, Stefan, at least
until Miles returns from Hanover," Isabel replied. "I would rest
easier knowing she was in your hands." A bright smile lit her face.
"You could think of yourself as her warrior knight."

Stefan exhaled sharply. If only she knew how far from
Kassandra's savior he really was. But Isabel's request would give him an excuse
to remain in Kassandra's company. And being near her might further unravel the
mystery that spurred him on . . .

He nodded. "Agreed."

"I knew you would!" Isabel exclaimed,
embracing him warmly. "You have my
thanks,
and
Miles's as well." And it will give them a chance to become better
acquainted, she thought, her hope that she could match them together flaring
higher than ever.

"Now, Isabel, if you know me so well," Stefan
said, "I'm sure you won't take offense if I return to the dining room and
finish my meal—"

"Of course." Isabel laughed, walking with him
to the door. She stopped suddenly and brought her finger to her lips.
"Ssshhhh."

"What is it?" Stefan asked, perplexed. He
heard light footsteps in the foyer, then the front door opening and closing.

Isabel only shook her head, motioning for him to look
out one of the tall, arched windows. He drew back the velvet curtain, his eyes
widening as he spied Kassandra, dressed in a form-fitting riding
habit
and walking briskly across the lawn toward the stable.
Immediately he wanted to follow her, and was chagrined by his own eagerness.
Never before had he had so little control where a woman was concerned . . .

"You agreed, Stefan," Isabel said,
interrupting his thoughts. "I'm afraid your meal will have to be
postponed." She shrugged, her eyes dancing. "The lady awaits her
protector." She held the door open for him. "She's gone for a ride
every morning since she came here, without fail, except for yesterday. It is
her passion."

One of many passions, Stefan amended, the mere thought
of that afternoon in the tavern arousing his desire.

"Very well, Isabel." He winked playfully.
"As I am a man of my word, a warrior knight should be about his
duties." His laughter echoed through the hall as he whipped his black
cloak over his broad shoulders and stepped outside, dosing the door firmly
behind him.

***

Kassandra veered off the path leading to the stable and
walked determinedly toward the carriage house, Zoltan's woolen cloak draped
over one arm while under the other she clutched a tight roll of clothing. The
heavy cloak was slowing her down, much to her irritation, but it was time she
returned it to the burly driver. It had looked out of place in her chamber,
another glaring reminder of a day she would rather forget.

Her breath was becoming labored,
hanging
 
like
a fine mist upon the morning air,
which was tinged with the first cold snap of the season. At last she neared the
large outbuilding. The great wooden doors were open, so she stepped inside, her
eyes adjusting quickly to the darkened interior. It smelled of horse dung and
varnish, the sort used to lacquer the fine wood of the carriages.

"Zoltan?" she called out. "Are you
here?" A burst of laughter startled her,
then
the
carriage house fell silent again except for the low drone of masculine voices
deep within the building. Hesitating, she shrugged and followed the sound past
a line of well-kept carriages, almost stumbling into a group of drivers seated
upon the hay-strewn ground. They all jumped to their feet, holding bowls of
steaming porridge in their hands.

"Lady . . . Kassandra," Zoltan managed, hastily
swallowing a hearty mouthful with a gulp.

"I-I'm sorry . . . Please, go back to your
meals," Kassandra stammered, almost as surprised as the wide-eyed drivers.
She stepped to the other side of the carriage and waited for Zoltan to set down
his bowl and hurry to her side. She looked up at the huge Hungarian, gratitude
shining in her eyes. His kindness the other day had touched her deeply.

"Here is your cloak, Zoltan," she murmured,
holding it out to him. "Forgive me for not returning it yesterday. I rose
late, and then there was the reception to prepare for—"

"It is no matter, milady," he replied, his
deep-set eyes intent on her face. "Are ye all right,
miss
?"
he asked, absently twisting the cloak with his huge, callused hands.

"Yes, I am fine," she replied. "And
thank you for waiting for me at the cathedral the other day." She chewed
her lip nervously. Could she ask him?
she
debated,
then shook her head. She had to . . . "Zoltan?"

"Yes, milady?"

"There is something I must ask of you," she
said softly, meeting his gaze. "If—if anyone should ask if we, I mean, if
you followed me in the carriage during the day as I went about my errands"
—she paused, gauging his reaction, but his swarthy features were devoid of
expression— "would you tell them that you never lost sight of me?"
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

Surprised, Zoltan mulled over her unexpected request,
yet in his heart he already knew his answer. God help him, she was so
beautiful,
he
could hardly deny her plea. For he knew
it was a plea, and a desperate one.

Something had happened to this young woman two days
past—he was no fool; he had seen the anguish in her eyes when she had met him
at the cathedral—something she wanted to keep hidden. Now she trusted him
enough to ask him to lie for her, aye, to knowingly deceive whoever might ask
any questions about that day. And, Zoltan decided firmly, he would not be the
one to betray her trust.

"Aye, milady, I will," he answered gruffly,
nodding his shaggy head.

A wide smile broke across Kassandra's face, but she had
no time to thank him, for just then another voice called within the carriage
house. "Zoltan!"

Kassandra tensed, her smile disappearing. Stefan!
Clutching the roll of clothing to her breast, she brushed past the startled
driver and, skirting his equally astonished companions, slipped through an open
side door just beyond where they were seated.

She headed straight for the stable, her heart lurching.
Was it a coincidence, or was he following her? She entered the low building and
hurried to the stall where her favorite roan mare was quartered.

"I have her all ready for ye, milady, just like
every day," a young stableboy piped up, his fair complexion reddened by
the frosty morning air. An eager grin split his face. "Shall I walk her
out for
ye
?"

"No, I'll manage, Hans, thank you," she
murmured, taking the reins from his chapped hands. "Go and warm
yourself."

"Aye, miss." He nodded and raced back to the
small brazier in a far corner of the stable, where several other stableboys
were huddled.

Kassandra walked the frisky mare into the stable
yard,
her only thought to be on her way as quickly as
possible. She wanted to find a place far out in the woods surrounding the
estate to bury the telltale roll of clothing—the tattered gown, petticoat, and
stockings, and the velvet money bag that still contained several clinking
coins. She was about to set her foot in the stirrup when, out of the corner of
her eye, she spied Stefan striding toward her from the carriage house.

Dear God, what was she to do with the clothing? She
flipped the reins over a nearby post, tethering the mare, then hurried back
into the stable, her eyes darting about the shadowy recesses. Quickly she ran
to the wall and buried the roll beneath a heaping pile of straw, then straightened
and shook the dust from her skirt. Obviously she would have to wait for another
time to rid
herself
of the offensive garments . . .

He must be following her, the bastard! Kassandra raged,
forcing herself to walk calmly back outside into the bright sunlit morning. How
could she possibly act civilly to this man, when at the very least she wanted
to scratch out his eyes?

Ignoring him as he called to her, she again set her
foot in the stirrup and hoisted
herself
into the
sidesaddle. She clucked to the mare, digging her heel gently into its side, and
they set off at a canter through the stable yard,
then
out onto the road that led away from the estate.

It seemed only a moment had passed when she heard the
pounding of hooves not far behind, then the fierce snorting of Stefan's mighty
black destrier as he reined in beside her. The mare tossed her head at the
sudden intrusion, her hooves pawing the earth as she threatened to rear.

"A lovely morning to you, my lady," Stefan
offered gallantly, reaching for the mare's bridle and steadying the frightened
animal. "Whoa now," he murmured in soothing tones, until the mare had
settled down. He
laughed,
a deep, husky sound that
rang out in the surrounding woods. "Would you mind if I rode along?"