Stolen Splendor (24 page)

Except that she is playing you for a fool, he mused
grimly. And he would know the reason . . .

Stefan strode toward the dancers, but a hand tugging on
his arm stopped him. His eyes flashed angrily at this sudden hindrance, only to
find Prince Eugene's personal chamberlain at his elbow.

"My lord, Prince Eugene must speak with you,"
Clemens whispered urgently, out of breath. "If you would follow me, he is
waiting in his library."

Stefan nodded, and with a last glance over his shoulder
at Kassandra, he left the ballroom. His expression was guarded as he entered
the impressive library, for he surmised it could only be an important military
matter that would draw his commander away from his guests. He noted the sodden
and exhausted messenger standing at attention beside Prince Eugene's desk,
confirming his suspicion.

"Forgive me for calling you away from the dancing,
Count Stefan," Prince Eugene began, looking up from a letter spread before
him. He indicated the messenger with a slight nod. "This man has just
arrived from the winter camp. It seems Commander von Paar has been injured in a
riding accident and must return to Vienna for immediate care. I want you to
replace him as commander in chief."

Stefan's gaze widened imperceptibly, his mind working
fast. He had already prepared to leave for the camp within the week to join his
cavalry forces, and had even told Isabel as much. But he hadn't expected this!
And he had yet to say anything to Kassandra. Now there would be little time, if
any, to discuss the matter.

"I accept with honor, General," he stated.

Prince Eugene studied him intently. "It is a heavy
responsibility, Count Stefan, and usually reserved for an officer with more
years under his belt. But you have proven your ability to command time and
again with the cavalry. When I join you at the camp in early spring, I shall
expect to find the men well trained and keen for battle."

"And so they will be. I shall leave this very
night," Stefan said, already looking forward to the challenge.

"Tomorrow morning will be soon enough,"
Prince Eugene replied, rising to his feet. "The roads are far too
treacherous by night." He turned to the messenger, a lad of scarcely
seventeen years. "I commend you for your bravery, young man, riding well
past sunset as you did to reach me with your message. So you say the wolves are
fierce this winter?"

"Yes, General. They brought down my extra horse, and
would have taken me down as well if I had not carried another pistol at the
ready."

Prince Eugene patted him on the shoulder. He glanced at
Stefan. "I'd say he would make a fine candidate for the cavalry, wouldn't
you, Commander?"

"I shall consider him one of my own men from this
day," Stefan agreed seriously, "for he certainly deserves it."

"Th-thank you, my lords," the lad stammered,
a proud grin splitting his face as he looked from Prince Eugene to Stefan.

"Now, Clemens, see that he is fed and given a warm
bed to sleep in," Prince Eugene told his chamberlain. "He will have a
long ride back to the camp on the morrow, in the company of my esteemed
commander in chief."

"Yes, my lord," Clemens replied with a bow.
"Come with me, lad." He hastened from the library with the messenger
at his heels.

Prince Eugene sat back down at his desk, perusing the
papers before him. "It appears I must forgo my guests for a short
while," he said matter-of-factly. "I must write some letters to the
other officers at the camp, notifying them of my decision. They will follow
your commands explicitly. I'll give them to you in the morning, before you set
out. If you leave Vienna by eight o'clock, you should be at the camp by late
afternoon."

He glanced up at Stefan, his serious expression
softening. "Go and enjoy what is left of the evening, Count Stefan. No
doubt Lady Kassandra is anxious for your return to the ballroom. I would not
leave such a charming beauty waiting much longer."

Stefan winced, his thoughts flying back to Kassandra.
What he would give if that were true. "Very well, my lord." He bowed,
then turned and walked from the library. His footsteps echoed down the long
hall as he made his way to the ballroom, a strange eagerness seizing him. It
felt as if he had been away from her side for hours rather than a few moments.
Now they had so little time left . . .

Familiar feminine laughter greeted him at the entrance
to the ballroom, setting his pulse racing. But he stopped cold in his tracks at
the sight of Kassandra surrounded by four young gentlemen, the ever-present
Count Althann hovering close to her like a preening butterfly. She was smiling
prettily at some remark,
then
out of the corner of her
eye she spied him. She laced her arm through the nearest gentleman's, her
lilting voice loud enough for him to hear.

"Of course I will dance with you, Count Bonneval,
and the rest of you gentlemen, if you will only await your turns."

Damn it all, he had heard and seen enough! Stefan raged,
unreasoning jealousy seizing his heart once again. He would not share the woman
who was to become his wife! He strode after them and gripped Kassandra's arm
just before she and her companion joined the swirl of dancers.

"I believe you have reserved this dance for me,
Lady Kassandra," he muttered tersely, throwing a dangerous look at the
hapless gentleman at her side.

"In-indeed, Count von Furstenberg, I had no
idea," the stunned aristocrat acquiesced, stepping back as if he had been
stung. He bobbed his head to Kassandra,
then
hurried
away.

"How dare you," Kassandra gritted, though a
quiver of fear shot through her at the dark, storm-tossed expression in his
narrowed eyes. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying
out,
his tight hold a painful vise on her arm. "You're hurting me."

Stefan did not answer, merely steered her toward the
arched entrance to the ballroom. He would have to offer his regrets to Prince
Eugene in the morning, but at least he now had another excuse besides
Kassandra's wanton display for leaving the gala early.

"Where are we going? What about the gala?"
Kassandra whispered. Her cheeks fired with embarrassment at the inquisitive
looks being cast their way by guests—Count Althann, Count Bonneval, a sullen
Sophia—and servants alike, and she said no more, her eyes downcast.

Stefan ignored her, paying little heed that she had to
practically run to keep up with his long strides as they hurried through the
hallway and down the winding staircase to the marble entrance hall. "Our
capes, man," he grated to the startled footman, who quickly obliged them.
"Go to the kitchen and tell my driver we are leaving at once." The
footman nodded and fled down the corridor, holding on to his wig.

They were ushered out the great doorway, a servant
holding a lantern high as they made their way in the new-fallen snow to the
carriage. By the time they were settled, with piles of warm furs wrapped around
their legs and draped over their laps, the driver had hoisted himself into his
seat and the carriage slid into the street, borne upon sleek wooden traineaus.

Chapter 23

Kassandra's face burned with humiliation and fury, so
much so that she kept her head turned away from Stefan during the entire
journey. Her tear-glazed eyes stared blindly out the window at the darkened
streets, then into the inky blackness of the forest along the road leading to
the estate. She did not trust herself to speak. There was too much emotion, too
much pain, welling up inside her, threatening a storm over which she would have
no control.

The tension was palpable in the carriage, like a living
presence between them. Stefan made little movement and no sound but for his
steady breathing. Yet she could feel him watching her in the darkness,
provoking shivers within her.

In the pressure of his muscled thigh against her own
beneath the furs, the warmth of his body searing through her clothing, she
could sense his tightly reined restraint. She chewed her lower lip, wishing
desperately for the solace of her chamber and the safety of her doors bolted
firmly against him.

At last the carriage came to a jarring halt. The flurry
of neighing horses, footmen opening the door and lifting her to the ground,
then assisting her up the steps to the front entrance, was a welcome diversion
from the unnerving silence. She was grateful the hour was so late. She had no
wish to face Isabel, or the prying Gisela. But no sooner had she shed her cape
in the dimly lit foyer then Stefan took her arm once again and escorted her up
the grand staircase and down the corridor to their adjoining chambers.

"Good night, Kassandra," he murmured tersely
when they reached her door, his expression masked by the shadows filling the
hall. "It has been a most pleasant evening."

Kassandra's throat constricted at his coldness.
"M-my lord," she finally managed. She fumbled with the doorknob, then
the door opened and she stepped inside with a sweeping sense of relief. She
fairly slammed it in her haste to be free of his unsettling gaze, her fingers
flying to the bolt and sliding it into place. She slumped against the door,
scarcely breathing as she listened for the sound of Stefan's footsteps moving
down the hall. But there were none.

Stefan's eyes narrowed furiously, the door slamming in
his face a booming echo in his mind. Only her silence during the journey back
to the estate had held his rage in check. Now, with this last act of defiance,
he felt his temper finally snap.

"Open the door, Kassandra," he demanded, his
voice low and menacing.

Stunned, Kassandra backed away from the door, slowly shaking
her head with disbelief.

"I will not ask again, my lady," Stefan
murmured vehemently, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorjamb. "The
choice is simple. Open this door, or I will break it down." He laughed
harshly. "Believe me,
Kassandra,
no bolt will
keep me from you."

Kassandra's hand clutched at her throat, her mind
racing wildly at his last words. But she had no more time to think as he tested
the doorknob, still held fast against him.

"Very well—"

"No, wait!" she exclaimed, flying to the door.
Her fingers shook uncontrollably as she withdrew the bolt, stark realization
flooding through her that perhaps she had gone too far at the gala. Then the
door swung open and she darted away, Stefan's powerful form filling the room
where she had stood only a moment before. He closed the door firmly behind him,
and bolted it.

Kassandra backed away as he moved slowly toward her,
his striking features, set, implacable, illuminated in the pale moonlight
streaming through her windows. It was then she recognized the scorching desire
reflected in his gaze . . . the same look she remembered so vividly from the
tavern, only heightened by flashing anger. Her worst fears were confirmed. Her
limbs suddenly felt weak and she could not still her trembling. Her gaze skipped
about the room for any means of escape, but there was none.

"Oh!" she gasped, backing into the divan
placed near her bed. She scrambled around it, taking some fleeting comfort that
there was an obstacle between them.

Stefan stopped his relentless advance, one hand resting
on the back of the divan. His eyes raked over her. "Tell me,
Kassandra," he breathed softly, belying the torment twisting within him.
"What game have you been playing tonight . . . and with so many?"

Ire coursed through her, jolting the fear from her
heart and giving her courage. Bastard! He spoke of games . . . to her! She drew
herself up before him, her gaze meeting his with defiance. "Game, my
lord?" she retorted, throwing all caution to the wind. "I play no
game. I am merely exercising my prerogative to choose a lover. That is the
custom in Vienna, is it not?"

Stefan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching
perceptibly. But before he could reply, she rushed on breathlessly.

"From what I have seen, it's only fair. God knows
to whose bed you ride out almost every night. Obviously you have your whores .
. . your mistresses . . . that . . . that Sophia!" she spat angrily.
"I see no reason why I might not have a lover as well!"

Stefan exhaled sharply, momentarily confused. Sophia?
What the devil could she mean by . . . ? Then suddenly it all made perfect
sense to him. An amused smile tugged at his mouth, the anger ebbing from his
body, overwhelmed by an emotion far more intense. He threw back his head and
laughed deeply, loudly.

Kassandra stared at him in shock, hardly expecting this
reaction. But she misread his mirth, thinking he was mocking her. "Don't
let me keep you, my lord," she grated, her chin lifted truculently.
"I have no doubt your mistress awaits you." Her eyes flickered toward
the door. "Now get out of my room."

Stefan's smile faded and he took a step toward her,
glancing down at the divan blocking his way. Then he raised his head, his eyes
glittering in the moonlight. "You are correct on one count,
Kassandra," he murmured lightly. "I agree wholeheartedly that you
should have a lover."

"Y-you agree?" Kassandra queried, astonished.
She gaped at him, caught completely off guard by his unexpected acquiescence.
And in that same moment, he shoved the divan roughly out of the way and caught
her within his arms. He drew her against his chest, and though she struggled
wildly, he held her fast.

"Yes," he whispered in her ear, his breath
hot against her neck, "but I must tell you, Kassandra, your other
accusations are way off the mark." He brought his hand up and tilted her
chin so she would look at him. "I have no mistress . . . not since we met
that night in the garden. You are the only woman I desire, the only woman I
long to possess."