Stolen Splendor (30 page)

The faint memory of a face peering down at her entered
her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. For all she knew, it could have been
her mare nudging her. "I tried to find my way back," she continued,
"but the storm was so fierce, I got lost. Then somehow I found this
place."

"There must have been poachers on my land after
all," Stefan muttered darkly. If he ever found one he swore vehemently, he
would surely kill the man. To think what an errant shot might have taken away
from him . . . his love, his life.

This last statement hurt Kassandra to the quick, but
she masked it with irritation. Here she could have been killed, and he thought
only of poachers! She began to sit up, but he pushed her gently back down on
the bed, which infuriated her further, especially since the soft fur had fallen
away from her breasts, leaving them exposed to his view.

Stefan's gaze went instinctively to the tempting
mounds, his blood shooting hot through his veins. He longed to savor the
sweetness of a rose-tipped peak, to explore the fascinating length of her body
pressed so intimately against his own, its graceful curves,
its
womanly secrets. Yet he knew that now was not the time. He tore his eyes away
and caught her gaze. The flashing amethyst depths had darkened to a stormy
violet hue.

Stefan exhaled sharply. It was a look he knew only too
well, and he could hardly blame her. Except for his attempts to win her favor
and their last evening together, he had given her little cause to regard him
otherwise. But hopefully after she heard what he had to tell
her,
that
would change.

Kassandra clutched the fur and drew it up over her
body. "I would like to get dressed, my lord," she said tersely.
"So if you will kindly release me—"

Stefan silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips.
"I have something to say to you, Kassandra," he murmured.

She jerked her head away. Whatever it was, she had no
wish to hear it. "Surely it can wait until later," she objected.
"No doubt your servants are searching for us even at this moment. It would
be most unseemly if we were found here together" — she blushed hotly—
"like . . . like this."

Stefan could not help but chuckle at her discomfort,
then
he grew serious. Out with it, man, he told himself. You
have kept silent long enough, too long. He drew her chin back to face him,
ignoring the defiant glint in her eyes. "Listen to me, Kassandra," he
said softly. "I love you."

Kassandra blinked, but she said nothing. She could not.
Her heart was in her throat.

"I love you, Kassandra," he repeated
earnestly, "and I have been a fool not to tell you before now."

Kassandra flinched as if she had been struck. Love. It
was as if by hearing the word spoken aloud, the bewildering torrent of emotion,
the terrible longing, and the aching desire that had wracked her since their
night of passion had finally been given a name. Love . . . How she loved him!
And seeing him again, feeling the stirring strength of his arms around her, she
could no longer deny it.

Yet with this shattering realization, she knew she had
to resist him. Especially now. For he had the power to hurt her far more than
ever before if she fell prey to his charms again. His words were false. He did
not love her. He had told her before that to him, love was a useless emotion.
He was only saying he loved her because he wanted her body, nothing more! She
had to protect herself, or be lost to his lies forever.

"No!" Kassandra exclaimed fiercely, shoving
at him with all her might. Taken totally by surprise, Stefan lost his hold on
her and fell back against the log wall. In that moment she sprang swiftly from
the bed, snatching up her chemise from the floor. She ran to the other side of
the room and dressed hurriedly, slipping the thin lace straps over her
shoulders. Then she moved to the door, eyeing him warily as she fumbled with
the latch.

"Will you run out in only your chemise,
then?" Stefan queried, throwing back the fur and rising from the bed.

Kassandra's knees quaked at the sight of him. He was so
devastatingly handsome, the rippling power of his body more beautiful than any
form she had ever seen. During her wide-eyed hesitation, he strode across the
floor and pulled her in his arms again before she could even think to flee.

"Why don't you believe me?" he asked
raggedly, molding her supple form to his own, his hands tightening desperately
on her narrow waist. God help him, he was baring his soul to a woman for the
first time in his life, and she refused to believe him! His tormented gaze
caught and held
her own
. "I swear to you,
Kassandra, I love you more than life itself!"

She shook her head, bringing her hands up and clasping
them over her ears. She was in agony, her soul being ripped apart. If only she
could believe him! She could forgive him anything, everything, if only his
words were true. But he lied, he lied!

"No, please," she cried, trying to twist free
of his grasp. But he captured her face in his hands and brought his mouth down
upon her own, as if by the power of his kiss, their panting breaths merging as
one, he could convince her of his words. He plundered her lips, forcing them
apart, his tongue delving into her, his arms pulling her closer, closer . . .

Tears stung Kassandra's eyes as she returned his kiss,
deeply, deliriously, for she was powerless against it. She gave herself
completely, forgetting her rage, her anguish, the lies, the deceit, the past,
the
future . . . everything fading into insignificance but
for the breathless splendor of the moment.

But when he wrenched his mouth from her own at last,
something snapped deep within her. She knew there was only one thing she could
do. She would have to lie as well, to hurt him as cruelly as he was torturing
her . . . by appealing to the one emotion she knew he possessed, the emotion
she had seen in his heated gaze at Prince Eugene's gala. His jealous pride.

"Your kiss tells me what you will not,"
Stefan breathed huskily, his thumbs caressing her silken cheeks. "Say it,
my love. Let me hear it from your lips that you believe me," he demanded
softly.

"It does not matter if I believe you or not,"
she replied steadily, defiance flaring in her eyes. "Your love is wasted
on me, Stefan." How strange, she thought fleetingly. Her voice sounded so
distant, as if it were coming from someone else.

"What do you mean?" he asked, stunned, his
brow knit in confusion.

"I love another, my lord. Save your eloquent words
for your mistress, or someone who might better appreciate them."

A strained silence fell over the room, broken only by
the sound of their jagged breathing. Stefan stared at her, his expression
unfathomable, his body strangely relaxed, nothing belying the depth of his
furious agony but his eyes. They were darkened to the color of slate, burning
into her own as if he could read her very soul. Then suddenly his hands slipped
to her upper arms, gripping her brutally.

"Have you given yourself to another man,
Kassandra?" he grated, his voice dangerously low.

Kassandra hesitated, fear surging through her. But she
threw back her head and lifted her chin. "Yes!" she tossed at him.
She was stunned by the poignant flash of pain in his face, matched only by the
haunted look in his eyes, and she almost regretted her words. Was it possible she
might have been wrong?

The door swung open so suddenly, she jumped in his
arms, all thoughts forgotten as it struck the timbered wall with a resounding
crash. Karl stepped over the threshold, stopping with one leg still out the
door. He gaped, red-faced, at Stefan and Kassandra, then backed out again,
loudly clearing his throat and looking at the ground.

"Forgive me, Count Stefan," the overseer
blurted uncomfortably. "Though I must say I am relieved we have found you
and the lady . . . alive and well."

Not in the least embarrassed by his nakedness Stefan
released Kassandra and moved to the door. "We'll be out in a few moments,
Karl," he said tersely. "Is there an extra horse for the lady?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good."

Stefan shut the door firmly and turned to Kassandra.
"Get dressed," he muttered. He strode to the bed, grabbed his
clothes, and quickly put them on, his face set and grim.

Kassandra did not hesitate. She gathered her clothes
from the floor and retreated to a far corner, where she dressed hurriedly with
her back to him. Her fingers fumbled uselessly with the mother-of-pearl buttons
on her riding jacket, which was still damp from the night before. But she
didn't care. All she wanted was to be free of the oppressive tension in the
lodge, and free of him.

When they were both ready, Stefan opened the door once
again and bowed to Kassandra. "After you, my lady."

She kept her eyes down, her face flushing miserably as
she stepped into the bright morning sun. She could imagine what Karl must
think. She only hoped he was discreet enough to keep what he had seen to
himself.

Stefan followed directly behind her, hoisting her up
into the saddle of the white Arabian. Then he mounted the roan stallion and
they were off, a strangely silent party wending its way back to the estate.

Chapter 29

Sophia threw open the white latticed doors and strolled
onto her private balcony. She leaned against the smooth balustrade, caressing
the polished marble as her almond eyes swept the grandeur of her formal gardens.
It seemed that, during the few short days since the horrendous thunderstorm,
spring had finally come to Vienna.

She languidly inhaled the morning air, tinged with the
scent of flowers that had appeared in the gardens as if overnight. The bright
sunshine was deliciously warm upon her skin. A light breeze played through her
mahogany tresses, which Marietta had just brushed to a burnished glow, the
glorious mass trailing down the bodice of her cream satin morning gown to cover
the swell of her breasts.

Sophia wound her fingers in a silken tendril, her eyes
narrowing with interest at one of the gardeners, an Italian youth of eighteen,
as he knelt over a flower bed. Her gaze traveled across the sculpted breadth of
his shoulders and back, the muscles rippling in his arms as he dug
methodically, then down the curve of spine to his firm buttocks, their
masculine beauty heightened by his tight breeches.

Desire quivered inside her, dusky laughter bubbling in
her throat. Angelo. Her angel. For want of the man she craved above all others,
he had been only one of the diversions who had amused her over the dreary past
winter.

Sophia's smile quickly faded, her hands gripping the
balustrade like talons. Diversions that had gone on far longer than she had
planned . . .

"Milady," Marietta murmured, standing by one
of the latticed doors. "Adolph is here."

Sophia tensed, though she spoke calmly. "Bring him
to me." She listened to the rustle of Marietta's starched skirt as the
maid moved swiftly across the room, opening and closing the chamber door with a
click.

"The little beast," Sophia muttered
vehemently, the familiar thud of his bootheels upon the carpeted floor grating
against her nerves. She should choose her assassins as carefully as she chose
her gardeners.

"You sent for me, milady?" Adolph asked,
stopping on the threshold. He grinned expectantly. Perhaps she was going to
present him with the emerald ring she had promised, for the successful
completion of his task. The bauble was worth a fortune, and could very well
mean his freedom if he found the right buyer for it.

Sophia waved Marietta away, waiting to speak until she
had left the room. Her topaz eyes glinted with deep-seated rage as she studied
her servant. At the click of the door she drew herself up, towering over him.
"It seems you have failed me once again, Adolph," she stated darkly.

Adolph shook his head vigorously, his heart sinking to
his boots. The low timbre of her voice, dripping with hidden intent, was like a
death knell to him. "No, mistress, that's not possible!" he blurted.
"She could not have survived her fall . . . I saw it, milady. It would
have killed the strongest man!"

"She lives, Adolph; it is as simple as that,"
Sophia muttered with disgust. "I saw Countess Isabel at a gala last
evening, looking none the worse for your bungled carriage accident. I overheard
her talking to several of her simpering friends about Kassandra's . . ."
she viciously spat out the hated name ". . . unfortunate fall and Stefan's
daring rescue. It was so gushingly recounted, I thought I might retch!"

Adolph took a step back, cold fear gripping him.
"I c-could have sw-sworn . . ." he stammered, the words dying on his
lips as she cruelly clasped his shoulder.

"You are obviously not capable of performing the
task you have been given, my little friend."

Adolph fell to his knees, his compact body shaking
uncontrollably. "Please . . . please, mistress, allow me one more
chance," he pleaded, sweat breaking out upon his protruding brow.

"Why, Adolph?" Sophia sneered. "So you
can fail me again? This is all becoming quite an embarrassment to me. And one
more failed attempt will surely look suspicious, if it doesn't already. I don't
think I can risk another—"

"I promise, milady, I will not fail you!"
Adolph broke in, his high-pitched voice wavering. He swallowed hard, as her
fingers bit painfully into his shoulder. "I swear on my life!"

Sophia abruptly released him, and he toppled over onto
the floor. "Aptly put, Adolph. On your miserable life . . ." She
wheeled around, her skirt hitting him across the face, and strode to one end of
the balcony, her back to him. "Now get out of my sight," she ordered.
"You have until this evening to come up with a plan . . . a very good
plan."