Stolen Splendor (4 page)

Stefan reached the end of the corridor, turned left
down a short hallway, and kicked open the door of the corner room. He glanced
around, quickly noting that the room was well appointed, just as the proprietor
had said it would be.

A wide bed was set in the middle of the room not far
from the window, a luxurious spread of green damask pulled back to reveal crisp
linen sheets. A thick oriental carpet covered the wooden floor, and a richly
upholstered chair was the only other furnishing, that and a small table beside
the bed. Thick tallow candles burned brightly from several polished wall
sconces, for although there was a window, it was small, with the shade drawn,
and the room would have been dark but for the warm glow of the candlelight.

Stefan walked over to the bed and dumped Kassandra upon
it.

"Oh!" she gasped, the breath knocked from her
body. She watched wide-eyed as he moved with lithe grace back to the door, and
felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as he bolted it securely. Then he
turned and faced her, his eyes blazing into her own, wild, turbulent, and laden
with open desire.

"Take off your clothes, wench, or I shall have the
pleasure of removing them myself," he murmured, his voice deep,
commanding. He slid his sword from the scabbard belted to his waist and leaned
it against the chair,
then
he stepped toward her,
loosening his wide leather belt and dropping it to the floor. The ornately
carved butt of his pistol hit the floor with a dull thud. "And believe
me,
" he said softly, "I would relish the
task."

Chapter 4

Kassandra swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving his
face as he kicked off his boots and stripped the clothing from his body. She
forced herself to remain calm, vainly fighting the dizzying effects of the wine
that clouded her mind.

Surely there must be some way to make him see reason,
she thought wildly, edging to the far side of the bed. She knew she couldn't
tell him the truth of her identity, that she was the daughter of Lord
Harrington, the ambassador to Austria. There would be no end to the scandal—to
the detriment of her father and his diplomatic mission to the Viennese court—if
it became known that she was in such a place . . . and such a predicament. And
even if she risked explaining who she was, would he believe her? She doubted
it; the man had obviously been drinking. No, there had to be another way.

Kassandra groped behind her and felt only air. She knew
she was at the edge of the mattress. In one quick movement she jumped from the
bed and stood facing him, her hand clutching the carved corner post.

"Please, you don't understand," she began,
her voice shaking. "I know what you're thinking, that I'm a tavern
wh-whore" —she stumbled over the word, flushing heatedly— "but you're
mistaken."

Stefan moved toward her, his powerful, sinewy body
gleaming like burnished bronze in the candlelight. "No, wench, you do not
know what I am thinking," he murmured, fascinated by the shimmering
highlights in her hair, silken threads of dancing flame shot through with gold.
A gossamer tendril lay curled at the base of her throat beside the rapid beat
of her pulse, a tempting hollow that seemed to cry out for his kiss.

Kassandra backed away as he drew closer, and still
closer, like a beast of the forest stalking its prey. His features were masked
by flickering shadows cast by the sputtering candles, but she could feel his
gaze, glittering, implacable, upon her.

Unwittingly, her gaze darted over him. She had never
before seen a man completely unclothed. She stared with reluctant fascination
at his bared body, sleek and handsomely proportioned. His rugged shoulders and
chest were banded in rippling muscle, his stomach sculpted and flat, his hips
tapered, his thighs powerfully knotted with muscle, and . . . and . . .

"Oh!" she gasped, a burning blush scorching
her skin like wildfire as her eyes fell on his erect manhood.

Stefan chuckled deep in his throat. What a game she was
playing, he thought wryly. Obviously, she feigned such innocence as an
enticement, a seductive trick to earn an extra coin or two, and if he did not
know better, he might have thought she had never seen a naked man before. He
wondered fleetingly if she might even claim she was still a virgin . . .

"Come, wench," he said softly, his deep,
rough-edged voice almost a whisper. "You play your clever game well, and I
promise you will be rewarded. But enough. It's time to earn your wage." He
reached out, his hands expertly untying the laces of her bodice, his fingers
lightly grazing the lush curve of her breasts beneath the plain fabric.

Though he barely touched her, Kassandra jerked away
from him as if she had been stung, her back hitting the wall behind her.
Realizing she could go no farther, she drew herself up proudly and met the full
force of his gaze, her eyes large and flashing with defiance.

"I-I'm a serving maid, sir, a lady's maid, and
certainly not the harlot you imagine me to be," she blurted indignantly,
her hands flying up and bracing against his massive chest as he once again drew
closer, so close that his scent enveloped her senses and made her limbs feel
strangely weak. "I stumbled into this tavern by mistake . . . My mistress
is surely looking for me. If you will only let me go—"

Stefan captured her mouth with his own, silencing her
vehement protests with the savagery of his kiss. When her hands curled into
tightly clenched fists and pounded desperately against his chest, he caught
them in his own, their fingers entwining, and forced them against the wall.

Kassandra could scarcely
breathe,
the rampant pounding of her heart a deafening roar in her ears, like the
crashing waves of the ocean. Warmth coursed through her body as his mouth, warm
and fragrant with wine, encompassed her own; his kiss, plundering and
searching, was a sweet torture unlike anything she had ever known. His tongue
flicked against her teeth, demanding entrance, then filled her mouth, tasting,
savoring,
making
her forget . . .

Kassandra's eyes flew open as he released her hands and
drew her closer, his powerful arms crushing her to him, the warmth of his body
like a hot brand searing through her clothing to the tingling flesh beneath.
No!
her
mind screamed, awful reality flooding back to
her. She had to do something, anything to protect herself!

Suddenly she remembered his sword and pistol on the
other side of the bed, and a glimmer of hope flared within her. They were her
only chance, if she could just reach them. She had been taught enough of
weaponry that she could fire a pistol with accuracy or strike a glancing blow
with a sword. But his well-muscled arms were like a prisoner's bonds about her,
the only barrier between
her
and the weapons that
might save her.

If only she could think of a way to catch him off
guard. Something that might make him
loosen
his iron
grip . . .

She almost laughed in giddy relief at the idea that
flashed through her mind. Instinctively, and with an innate sense of all that
was seductively feminine, she wound her slender arms about his neck and
returned his kiss with a fiery passion that took him totally by surprise.

Startled, Stefan tore his mouth away and looked down at
her, mesmerized by the darkened amethyst pools of her eyes and the provocative
smile curving her lips. A low rumble of triumph broke from his throat at her
sudden acquiescence. So the wanton was revealed at last, he thought
appreciatively. He sought her mouth again in a lingering kiss, his hands
lightly caressing the curved line of her hips,
then
lifting ever so slowly the torn skirt of her gown.

Now . . . now! Kassandra's inner voice screamed. Steeling
herself against the stirring power of his kiss, she summoned every ounce of her
strength and shoved against him. He reeled backward, almost falling, but she
paid him little heed. Her only thought was to reach his weapons on the other
side of the room.

Desperately she lunged across the bed,
scrambling
and clawing over the damask spread, then hurled
herself toward the leather belt lying on the floor, knocking the breath from
her body. Her fingers touched the carved butt of the pistol just as two strong
hands spanned her narrow waist and spun her into the air.

"What game is this, wench?" Stefan spat, his
handsome face clouded with anger as he tossed her back onto the bed. In the
next instant he was straddling her, his muscled thighs a heated vise around her
hips. "First you seduce me with mock innocence, then you play the
temptress," he said grittily, his gray eyes blazing into her own,
"and now you seek to use my weapons—to rob me, perhaps? So now it is a
bewitching thief who shares my bed."

Dazed and gasping for breath, Kassandra could only
return his stare. The fury tinged with lusting desire she saw in his eyes, and
the terrible heat of his thighs about her, filled her with despair. A sinking
feeling told her she had lost the battle against him.

Stefan leaned over her, his breath warm against her
flushed cheek. "Well, my beautiful thief, we shall play my game now."
With practiced ease he slipped the gown from her shoulders and arms, catching
her wrists above her head with one strong hand. He barely grazed her lips with
his own,
then
trailed a fiery path down her throat.

Kassandra tensed beneath him, fighting shivers of
sensation. She watched wide-eyed, unable to move, as he shifted his weight and
lay down beside her, his hand still holding her wrists, his hard, sinewed
length pressed against her.

With his other hand Stefan quickly slid the gown from
her body and tossed it to the floor, along with her petticoat, shoes, and gray
yarn stockings. The only clothing left to her was her linen chemise. A tearing
sound rent the air as he ripped the flimsy undergarment from bodice to hem,
baring her body to the scorching intensity of his gaze.

Stefan sharply sucked in his breath, his eyes savoring
the trembling beauty lying beside him. Her body was slender and long-limbed,
yet provocatively curved and lithe, the creamy porcelain of her skin tinged
with palest rose. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, taunting mounds tipped
with hardened nipples, fashioned for a man's caress . . . tempting him,
beckoning to him . . . Her belly was taut and firm, her hips gracefully curved,
the downy juncture at her thighs a silky invitation, a promise of sensuous
delight.

Kassandra arched her back, a low moan escaping unbidden
from her throat as Stefan ran a calloused finger between her breasts. Sweet
Lord, he was going to ravage her! And there was nothing she could do to escape
him.

Suddenly Stefan released her wrists and drew her to
him, his arms tightening like bands of rippling steel, his mouth coming down
cruelly upon her own,
the
bold hardness of his desire
pressing urgently against her thigh. In the fierceness of his embrace,
Kassandra defiantly decided she could not, would not, allow
herself
to be taken by force in this, her first experience with a man . . .

Fate had thrown them inexplicably together, and it
could not be altered. She had always faced life fearlessly, accepting whatever
challenges were thrown in her path; she would now meet the blazing heat of his
passion measure for measure, if only to spare
herself
the brutality that might come if she resisted. Perhaps a chance for revenge
might come later . . .

Kassandra moaned again, conscious thought fleeing from
her mind as his dark head bent over her breast, his tongue flicking against the
taut, rose-tipped nub like a moist, taunting spear. She felt a strange
tightening in her belly, a fluttering, that shook her to the depths of her
being, eliciting a newfound hunger within her, surging, powerful,
all
-encompassing.

She gave free rein to the primal urge that seemed to
demand its own awakening, its own driving fulfillment.

Stefan lingered at her pouting breasts, first one and
then the other, teasing, suckling, tasting the sweetness of her skin, until she
took his head in her hands and drew him up to face her. She kissed him deeply,
astounding him with the wanton desire reflected in her eyes, her darting tongue
exploring and savoring the textures and crevices of his mouth. Her long,
tapered fingers loosened the band that held the short queue at his nape and
entwined in his thick black hair.

Kassandra gave herself over to the new sensations
coursing through her body, her flesh burning wherever he touched her. His
fingers, his nails, his tongue, traced molten paths of flame about her breasts,
down her belly, and between her thighs to the secret heart of her longing.

Then he was towering over her again, his eyes gleaming
into hers, inflamed from wanting her. He parted her legs with his knee, plying
the silken softness between her legs first with his fingers then with the hot,
insistent strength of his throbbing desire.

Suddenly he thrust himself into her, his raging desire
a molten blade of fire. She gasped aloud and arched against him, tears stinging
her eyes. The pain of her lost innocence blazed through her body with lightning
speed.

Startled by her outcry, Stefan swore vehemently. So the
wench
was
a virgin, he thought in
disbelief, moving slowly within her. Then he thought no more as she began to
writhe beneath him, an intoxicating vision of glistening skin, tangled hair,
parted lips, and bewitching violet eyes, half-closed with passion.

Kassandra moaned anew, the piercing agony only a
fleeting memory as he stroked her breasts, then cupped her buttocks with his
strong hands, lifting her closer, filling her body with his pulsating strength.