Stolen Splendor (9 page)

"Oh . . . !" A ragged moan, breathless and
panting, suddenly carried to her from deep within the alcove behind her,
breaking the enchanted silence. Kassandra froze, her hands pressing painfully
into the rough bark of the tree, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Ah, love me . . . love me," a woman's sultry
voice, laden with the impassioned heat of approaching ecstasy, called out into
the night, her cry lost to the sighing wind.

God in heaven, what had she stumbled into? Kassandra
thought wildly.

Suddenly the woman gasped aloud, "Stef—" But
her moans of delight were quickly stifled, and again all was quiet in the dark
corner of the garden.

Kassandra's face flushed shamefully. She had
unwittingly eavesdropped on a lovers' tryst! She gripped the tree, afraid to
move even one step lest she be heard and found out. Then she stiffened in
surprise as a man's voice, deep, and edged with roughness, spoke from within
the alcove, cutting through her like a knife, twisting into her mind with cruel
familiarity.

"Would you . . . flaunt your infidelity . . . to
the world . . . ?" the man queried, his labored breathing melding with the
woman's husky laughter and whispered reply.

Kassandra blanched, her nails digging into her clenched
hands. Could it be possible? She felt rooted to the ground, though every
instinct cried out for her to flee. She barely heard the rustling of silken
skirts and a sword belt being buckled for the thunderous pounding of blood in
her ears. Surely she had imagined that voice!

"It is time you returned to the reception,"
the man murmured. "No doubt your husband has need of you."

"His needs are none of my concern!" the woman
snapped petulantly. "It is your needs that interest me, my love . . .
yours alone—"

"And you have seen to them very well this night,
as always," the man interrupted her, somewhat impatiently. "But go
now. We have tarried overlong. I will follow in a few moments."

"Oh, very well. But kiss me again . . . for good
measure."

Kassandra held her breath during the long silence that
ensued, exhaling only when the woman spoke again.

"If I did not know better, my lord, I would say
your mind has been elsewhere this night. But at least your lovemaking has not
been lacking. You are, how
shall I
say . . . as
magnificent as ever."

Kassandra peeked from behind the tree, relief surging
through her when the woman stepped from the alcove, but she could not see her
face in the dark. The woman paused and smoothed her rippling silk gown,
then
she set off down the path toward the palace without a
backward glance, her skirts swaying provocatively, her fading laughter low and
throaty.

Kassandra watched breathlessly as the man, too, left
the cover of the alcove and stood with his back to her, his tall silhouette
etched against the moonlit sky. He had said he would follow in a few moments .
. .

Her heart sank when the man lingered, apparently in no
hurry. She closed her eyes and leaned against the tree, waiting . . . waiting,
her body taut and tingling with tension.

Suddenly a twig snapped on the other side of the tree,
only a few feet away.

"Oh!" Kassandra gasped, her eyes flying open
as she fairly jumped through her skin. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but
it was too late. She heard heavy footfalls, slow, deliberate . . . like a
lithe, stalking animal, moving ever closer, around the massive gnarled trunk .
. . Oh, God, toward her!

Kassandra waited no longer. In one swift movement she
lifted her skirts and darted onto the path, straight into the man's open arms.

"Let me go!" Kassandra railed, struggling to free
herself from his grip. She kept her head down, a terrible fear, an awful
premonition, preventing her from looking at his face. But he held her fast, his
arms tightening around her like muscled bands of iron, astonishingly powerful.

"It seems I have found a spy in this garden . . .
perhaps a beautiful one," he murmured huskily. Holding her easily with one
arm, he brought his other hand under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze.

Kassandra's eyes widened in shock, her throat
constricting painfully as she stared up at the man she had thought she would
never see again. His piercing gaze seemed to devour her in its gray depths, and
she flushed with sudden warmth, her limbs strangely weak.

Perhaps he wouldn't recognize her . . . He had been
drunk, hadn't he? Perhaps he had no recollection of what had happened between
them . . . Kassandra's agonized thoughts tumbled over themselves like nightmare
phantoms, her desperate plea that he not remember like a silent scream upon her
lips.

Stunned, Stefan gazed into the flashing amethyst pools
that had haunted his every moment since he had first seen them the day before.
Damn! He could hardly believe it! His eyes raked over the length of her, from
the elegant coif of her fire-gold hair, the dazzling beauty of her features,
the shimmering silver gown that accentuated the lushness of her form, to her
slippered feet.

A far cry indeed from the disheveled waif in the
tavern, he thought incredulously. Yet he could swear she was the same woman. He
had not consumed so much drink that he would forget such exquisite beauty. And
now, just when he had been tormented by thoughts of her, wondering if he would
ever find her, suddenly she was in his arms!

He had been looking for her since he had awoken in the
tavern to find her gone, along with his money. It was not the loss of his gold
that had fueled his vow to scour the streets of Vienna until he found her.
Never before had he met a woman who so fired his blood, who had so disrupted
his life. She had become his obsession . . .

No, not even his wanton Sophia so perfectly matched him
in passion, Stefan thought wryly. He knew that now, especially after their
garden tryst. All the while he had been thinking of the flame-haired beauty
who
had filled his senses with a raging tempest of desire.

Yet he had almost despaired of finding her. No one had
ever seen her before in the tavern, and no one had noticed her leave except a
drunken woman and her sailor friend. All they could tell him was that a
fiery-haired wench had dashed down the back stairs as if the devil was on her
heels. And when he rushed into the street, she was nowhere to be seen. It was
as if the earth had swallowed her whole, without a trace.

Even after he had gone home to his estate in the early
morning, his search interrupted for a few hours rest, he had not been free of
her. She had come to him in his tortured dreams, a mysterious woman of many
guises . . . whore, thief, innocent, temptress . . .

Stefan started, searching her features in the
moonlight. But this woman was none of those, he considered. She was dressed as
a lady of the Imperial court, hardly a thief. He was not a man to doubt his
instincts, but what if he was wrong, and she was not the woman he was seeking?
Could there be two such women in Vienna, so alike in face and form?

Kassandra's blood ran cold at his sharp scrutiny, yet
she did not miss the flicker of doubt in his rugged features. Sensing his
confusion, she felt hope flare within her that her plea had been answered. It
fanned her anger and gave her sudden courage.

"I demand that you let me go at—"

"Surely we have met before, my lady," Stefan
interrupted.

Kassandra gulped, stunned, but she forced herself to
think clearly. Do not give yourself away!
her
inner
voice screamed. "You—you are mistaken, sir. I can assure you we have never
met. As for calling me a spy, I was merely walking along this path and
unwittingly came upon you and your lady . . . I mean, in the alcove . . . That
is, I stood behind the tree for fear you might . . ." She blushed, unable
to go on.

Stefan chuckled at her discomfort, not ready to give up
so easily. "But I could swear we have—"

"Sir, you are no gentleman to hold me against my
will," Kassandra snapped, her eyes flaring.

"And you are no lady," Stefan replied easily,
"to spy on lovers and frequent lowly taverns for your amusement."

Kassandra gasped, her mind racing wildly. He knows! He
had recognized her! She raised her arm to slap him, but he caught it and
brought it to his lips. He kissed her open palm, his burning gaze never leaving
her face.

Kassandra jumped at the touch of his lips against her
skin, a thrill of fire streaking to the core of her being, memories of shared,
tempestuous passion flooding her mind and threatening to overwhelm her. She
stared breathlessly at the unmistakable challenge in his eyes . . . It seemed
she had given herself away without saying a word.

Damn him! Damn his kisses and damn his eyes!
she
raged, swept by a terrible storm of emotion that battled
within her until she thought she might be torn apart. She hated this man. God,
how she hated him . . . for what he had done to her, and for the awful
predicament she now faced.

It was obvious from his attire, a rich brocade
overcoat, waistcoat, and dark breeches, which he wore with casual flair, that
he was a member of the aristocracy and not the common soldier she had thought.
Would he cause a scandal?

But all thoughts fled as he once again kissed her palm,
lingeringly, possessively, his warm breath making her shiver. Unconsciously she
leaned against him, unaware of the smoldering desire reflected in the depths of
her eyes, conscious only of the feel of his lips upon her skin and the wild
beating of her heart within her breast . . .

"So beautiful . . ." Stefan murmured, a
rakish smile tugging at his lips. The feel of her lithe body pressed against
him was the sweetest torture; his blood raced hot through his veins. He could
swear she was the woman he had been seeking. Kassandra blinked at the sound of
his voice, the taunting smile on his face shattering the spell that held her
captive. She tore her hand from his grasp, her eyes glinting fire.

"How dare you," she whispered, steeling
herself against trembling desire, a determined resolve forming in her dazed
mind.

She would give him no further indication that she had
ever seen him before, she vowed. And if he challenged her, whoever he was,
soldier, aristocrat . . . yes, and most certainly a scoundrel, she would deny
everything. He had no proof, other than her own admission, and that she would
never give him.

Kassandra drew herself up, meeting his gaze
unflinchingly. "As I said before, my lord, you are mistaken," she
stated with icy reserve. "We have never met. And if we had, I am sure I
would recall your brutish manners. As for spying on lovers and your strange
talk of taverns" —she paused, drawing a deep breath— "it appears the
full moon has addled your senses. Now release me at once."

Stefan gazed down at her, amazed by her sudden
transformation. Damn!
but
she was a tantalizing
mystery, one he felt compelled to pursue . . .

"If you truly wish it—"

"I do wish it." Kassandra cut him off curtly.

"Very well." Stefan released her so suddenly
that she lost her balance. He caught her arm before she fell, steadying her, but
she wrenched from his grasp. He merely smiled at her, a rogue's smile. "It
has been a pleasure, my lady," he murmured with a gallant bow.

"You are both mad . . . and a blackguard!"
Kassandra tossed over her shoulder as she forced herself to walk calmly along
the path leading to the palace. Yet she was shaking uncontrollably, her
foremost thought to leave the reception at once.

"Hardly mad, my lady," Stefan said softly
under his breath. "Captivated." He waited for a few moments, then
followed, determined not to let her out of his sight.

Chapter 9

Kassandra swept into the ballroom, her chest rising and
falling rapidly from her labored breath. She blinked in the sudden brightness,
yet she was not so blinded that she did not catch the appraising glances of
several gentlemen standing nearby, who stared blatantly at her breasts
straining against the low-cut bodice.

Men!
she
cursed inwardly,
ready to lash out at anything that wore breeches. She would never wear such a
gown again! She fought to catch her breath, chiding herself for dashing up the
stairs, but her stays were laced so tight she could scarcely breathe.

"There you are, Kassandra," Isabel exclaimed,
rushing toward her from the window where she had been standing. "I was
almost ready to organize a search for you. You've been gone so long."

Thank God she hadn't ventured into the garden,
Kassandra thought grimly, imagining the expression on Isabel's face if she had
found her in the arms of that, that . . . She shuddered, rubbing her temples
with slender fingers. At least she didn't have to feign an excuse to leave the
reception. Her head ached miserably.

"I-I'm sorry, Isabel," she barely managed
without gasping. "But it seems . . . the stroll did me little good—"
A rousing blare of trumpets startled her, drowning out her words.

"It's only the signal that the banquet will begin
soon," Isabel explained with a laugh, noting Kassandra's unease. Why, she
was practically shaking in her slippers!

Isabel's forehead creased in a frown as another thought
struck her. If it was already time for the banquet, where could Stefan be?
she
wondered, her eyes darting around the crowded room. Her
gaze fell on a statuesque, dark-haired woman standing beside an aged court
minister, who was nodding off in his chair. The woman caught her look and
smiled, yet the expression in her lustrous dark eyes was hardly friendly.
Isabel smiled tightly in return before looking away.

At least he is not with Sophia, she thought, pleased.
She turned back to Kassandra. "Let's sit over there," she said,
pointing with her fan to a nearby table.