Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Then a flicker of fear flamed within her, and her gaze darted around the smoke-filled room. She noticed for the first time the other women present, their heavily rouged faces, easy smiles, and low-cut gowns blatant testimony to their calling. In a far corner one woman had even unlaced her bodice, and a sailor was suckling at her breast!

  "If it's money that concerns you, wench," Stefan said wryly, "I will pay you well for your trouble." He held out his hand, the gesture a command. "Now walk with me, else I will be forced to carry you up the stairs."

  Kassandra gasped, incredulous. Sweet Lord, he thought she was nothing more than a common harlot . . . a . . . a tavern whore!

  She jumped up from her chair so suddenly that it crashed to the floor, her only thought to flee. But before she had taken two steps, a strong arm encircled her waist, and she was pitched unceremoniously over the officer's broad shoulder like a sack of wheat.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" she sputtered indignantly, fighting to quell the terror filling her heart. "Let me down at once!"

  Stefan chuckled deep in his throat and slapped her backside, his hand lingering there. "Enough, wench! You play the part of the innocent quite convincingly . . . a captivating illusion . . . but I have no time for games!" With long strides he carried her toward the back of the tavern and up a flight of creaking wooden stairs.

  "No! Please, you are mistaken!" Kassandra cried out, pounding her clenched fists against his rugged back. But her desperate protests were of no avail, drowned out by the crude laughter and ribald jests that filled the tavern, resounding from the high beams.

  "The corner room is straight along the corridor and to the left, milord," the proprietor shouted above the din. He watched with no small amount of envy as Stefan reached the top of the stairs and disappeared down the darkened corridor with his stunning load, a kicking, struggling vision of flaming hair and flailing limbs.

  Funny, he had never seen that wench at his tavern before, he thought, scratching his head. What a tigress! Surely he would have remembered such a beauty . . . and such a temper. He shrugged. Perhaps he might sample her charms when the gentleman was through with her. Licking his lips, he filled some goblets from a newly opened barrel of wine and hurried toward the crowded tables. "Here you go, m'lads, more wine! Compliments of the commander."

  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.

  She was on fire. A surging wave of ecstasy was drawing ever closer . . . closer . . . teasing her, enveloping her in a yearning more powerful, more exciting, than anything she had ever sensed before.

  At the seeming height of her pleasure she wrapped her arms around Stefan's neck, her long legs around his waist, her lips melding with his in passionate fusion, their ragged breath merging as one, higher, faster, and still higher . . . until she drove against him at the sizzling pinnacle of her passion, clinging to him, crying out as he groaned and exploded within her, a shattering release that whirled around them like a tempest unleashed, a maelstrom of blinding desire.

  It was a fleeting moment . . . a spellbinding eternity, the sweetest rapture and the wildest fury . . . then she was drifting down, down . . .

  Kassandra's eyes fluttered open, and she sank back upon the rumpled bed, spent and exhausted, her arms slipping from his ne
ck to lie limply at her side. She could barely see him through the entangled web of her hair, the outline of his rugged shoulders sleek and glistening in the golden candlelight.

  Then the powerful weight of his body was gone, collapsing onto the bed beside her, his sinewed arm wrapping about her and pulling her close, her back pressed against his chest. She did not think to fight him; her mind seemed dulled and sated as if from a potent drug. His breath was a shivering warmth on her nape, labored at first but easing gradually to a slow, measured cadence. It lulled her, seduced her . . . and, in moments, she slept.

  Stefan inhaled the heady fragrance of her fire-gold hair, wrapped like a mysterious veil of intrigue around her creamy shoulders and rose-tipped breasts, a silken fan half covering her face.

  Was the wench a thief, temptress, or lady's maid, as she had said? he wondered dazedly, the effects of the wine, his long ride the night before, and the wanton passion of the last moments finally taking their toll. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her lithe body melded against his own.

  She had been a virgin, that much he knew. And as sleep stole over him, his last conscious thought was that whatever she might be, he was not about to let her go.

  Chapter 5

  A candle sputtered and hissed in the silent room, its flame flaring brightly for a brief moment, then died into a curling whiff of smoke, the wick a glowing ember.

  Awakened by the sound, Kassandra sighed contentedly, snuggling ever closer to the radiating warmth beside her. "Hmmm . . ." she murmured, her cheek brushing against crisp curls that tickled her nose. She smiled faintly, the steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat pulsing gently in her ear. It seems so real, she thought drowsily, so real . . .

  Suddenly Kassandra's eyelids flickered open, burning memory flooding back into her dazed consciousness. She tried to sit up, but she was held fast.