"Oh—!" she gasped, biting her lip hard, tasting blood, her stifled cry echoing around the room. She froze, scarcely breathing, fearful that any further sound, any movement, any breath, however shallow, would surely waken the man who held her prisoner.
How long had she been lying there? Kassandra wondered frantically, glancing at the window. The opaque shade was drawn, completely covering the glass. She could not tell if it was day or night.
Rising panic gripped her throat, but she fought against it, willing herself to think clearly. She lifted her head slowly, her gaze darting about the room. It was dark and filled with shadows except for a solitary candle still burning in a wall sconce near the door.
The door! Kassandra thought wildly. Her only means of escape, if she could only reach it. But her heart sank. First she had to free herself from the man who held her captive within his embrace, without waking him.
Forcing herself to, stay calm, Kassandra took a deep breath and looked up at him, fearful that she might find him staring boldly back at her, his eyes laughing wickedly at her plight. But he was sound asleep, the even rise and fall of his chest a hopeful sign that he would not wake easily. His face was cloaked in shadow, yet even in the dark she was struck by the rugged masculinity of his features: black brows set against a wide forehead, commanding profile, chiseled lips, strong jawline, cleft chin . . .
Fool! Kassandra berated herself on a wave of furious indignation. He may be handsome to look upon, but do not forget the bastard has ravaged you, wantonly stolen what was yours alone to give. It's more likely he lies in a drunken stupor than a deep sleep.
The thought flooded Kassandra with giddy relief, giving her the courage she needed. Fueled by her growing outrage, she pushed gingerly against him, trying to free herself. She nearly choked, her heart banging against her chest, when he suddenly rolled over onto his back, sighing heavily, his arms falling to his sides.
She hesitated for the barest moment, motionless, her breath caught in her throat. God help her if he awoke! But he slept on, his breathing deep and steady.
Kassandra could hardly believe she was free of him. Waiting no longer, she crept to the other end of the wide bed.
Damn! She cursed inwardly as the wooden bed frame creaked from her furtive movements. She was still not out of danger, she chided herself, swinging her long legs over the side of the mattress and stepping onto the floor.
At least the carpet would mask her footsteps. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Where were her clothes?
As she took a few steps from the bed, her foot fell on a linen garment lying crumpled on the floor. She picked it up, cold fury welling inside her as she surveyed what was left of her chemise.
Filthy bastard! Kassandra raged. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks as the enormity of what had happened hit her with full force. She was ruined! She dropped the mangled garment, wiping the wet stains from her face with the palm of her hand.
Suddenly a glint of light near the bed caught her eye and she turned, inhaling sharply. Her gaze fell upon his sword, still propped up against the chair where he had left it, the polished blade brightly reflecting the candlelight.
Kassandra walked trancelike to the chair and fairly up the weapon, testing it in her hand. It was fairly light, surely no heavier than the swords she had wielded in her fencing classes at Wyndham Court. She moved to the bed and stared coldly at the man sleeping there, his bronzed body in dark contrast with the white linen sheets.
It would be so easy to kill him now, to run him through with his own sword. Surely it would be a rightful revenge for what he had done to her. She pointed the sword at his chest, the blade steady even though she was trembling, the deadly tip aimed directly at his heart.
She stood for a long moment, her overwhelming hate a bitter bile upon her tongue. He deserved to die . . .
Suddenly he groaned and rolled onto his side, his back to her, startling Kassandra from her deadly reverie. She dropped the sword upon the bed as if stung and backed away, fearful that at any moment he might wake and discover she was no longer beside him. All thoughts of revenge fled from her mind. Sweet Lord, she had to get out of there at once!
She fell to her knees, desperately groping on the floor and beneath the bed for her clothing. She dressed hurriedly, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she fumbled with the laces of her bodice. At last, after several agonizing moments, she was ready.
Money, you will need money to hire a carriage if Zoltan is no longer at the cathedral, she reminded herself. Spying the coat of his uniform tossed over the back of the chair, she quickly rummaged through the deep side pockets, her eyes lighting when she pulled out a small velvet bag filled with coins. She slipped the bag into her bodice; then, with a last glance over her shoulder, she stole silently to the door.
She turned the polished knob, her heart pounding in her ears. But the door held fast. The bolt! Open the bolt! Her fingers grasped the heavy iron lock and slid it back. Once again her hand tested the knob, twisting it slowly. She could have cried with relief as the door swung open, squeaking on its hinges.
Kassandra held her breath, cautiously peering into the short hallway that led to the main corridor. She could hear the low rumble of voices and outbursts of raucous laughter filtering up the stairs from the tavern below, but there was no sound coming from any of the adjacent rooms. Confident that she would not be seen, she opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through it, then closed it quietly behind her. She edged along the wall, stopping when she came to the darkened corridor.
" 'Ere we go, love, just up these steps," a woman's shrill voice called from the bottom of the stairway. "Now, mind ye, I take on only one at a time. Tell yer friend there to go have another draft of wine. He'll have to wait his turn just like the rest of 'em."
Kassandra's throat constricted in fear as heavy footsteps sounded from the stairs, the wooden steps creaking loudly under the weight of the woman and her companion, their drunken laughter echoing down the long corridor.
The noise will surely wake him! .Kassandra thought wildly. Her worst fears were suddenly confirmed when a sharply uttered curse came from within the corner room, then what sounded like a chair crashing to the floor.
She waited no longer. She bolted into the corridor, determined to dash down the stairs and through the tavern to the street. But the stairway was blocked by the weaving, belching couple, a heavy-set blond woman and a rough-looking sailor.
"Heh, there, dearie, what's yer rush?" the woman yelled amiably. A bleary grin twisted her rouged face until her companion lunged at Kassandra, tripping over the dozy and knocking both onto the stairs. "Ye stinkin' swine, not enough woman for ye, eh?" she blurted angrily, cuffing him on the side of the head.
Kassandra whirled and fled the other way, trying the doorknobs to several rooms. A few were locked, while one opened into a small bedroom that was occupied, the scantily clad woman shouting out crude obscenities, much to the delight of her prone companion, until Kassandra quickly slammed the door shut.
There must be another way out of this tavern! her mind screamed, as she tried yet another doorknob. This one turned easily in her hand, and she almost fell down a narrow flight of stairs in her haste to escape. Stumbling and groping in the dark, she lifted the latch on the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs and pushed with all her strength. The door swung open so suddenly that she fell to her knees on the ground, the late afternoon sun blinding her.
Momentarily stunned, Kassandra pushed her hair from her face and struggled to her feet. At least it was still daylight, she thought gratefully, noting her surroundings. She was now at the back of the tavern, the Danube Canal only thirty odd feet away. Several sailors loitering at a nearby wharf spied her and called out, gesturing for her to join them, their leering grins arousing sheer terror in her.
You must find your way back to St. Stephen's, Kassandra reasoned, fighting again to stay calm. Without another glance at the sailors, she turned and fled down the alley be
side the tavern, their crude taunts ringing in her ears. Each breath tore at her throat, her chest heaving from exertion.
Will this nightmare ever end? she wondered wildly, reaching the cobbled road that wound in front of the tavern, the same street on which she had almost been trampled earlier that day.
She began walking hurriedly in what she hoped was the direction to the cathedral, dodging passersby, carriages, and sedan chairs with their scurrying footmen that clogged the street. Suddenly she spied an empty carriage in front of a coffeehouse, the stout driver leaning on the lacquered side as if waiting for someone. She ran toward him, startling his horses as she called out to him. The two spirited animals neighed and snorted, their hooves nervously pawing the cobblestones.
"Pl-please, sir, I need . . . a ride to . . . St. Stephen's . . ." she gasped breathlessly, slumping exhausted against the carriage.
"Eh, there, what do you think yer doing, wench, scaring the horses like that?" the driver shouted angrily, grabbing the bridle of the nearest horse and making clicking sounds with his tongue to calm them. But his tone softened as he noted her obvious distress.
"If it's the cathedral you want, miss, yer heading the wrong way," he said, pointing his thumb in the opposite direction. "And this carriage isn't for hire. I'm waiting on a fine gentleman inside, sorry to say, for I'd like to oblige ye."
Kassandra drew out the velvet bag from her bodice, ignoring the man's raised eyebrow. She opened it, her eyes widening at the bright gold coins tumbling into her open palm. She had stolen a small fortune! But she quickly recovered her composure, holding out three of the coins to the astonished driver.
"If you please, sir," she murmured, her gaze not leaving his face, "I will pay you three more as soon as we arrive at St. Stephen's."
The driver gaped at the coins in his hand, nodding his head, then quickly pocketed them. He fumbled for the door, opening it with a bow and a flourish, then gallantly held out his arm.
"My thanks," Kassandra said tersely, accepting his offer of assistance. She stepped into the carriage, relief surging through her. "I'm in a great hurry," she added. "You must get me to the cathedral as quickly as you can."
"Oh, aye, miss!" the driver blurted, shutting the door firmly. He jumped into his seat and snapped his whip above the heads of his horses.
"Hold there, man, I thought I paid you to wait," a rotund gentleman called out, hurrying from the coffeehouse. "What's going on—"
"Sorry, milord, but this lady here says she's in a hurry," the driver shouted with a laugh as the carriage clattered down the street at a devil's pace.
Kassandra stared out anxiously from the window, unable to relax even as the cursed tavern was left farther and farther behind. Would Zoltan still be at the cathedral? she wondered. She could tell it was well past four o'clock. The streetlamps were already lit along the darkening streets.
Kassandra sighed heavily. She could only hope he had not yet returned to the estate and raised an alarm over her disappearance. There would be hell to pay for this misadventure if Isabel had already returned from the royal gala to find her missing.
If only she had not lost her cloak, Kassandra thought miserably. Then she might at least be able to hide her wretched appearance. She looked down at her gown, her fingers quickly working through the tangles in her hair. There really wasn't anything she could do about it, she told herself resignedly, except brush off some of the dirt. The jagged tear in the skirt was another matter. How would she ever explain it?
"Damn him," Kassandra muttered under her breath, her amethyst eyes flashing fire.
She shook her head fiercely. No, you will not think of him anymore! she vowed with defiance. You will put this whole experience from your mind and pretend it never happened. Yet even as she made her vow, her skin burned with the unwanted memory of his caress; her lips, bruised and swollen, ached from the savagery of his kiss.
Kassandra closed her eyes tightly and slammed her fist upon the velvet seat, willing the seething memories from her mind. But she could not forget the blazing heat of his eyes, flint gray with just a hint of blue. They were like a hot brand searing into her even now, a scorching reflection of his all-encompassing desire . . . forever etched upon her memory.
"We're almost there, milady." The carriage driver leaned to one side and shouted down to her. Kassandra started, his voice jarring into her tormented thoughts, flushing her body with apprehension.
"Please, please let Zoltan still be waiting," she murmured fervently, peering out the window at the massive cathedral, its twin spires piercing the twilight sky.
"Whoa! Whoa, there," the driver commanded as the carriage rumbled to a stop.
Kassandra opened the door and stepped onto the street just as the driver jumped from his seat. "My thanks," she said, dropping the three gold coins into his hand and searching anxiously for the familiar carriage. She began to walk toward the main entrance of the cathedral, the driver forgotten.
He's gone back to the estate without me, Kassandra thought resignedly, her heart sinking as she surveyed the deserted cathedral square.
"Lady Kassandra!"
She whirled sharply, the sound of Zoltan's gruff voice filling her with elation. She spied the von Furstenberg carriage waiting by the side door of the cathedral and ran toward it.
"Milady, what kept ye?" Zoltan asked, his face etched with worry. His gaze moved over her, quickly taking in her bedraggled appearance. "It's almost six o'clock. I didn't know whether to leave and fetch help, else stay here and wait awhile longer."
Kassandra flushed at his frank perusal, inwardly cursing again the man who had so wantonly disrupted her life. "Please, Zoltan, I'm fine," she assured him, her mind racing. She wanted to avoid the question in his eyes, but she had to offer him some explanation for her tardiness. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting . . . but I—" She stopped. She simply could not think of any plausible excuse.
No, Kassandra decided. It was better to say nothing. She looked steadily at the burly Hungarian, her eyes pleading for his understanding—and his silence. "Please, Zoltan, I would like to return to the estate at once."
Zoltan cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting his feet, then slowly nodded. "Aye, milady, as you wish." He whipped his great cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it about her. "You'll need this, milady. The night is growing cold." He looked away for a moment, embarrassed, then turned back to her. "You may return it to me on the morrow."
Kassandra smiled faintly, tears springing to her eyes. "You have my thanks, Zoltan," she murmured, taking his proffered arm as he helped her into the carriage. She slumped against the seat, her body limp with exhaustion, wanting nothing more at that moment than to be safely back at the von Furstenberg estate.
Chapter 6
Kassandra hurried up the winding marble steps of the grand staircase, Zoltan's great cloak swirling about her. So far she had been lucky. The only person she had seen since her arrival at the estate a few moment ago had been the footman. He had informed her that Countess Isabel had not yet returned from the gala, another stroke of good fortune.
She made her way quickly down the corridor to her chamber, clutching the cloak tightly under her chin. It dragged at least a foot upon the floor behind her, frustrating any illusion that it might belong to her, but at least she was almost to her door. She reached out, grasping the ornate doorknob.
"Lady Kassandra, I'm so glad to see that you have returned! I was growing concerned about you. Were you able to complete your errands?"
Kassandra's shoulders slumped, her hand falling from the knob. She turned around, forcing a smile to her lips. "Yes, Gisela, thank you," she said evenly, as Isabel's maid closed the distance between them. "Now if you will excuse me . . . "
Gisela's sharp gaze fell from Kassandra's face to the cloak she wore, a sudden frown creasing her forehead. "Milady, forgive me if I seem impertinent, but is that not the coachman's garb?"
"Ah . . . yes, it is," Kassandra answered, a story swiftly forming in her
mind. She looked steadily at Gisela, forcing her voice to remain calm. "My cloak was caught under the wheel of a carriage earlier today and ripped from my shoulders. It was a shame, really, for it was completely ruined."
"How terrible!" Gisela interjected, her eyes wide with shock. "Surely you could have been hurt, milady."
"Yes, I suppose I was lucky," she lied. It seemed this entire day was composed of lies, she thought guiltily. "I simply left it where it fell in the mud. Zoltan kindly offered me the use of his cloak for the rest of the day."
Gisela clucked her tongue in sympathy. "Well, miss, at least you are unharmed. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Kassandra breathed an inner sigh of relief that her story had satisfied the inquisitive maid. "Yes, Gisela. A bath would be very nice. It has been a long day." Truly, she could hardly wait to bathe, to rid herself once and for all of the scent of that man! It clung to her, reminding her of him, when all she wanted to do was forget.
"Of course, milady. And I'll bring up a warm brandy for you to sip," Gisela offered kindly. She turned and bustled down the hallway.
Kassandra opened the door to her chamber, grateful to see the familiar turquoise and cream surroundings. She was safe at last. She pulled the heavy cloak from her shoulders and laid it over a chair, then quickly stripped the soiled gown from her body, along with her remaining clothing, kicked off her shoes, and rolled the gray stockings down her long legs. Hastily she folded everything together in one pile and hid it in a far corner of her closet, beneath a stack of oval hatboxes.
She would have to dispose of the gown later, she thought with distaste. It was damaged beyond repair, and besides, she wanted no further reminders of this disastrous adventure.
Kassandra pinned up her thick hair, then donned a robe of blue satin, absently tying the sash. Her reflection in the full-length mirror caught her eye and she paused for a moment, gazing at herself.
Stolen Splendor Page 4
