Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Stefan sat back in the saddle, studying her exquisite profile. It seemed he was getting no further in unraveling the mystery. First Zoltan had insisted that Kassandra had never been out of his sight during that day in the city, and now his apology had scarcely raised a slim eyebrow, let alone the indignant outburst he had expected. What could he possibly say . . .

  "I wonder what you must think of me," he began, "after stumbling upon such a, well, such an indelicate situation in the garden—"

  "Isabel told me you were something of a rogue, so I am not surprised you would choose such a place for a tryst," Kassandra cut him off flippantly, doing her best to conceal her true feelings. If he only knew what she really thought of him! "And from what I have heard of Viennese gentlemen, it seems discretion is not a valued trait." With that, she spurred her mare into a trot, then a fast gallop. "I thought you wanted to ride, my lord," she tossed over her shoulder.

  Stefan's eyes gleamed with amusement, following Kassandra's lithe figure riding low on her mare as the animal raced across an open field. "You have won this match," he murmured to himself with admiration, undeterred that she had bested him once again. "But there will be others." After all, he thought fleetingly, the chase was nearly as exciting as the quarry . . .

  Stefan dug his heel into the stallion's glistening flank and the mighty animal leaped forward, bolting from the road into the field.

  Chapter 11

  Stefan tore up the perfumed letter, the second he had received by messenger that morning from Sophia, and tossed it into the bright orange flames blazing in the fireplace. He watched silently as the ivory paper curled and blackened at the edges, then was consumed in a puff of acrid smoke.

  Fool! You should have told her by now, Stefan berated himself, running a hand through his thick hair. It had been going on like this for two weeks, ever since the day after the reception. Letters, some written in a furious pique, some seductively suggestive, some desperately pleading, had been arriving every day from Sophia, and all of them contained the same message. When, and where, could they meet?

  Stefan turned from the fireplace in frustration. If only Sophia had been at the Hofburg when he had returned that night to fetch Isabel, instead of having left unexpectedly with her husband, the archduke, who'd suddenly taken ill. Then the matter would have been settled. Instead, she still had no inkling that their affair was over. He had been so busy catching up on matters concerning the estate, and with his much more pleasurable task of keeping a watchful eye on Kassandra, that he had hardly a moment to write Sophia a letter in reply.

  But the end of their alliance was hardly something he could discuss in a letter, Stefan thought, shaking his head. Sophia deserved more than that. He would have to visit her at the von Starenberg estate later that day, after his meeting with Prince Eugene at his palace on Himmelpfortgasse within the city walls, and tell her himself. He would be gone the better part of the afternoon, and maybe into the early evening . . . a long time to be away from Kassandra. But there was no help for it.

  Stefan walked over to a massive table with intricately carved legs, its dark, polished surface strewn with papers and rolled maps. He leaned on it for a long moment, his eyes barely focusing. His mind conjured forth a stirring image of flashing amethyst eyes fringed by lush, gold-tipped lashes, and smiling red lips. Kassandra . . . He clenched his jaw angrily, then with a sudden movement swept his arm across the table, sending maps tumbling to the floor and papers scattering high in the air, only to drift down and settle in disarray upon the woven carpet.

  Damn, little good that's done! Stefan raged, shocked at his own anger. He sat down heavily in his leather chair, rubbing his forehead with his hand. What was she doing to him? It was as if he was beginning to doubt his instincts, and the heated memory that had driven him since that afternoon in the tavern. He was obsessed with a need to know the truth!

  During the past two weeks, he had rarely let Kassandra out of his sight. He rode with her in the morning, entertained her in the library with tales of his travels and life as a soldier, joined her on the long walks she favored, accompanied her and Isabel into Vienna on several shopping trips—the pastime he least enjoyed!—and yet through it all she had given him no further sign that she was the woman who had so bewitched him. Not an expression, not a gesture, not a misspoken word—nothing!

  Exasperated, Stefan rose from the chair and strode over to the window, planting his legs wide apart and crossing his arms as he looked out over the wide expanse of the snow-covered lawn. The first snow of the season had fallen last night, blanketing the landscape in a thin veil of white, the bare branches of the trees glistening like spun crystal under a transparent sheen of ice. No doubt it would melt soon. The bright morning sun was warm on his face through the windowpane, and already the snow on the curved drive was fast receding, clear rivulets of icy water streaking the packed dirt.

  Best to set off for Vienna before the roads become a sea of mud, Stefan thought, sighing heavily. He glanced at the ornate clock on the shelf of a mahogany bookcase. His meeting with Prince Eugene was scheduled for half past eleven, barely two hours away. He had yet to dress in his dark blue uniform and, he scowled, noting the papers lying on the floor, reorganize the documents he needed for the meeting. He bent on one knee, quickly gathering up the rolled maps and papers.

  Of one thing he was sure, he thought darkly, straightening to his feet and sorting through the documents. He would wait no longer for an admission from Kassandra. When he returned from Vienna he would confront her with the memory that was driving him mad, and if she denied it, perhaps her kiss would decide the matter once and for all.

  ***

  Kassandra sat in the middle of her bed with her knees pulled up under her chin, her voluminous morning gown wrapped snugly about her, one stockinged foot tapping nervously on the satin bedspread. She could swear it had been almost an hour since Stefan had left the estate on his horse, Brand, an hour that had passed like an eternity as she forced herself to wait before making the slightest move. Although she knew he had gone into Vienna for a meeting with his commander, Prince Eugene, she wasn't about to take the chance that he might return unexpectedly.

  It was the first time Stefan had left the estate by himself in two weeks, two confusing weeks that had been an ever-increasing torment for her. It had not taken her long to figure out that Isabel had assigned Stefan the task of being her guardian. Berdine, having heard it from Gisela, had confirmed her suspicions in a burst of giggling chatter.

  From their first ride together the morning after the reception Stefan had dogged her every step, becoming a constant companion who, Kassandra loathed to admit, both infuriated her and excited her. His very presence was so powerfully masculine, so compelling, that her firm resolve to hate him was shaken every time they were together. She despised him for what he had done to her, yet she could not deny she was overwhelmingly attracted to him, beset by a scorching desire that was beyond her understanding. The aching memory of that afternoon haunted her every waking moment and filled her nights with unwanted dreams of his caress . . .

  Kassandra shook her head and sprang from the bed. No, she would not think of him anymore! Especially not now, when she at last had her chance to rid herself of the garments hidden in the stable. She shrugged off her morning gown and tossed it on the bed, already dressed in her warm woolen riding habit. She ran to her closet and threw open the door, quickly pulling on her leather boots, then she whirled the new cape Isabel had bought her about her shoulders. Fastening it securely, she lifted the fur-lined hood over her head and hurried to the door.

  At least Isabel is still sleeping, she thought gratefully, running lightly down the stairs. And Gisela was in Vienna at the market, so no one was here to spy upon her. She exhaled sharply as she stepped outside, the sharp, cold air taking her breath away. But the warm sun on her face lifted her spirits, and she walked briskly along the path leading to the stable.

  "Hans?" she called when she reached the stable yard. S
he received no answer; a strange quiet hung over the place. Then she remembered Stefan had given the stableboys, several of the drivers, and other workers from the estate a free day to spend as they wished after laboring so long and hard in preparation for the coming winter.

  No matter, she thought. She knew how to saddle a horse. She walked into the dark stable, silent but for the low rustling of horses in their stalls and an occasional whinny.

  "Hello, girl," she said softly, stepping gingerly into a wide stall. The roan mare turned at the sound of her voice, nickering in greeting, and nudged Kassandra with her velvety nose.

  "There you go," Kassandra murmured, reaching deep into the pocket of her skirt and pulling out a carrot stub. "I saved it just for you." As the mare munched contentedly, she hoisted the lightweight saddle onto her back, then fastened the girth below her belly. Lastly she drew the bridle over the mare's head, patting the white spot on her forehead, then led her from the stall.

  Kassandra tethered the mare and ran over to the wall, exhaling with relief when she dug below the pile of straw and found the roll of clothing still there. Thankfully the stableboys had not found it. She tucked it under her arm and hurried back to the mare, then eased up on the saddle. Clucking softly, she ducked her head as they left the stable. At first the bright sunlight on the white snow blinded her, then they were off across the stable yard and along the road, the mare prancing friskily as they eased into a canter.

  "Whoa, girl," Kassandra commanded, pulling up hard on the reins as the mare instinctively veered into the open field just off the road. "We're going this way today." She turned the mare in the opposite direction, heading her down an incline through a ditch drifted high with snow, then into the thick woods that she knew stretched for miles on this side of the road. It would be a far more secluded place to bury the clothing, and the cover of the trees would lessen the chance of being seen by anyone.

  The forest was so dense that she had to slow to a walk, carefully winding around the trunks of towering trees and dodging fallen branches. She had never been this way before, and on any other day might have feared becoming lost. But it had snowed last night, and the mare's hoofprints made a welcome guide for the journey back.

  Kassandra allowed herself to relax after several moments, the hushed quiet of the surrounding woods lulling her senses and easing the nervous tension that gripped her body. She allowed the mare to choose her own path while she looked around her at the glistening wonder of the winter scene.

  "It's so beautiful . . ." she breathed, smiling as a pair of plump white-tailed rabbits hopped along the ground just in front of them, diving under the cover of a snow-laden thicket as the mare snorted and tossed her head in surprise. Two pair of velvet-brown eyes peeked out from beneath the low-lying branches, black noses and whiskers quivered, their furred bodies poised for flight.

  The ground was crisscrossed with what seemed like hundreds of tracks. Squirrel, birds, rabbits, and deer; an intricate mosaic of forest life. Stefan had told her it was a favorite pastime for him to venture into the woods, not so much for hunting but for the solitude it offered—

  Kassandra frowned, amazed at how quickly her thoughts flew back to Stefan. Her hands tightened on the reins once again. The man was such an infuriating contradiction! One day a rogue, with that taunting smile and hint of challenge in his eyes she remembered so vividly from the garden, and then the days thereafter a gentleman of gallantry, wit, and intelligence, with a droll sense of humor—the many qualities Isabel had so highly praised.

  Kassandra sighed, perplexed. She knew she could never forgive him for what he had done to her, but she had to admit her guard was beginning to slip. He had done nothing within the past few weeks to indicate he had any desire to expose the secret they shared.

  Perhaps he has decided there's nothing to gain from such a scandal, Kassandra reasoned. Or could it be that he feared for his own reputation? Surely he realized he would be punished severely, maybe even imprisoned, for his crime of assaulting the daughter of the English ambassador.

  She grimaced, recalling a day when, walking with her father, they had come across the horrendous sight of several criminals being herded through the streets toward the prison, their arms pilloried, their backs viciously lashed and bleeding. He had told her the worst criminals were racked and broken on the wheel for their crimes, their mutilated bodies left outside the city walls as a gruesome reminder . . .

  Kassandra shuddered. Hardly a fate Count Stefan von Furstenberg would wish upon himself! And even if he was still entertaining some plan of revealing their secret, after today she would have nothing to fear. There would no longer be any proof.

  Kassandra pulled up sharply on the reins and looked around her. There was a strange tension in the air—was it the wind?—and she was anxious to be done with her task. This place was as good as any, she decided quickly, sliding from the mare's back to the ground. Holding the roll of clothing in one hand, she walked to a sunlit clearing, her boots crunching in the snow.

  What could she use to dig a hole? She cursed under her breath. How stupid of her to forget to bring a small shovel, or even a knife to hack through the cold earth. Obviously she would have to think of something else—perhaps . . . ?

  Kassandra's eyes flew to a heavy stick lying a few feet away. It would have to do, she told herself, bending to pick it up. She returned to the center of the clearing and fell to her knees. Dropping the clothing beside her, she brushed the snow away from the spot with her gloved hands. She began to dig with the jagged end of the stick, slowly at first, then faster as the frozen topsoil gave way to moist black dirt.

  Kassandra paused for the briefest moment to wipe away the hair that had escaped from the thick knot at her nape, then continued to dig furiously, her panting breaths forming clouds of vapor in the frigid air. At last there was a hole deep enough for the clothing. She dropped the roll gingerly into the hollow, wrinkling her nose in distaste, then pushed the dirt back in upon it, packing it smooth. Leaning on her hands at the edge of the covered hole, she fought to catch her breath, the icy air stinging her lungs.

  At last it was done! she exulted, relief rushing through her. Sweat rolled down her back beneath the coat of her riding habit, but she didn't care. The tension and uncertainty that had gripped her for the past few weeks fell from her like a dead weight, and an overwhelming sense of freedom swelled within her heart.

  Kassandra sat back on her heels, tossing her head back as she gazed up into the clear blue sky. As her laughter rang through the silent woods, a wild impulse seized her. She grabbed the stick and threw it with all her might into the trees.

  "I'm glad I chose to stand over here, rather than in the way of your stick," a deep voice said behind her. "Your aim is deadly, my lady."

  Chapter 12

  Kassandra blanched, the laughter dying on her lips, the abrupt strangled sound an eerie echo in the forest. No, it can't be! she thought, her gloved fingers digging into the frozen earth as she knelt motionless, stricken with terror. He is in Vienna, with Prince Eugene. He must be, he must be . . . Surely, it is the wind, the rustle of dead leaves, a cruel trick of your imagination.

  "It seems you have strayed from your usual riding path today, Kassandra," Stefan said lightly, stepping into the clearing. His casual tone belied the triumph surging within him; now she would confirm the truth and he would be free of this obsession to know. His eyes darkened to a vivid gray as he studied her lithe form, her back still to him, straight and stiff. He began to walk toward her.

  He had been just outside the city wall when he realized he had forgotten a most important document that he was to present to his general. It was a map of the fortress city of Belgrade, Serbia, the site of the following year's campaign against the Turks, which had been secreted to him the night before by a well-paid Janissary spy. He had wheeled Brand around and ridden like the wind back to the estate, secured the map, then had set out again, only to find Kassandra ahead of him as she veered her mare from the road into
the thick woods.

  He had thought it strange, knowing how much she enjoyed riding across the open fields, and giving her a good lead, he had followed her to this clearing. She had been so engrossed in her mysterious task that she had not heard him approach, and he had stealthily watched her, a strong suspicion growing that she was on the verge of giving herself away.

  She reminded him of a cornered doe, Stefan mused, seeing her tense at the sound of his approaching footsteps in the snow. Her head was tilted to one side as if she was aware of his every movement, her body taut and poised to flee.

  "It's of small consequence, really, taking another path," he continued steadily. "The woods are beautiful at this time of year, especially with a dusting of snow. Still, I didn't expect to find you digging a hole in the ground, a strange pastime, you must admit, Kassandra, even for such a mysterious young woman as yourself."

  Kassandra winced as stark realization, and a chilling despair, settled over her like a smothering cloud. It hadn't been the wind, or her imagination, she thought dully. Stefan must have been watching her for some time . . . must have seen everything . . .

  Her limbs felt wooden, sapped of their lifeblood, as she rose to her feet and turned to face him, her gaze caught and held by his own. The familiar taunting challenge was there, but now something else struck her with numbing force. He looked so . . . resolute.

  Stefan drew in his breath, stunned by Kassandra's poignant beauty. He had never seen her look so vulnerable, or so haunted. He longed to reach out and wipe away the smudge of dirt on her cheek, yet he held back.

  No, he would not be swayed, he thought grimly. The moment he had long awaited had come at last. He would play out the game to the end, and prove the victor, triumphant over this obsession that had so haunted his days and nights.