"Yes," he agreed. "To Kassandra." He tossed down the fiery contents in one draft.
Sophia's hand shook as she raised the goblet to her lips, the sweet wine nearly making her gag. Yes, to Lady Kassandra Wyndham, she thought malevolently, smiling at Stefan. The bride who would never live to see her wedding day.
"Now I must go," Stefan said, setting down his glass. "There are matters I must attend to at the estate."
"Of—of course," Sophia replied, momentarily taken aback by his abrupt manner. "I will walk with you to the door—"
"No, but thank you, Sophia. I can see my way out," he murmured. He strode to the double doors of the salon, anxious to be on his way. There was no sense in prolonging this meeting.
"Stefan," Sophia called out, her knuckles white as she gripped the goblet.
"Yes?"
Sophia swallowed hard, a tremulous smile fixed upon her face. "Please give my fondest greetings to your future bride," she murmured.
Stefan nodded, then with a flashing smile he was gone, his footsteps echoing across the hall, followed by the awful finality of the front door closing behind him. Sophia waited, motionless, until the thundering of hooves upon the drive had faded away, then she threw her goblet against the tall enameled stove in the corner, sending shards and splinters of glass flying everywhere.
"Adolph!" she screamed, rushing into the hall. "Adolph!"
It was only a moment before he appeared from the kitchen, hastily swallowing a mouthful of cold mutton and wiping his greasy fingers on his breeches. "I am here, milady," he muttered, eyeing her cautiously. He marveled that such a beautiful face could contort so viciously, revealing the true nature of the woman he had no choice but to serve.
Sophia looked down at him, her hands clenched into fists, her breasts heaving against the stiff fabric of her bodice. It was really a simple matter, she thought shrewdly, a scheme forming in her mind as she appraised him. Once this Kassandra was dealt with, then Stefan would come back to her and all would be as before. And she possessed the very accomplice to carry out her bidding . . .
"I have a task for you, Adolph, an important task," she commanded imperiously. "One in which you will be able to use all the . . . skills" —her eyes narrowed— "and attributes that your previous owner claimed you possessed."
She knelt, her gaze level with his own. "If you succeed in this task," she murmured sweetly, "I will be sure to reward you well. If you fail . . ." She shook her head, sighing regretfully. "Well, you can imagine, eh, Adolph?"
He licked his lips, nodding, a flicker of fear lighting the depths of his black eyes.
"Good. Now come with me to my chamber, and we will discuss this task . . . further." She rose to her feet and glided across the polished floor to the staircase, then turned and held out her hand. "Come along, Adolph."
Chapter 18
Kassandra closed the thin volume of English verse she had been reading for most of the morning and leaned against the leather chair. It had been unexpectedly generous of Stefan to allow her the use of his extensive library, she mused, and she had done so with great pleasure on many occasions during the past weeks—but only when she was certain he would not be there. It was unnerving to be alone in the same room with him.
She had tried once, at his insistent invitation, to read a book there while he was poring over various maps and manuscripts at the massive table he used for a desk. But she had been unable to concentrate on the page before her, his every movement, every rustle of paper, a jarring torment.
It seemed each time she looked up he would be studying her intently, almost curiously, as if he sought to know what she was thinking. His gaze alone was enough to send her mind reeling, tinged with the desire that was always reflected there, and something else she could not fathom. Flustered, she had hurriedly sought her page again, but finally gave up and fled the room, fearful that he might see her own hated desire smoldering in her eyes.
No, it was far more to her liking to be here by herself, among the hundreds of leather-bound volumes gracing tall shelves that reached to the ceiling. Her gaze drifted around the large room, silent but for the ticking of the ornate gilded clock on the mantelpiece, and she noted the trappings—oak paneling, heavy, imposing furniture, a collection of swords and pistols upon the walls—that gave it a decidedly masculine ambience. The only liberty she allowed herself whenever she entered the library was to draw back the velvet drapes so the bright winter sunlight could stream into the room.
Kassandra sighed as she set the book on a table beside the chair, then rose to her feet and crossed to the window. She gazed out, the sunlight warm on her face, marveling at the blinding snow covering the ground. She had never seen a winter quite like this one, so unlike those she had known in Sussex. It snowed very little there, if at all. Here, although it was only January, the sparkling drifts already reached well above the lower panes of the windows.
Kassandra's fair brow furrowed in thought. Surprisingly enough, the deep snows had not kept them confined to the estate, as she might have expected. The past few weeks had been a blur of activity, much of it due to the Christmas season and the coming of the New Year. She suspected some of it was due to the unsettling conversation she and Stefan had shared a few days after she had moved her belongings into the sumptuous bedchamber adjoining his own.
She had done her very best to avoid him altogether, or at the very least spend as much time in Isabel's company as possible so he would not catch her alone. But on this particular night Isabel had retired early, so she'd sought the solace of the drawing room.
Sitting down at the harpsichord, she had skimmed her fingers lightly over the keys, her lilting soprano quietly accompanying her favorite melodies. She was so lost in her music, she did not hear the door open and close quietly, nor did she realize Stefan was silently watching her until his voice sounded from across the room.
"Do you play only sad melodies?" he queried gently, stepping from the shadowed background into the flickering light cast by the candelabra atop the harpsichord.
Kassandra's hands froze on the smooth keys, and she flushed with sudden warmth. It never ceased to amaze her how even the sound of his voice could send her senses reeling. But she quickly regained her composure. "I play what is in my heart," she retorted hotly. "If it is not to your liking, you have only to leave."
Stefan chuckled softly, seemingly unperturbed at her tone. "Ah, but it is very much to my liking, Kassandra. You sing beautifully," he murmured, pulling up a chair. He seated himself, then leaned forward, a pleasant smile on his handsome face. "Please go on."
Kassandra had no wish to remain in this room with him. His accommodating mood hardly suited the picture of him—cruel, callous, a blackguard of the worse kind—she nurtured as a constant reminder of what he had done to her.
She stood up from her chair and swept hurriedly across the room, leaving a good distance between them. She was almost to the door when his next question caused her to stop abruptly in her flight. Her heart lurched within her breast.
"How did you come to be in that tavern, Kassandra?" he asked gently.
At first she was too stunned to answer, but the bitterness of her recollection soon forced her to speak. "What does it matter, especially to you?"
"I wish to know," he replied softly.
Kassandra sighed heavily, pondering his request. Her eyes stared unseeing at the intricate pattern woven into the carpet. Then she shrugged. There was no reason not to tell him, she decided. She no longer had anything to hide.
"I wanted to lose myself in the city," she began, her voice a monotone. "To experience Vienna without the burden of my identity as the daughter of an ambassador. So I dressed as a maid and set out on my own through the streets, chancing upon a cattle parade. One of the oxen broke loose, and there was a great deal of commotion" —she paused, taking a deep breath, the vivid memory looming before her— "and I was fortunate enough to stumble into the tavern, probably saving my life."
Kassandra looked direct
ly at Stefan, her gaze locking with his. "Yet it seems in truth I was not so fortunate. Your city was not what I imagined it to be, nor its inhabitants. I lost my life at that moment, or at least control of my own fate, almost as surely as if I had been trampled to death," she whispered fiercely, startled to see his expression of pain. But it quickly passed, and only a slight tension in his square-cut jaw betrayed any emotion. "May I go now?" she queried tersely.
His only answer was a short nod, then he looked away. She swept angrily from the room, and was making her way up the stairs, guided by a footman holding a silver candlestick, when she heard him call out her name. She turned to find him standing at the bottom, one foot resting on the step above it, his arm braced against the balustrade . . . as if he had stopped himself from following her.
"Beginning tomorrow, I will show you a different Vienna," he said seriously. "One of beauty . . . and laughter." His eyes gleamed with an intense emotion she had never before seen there. "You cannot blame the city for what fate has ordained, Kassandra."
A stinging retort flew to her lips, but she bit it back. She could see by his determined stance that he would not be swayed. And she was too tired to battle with him further tonight, even if it was only a war of words. "As you wish," she replied, turning her back on him.
***
And so it had been, Kassandra mused, absently fingering the delicate gold chain around her neck, just as Stefan had said. During the past weeks he had given her a glimpse of the imperial city she might never have experienced without him, a peek into the splendid wonder that was Vienna.
A few times Isabel accompanied them, but after a while she claimed she was not well suited for the role of chaperone. With a playful glance at her brother, she laughingly insisted they were better off without her. Kassandra had protested, albeit lightly, always fearful that she might give Isabel the impression that something was amiss. It was to no avail. Like it or not, she had to contend with Stefan as her sole companion.
Yet aside from the interminable carriage rides, which passed in uncomfortable silence on her part and studied amusement on Stefan's, at least she had some consolation. Everywhere he had taken her there had always been other people, so in her mind they were never truly alone.
They attended all manner of musical events, from impromptu concerts of flute, violin, and zither held in luxurious cafés, to the grandest performances of the Hofmusikkapelle, or Court Orchestra, at the Hofburg. She watched in astonishment as Charles VI himself, from sheer love of music, conducted the orchestra from the harpsichord, his virtuosity a wonder to behold. Stefan whispered in her ear that the emperor spent several hours each day working at his singing and playing various instruments, as a refuge from the burdens of power and responsibilities of court life.
They went to an opera where the wonderful singing was nearly surpassed by the amazing light effects—a wild storm complete with thunder and jagged streaks of lightning, then the twinkling of stars as the veiled clouds rolled away. Remarkable whirring machines had moved the scenery to and fro, some causing the actors to disappear beneath the floor as if by witchery.
Stefan even took her to a puppet show, though she found it very strange . . . a ballet performed by dwarfs and lifelike marionettes. At times it was hard to discern what was real, and what was illusion. The ballet was coupled with the latest optical effects: lanterns that projected phantoms upon pale backdrops, eerie winds stirring the curtain. And all the while, moaning voices carried forth from the sides and back of the stage, sending shivers down her spine.
They had twice dined in sumptuous restaurants, Stefan insisting she sample specialties from many nations—Slav, Italian, German, and Czech—and varieties of wine, both red and white. Each time, she declined more than a few sips of the fragrant vintages, fearful lest she lose control of her wits. She was determined to remain wary of him, despite his obvious efforts to win some measure of her favor.
For that was exactly what he was doing, Kassandra reflected, settling herself on the wide windowsill. She was no fool. For some reason Stefan was showing her a different side of himself, more like the man Isabel had so fondly described to her before she had met him. In the fascinating whirl of the past weeks it was all Kassandra could do to remind herself of his true character, lurking just beneath his devastating charm.
Kassandra's eyes darkened, her head racked with turmoil. She would be a liar to say she was not affected by him. Each passing day was becoming an increasing torment for her, and she had still to think of a way out of her predicament. She tugged with exasperation at the jeweled locket dangling from her necklace, then looked down at it, wincing. Set with precious rubies and diamonds, it caught the sunlight, glittering brightly in the palm of her hand.
Kassandra cursed under her breath. Stefan had given her the necklace on Christmas Day with a touching sincerity that had left her breathless and perplexed. She had wanted to refuse it, but he had a deliberate habit of presenting her with gifts in front of Isabel, so she had no choice but to accept. He had drawn it about her neck, his fingers brushing lightly against her nape as he fastened the clasp, causing her to tremble. The locket fell just above the hollow between her breasts, its smooth weight against the beating of her heart a much-needed reminder of his selfish treachery.
Kassandra rose abruptly from the sill and began to pace the library, chewing her lower lip. What of the music box he had given her, with the tiny nightingale perched on a branch of ivory, which trilled when the silver lid was opened?
And most unexpected of all, the beautiful Arabian mare he had presented to her on the first morning of the New Year, its gleaming coat the same pure white as the snow that blanketed the ground. If he sought to touch her heart, he had come closest in that moment. She had made no secret of her love for horses.
Damn him! she raged. Did Stefan really think she would be so easily swayed by these gifts, that all which had passed between them would be forgiven, even forgotten? A troubling thought struck her. Perhaps he hoped it was a way to cajole her into leaving her chamber door, the one leading to his own chamber, unbolted at night . . .
Kassandra stopped suddenly and drew her arms tightly against her chest. Every evening since she had moved into the room adjoining his, she had lain awake in her bed, listening wide-eyed to his pacing footsteps like a lithe, stalking animal's. Then he would try her door, and every fiber in her body went taut with shivering tension as he slowly turned the knob, only to find it bolted securely against him.
Sometimes his furious pacing would begin anew, while other times it would cease and there would be only silence, perhaps a sign that he slept at last. Then there had been the nights when she heard him leave his chamber, slamming the door behind him. Moments later she would watch from her window as he rode out into the darkness on his stallion, not to return until the next morning
A sharp rap on the door startled Kassandra from her reverie. Stefan stepped into the library, a smile spreading across his rugged features. "I was hoping I would find you here," he murmured, his gaze raking over her. She was ravishing in her lilac morning gown, its simple lines heightening her singular beauty. He liked the way the silken fabric skimmed closely against her lithe body, buoyed only by a single petticoat rather than those infernal hoopskirts. Unfortunately the gown was not suitable dress for the theater. Regrettably, something more formal was required.
His black brow rose quizzically. "I see you are not dressed for our excursion into the city, Kassandra. Have you forgotten about the comedy this afternoon?"
"Co-comedy?" she asked blankly, blushing under his frank perusal, her flesh tingling. Then with a start she remembered. Her eyes flew to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was half past one already. Stefan had requested she be ready to leave by two o'clock. "Oh dear," she began, flustered. "I was reading . . . and the time has flown—"
"It's no matter," he interrupted, chuckling lightly. "There is still time for you to change." He took a step toward her. "If I could dictate women's fashion, I would have yo
u go just as you are."
Anger shot through her at the blatant desire in his eyes, yet it was tinged with a strange, unsettling excitement. The man could make her feel as though she were standing before him as God had created her, though she was fully clothed. Obviously he was becoming quite sure of himself, and far too sure of her . . . something she would remedy at once.
"I have decided I am not in the mood for a comedy," she said in a rush. "Perhaps Isabel might accompany you in my stead." Her gaze moved to the door, but she knew from experience not to brush past him. Instead she held her ground, her chin lifted defiantly.
Stefan's expression tightened. "The invitation was extended to you, Kassandra, not Isabel," he murmured. "I am afraid you have little choice. Either be at the door within the half hour, or I shall personally see that you are suitably dressed and carried forthwith to the carriage." He paused, his voice low and husky. "And if you have any doubts as to my knowledge of women's clothing, rest assured I am well versed in lacing . . . and unlacing," he emphasized darkly, "those garments you call corsets. Am I understood?"
Kassandra drew herself up, glaring at him. He wouldn't dare! Then, as if reading her mind, Stefan nodded, his steady gaze glinting a challenge. She swallowed hard. Yes, he would, she thought grimly. However vexing, it was clear that he had bested her once again. "If you will excuse me, my lord," she acquiesced, her eyes flashing, "I will go and change."
Stefan stepped aside as she walked by him, her back stiff and proud. "Within the half hour, Kassandra," he said softly.
She threw him a withering look, then fled up the stairs.
Chapter 19
Stefan studied Kassandra's face in the dim light of the theater, fascinated by her range of expression. Wonder, shock, astonishment, delight . . . Her face was like an open book, almost as easily read as a child's, yet endlessly intriguing.
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