Stolen Splendor

by Miriam Minger

  Chapter 23

  Kassandra's face burned with humiliation and fury, so much so that she kept her head turned away from Stefan during the entire journey. Her tear-glazed eyes stared blindly out the window at the darkened streets, then into the inky blackness of the forest along the road leading to the estate. She did not trust herself to speak. There was too much emotion, too much pain, welling up inside her, threatening a storm over which she would have no control.

  The tension was palpable in the carriage, like a living presence between them. Stefan made little movement and no sound but for his steady breathing. Yet she could feel him watching her in the darkness, provoking shivers within her.

  In the pressure of his muscled thigh against her own beneath the furs, the warmth of his body searing through her clothing, she could sense his tightly reined restraint. She chewed her lower lip, wishing desperately for the solace of her chamber and the safety of her doors bolted firmly against him.

  At last the carriage came to a jarring halt. The flurry of neighing horses, footmen opening the door and lifting her to the ground, then assisting her up the steps to the front entrance, was a welcome diversion from the unnerving silence. She was grateful the hour was so late. She had no wish to face Isabel, or the prying Gisela. But no sooner had she shed her cape in the dimly lit foyer then Stefan took her arm once again and escorted her up the grand staircase and down the corridor to their adjoining chambers.

  "Good night, Kassandra," he murmured tersely when they reached her door, his expression masked by the shadows filling the hall. "It has been a most pleasant evening."

  Kassandra's throat constricted at his coldness. "M-my lord," she finally managed. She fumbled with the doorknob, then the door opened and she stepped inside with a sweeping sense of relief. She fairly slammed it in her haste to be free of his unsettling gaze, her fingers flying to the bolt and sliding it into place. She slumped against the door, scarcely breathing as she listened for the sound of Stefan's footsteps moving down the hall. But there were none.

  Stefan's eyes narrowed furiously, the door slamming in his face a booming echo in his mind. Only her silence during the journey back to the estate had held his rage in check. Now, with this last act of defiance, he felt his temper finally snap.

  "Open the door, Kassandra," he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

  Stunned, Kassandra backed away from the door, slowly shaking her head with disbelief.

  "I will not ask again, my lady," Stefan murmured vehemently, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorjamb. "The choice is simple. Open this door, or I will break it down." He laughed harshly. "Believe me, Kassandra, no bolt will keep me from you."

  Kassandra's hand clutched at her throat, her mind racing wildly at his last words. But she had no more time to think as he tested the doorknob, still held fast against him.

  "Very well—"

  "No, wait!" she exclaimed, flying to the door. Her fingers shook uncontrollably as she withdrew the bolt, stark realization flooding through her that perhaps she had gone too far at the gala. Then the door swung open and she darted away, Stefan's powerful form filling the room where she had stood only a moment before. He closed the door firmly behind him, and bolted it.

  Kassandra backed away as he moved slowly toward her, his striking features, set, implacable, illuminated in the pale moonlight streaming through her windows. It was then she recognized the scorching desire reflected in his gaze . . . the same look she remembered so vividly from the tavern, only heightened by flashing anger. Her worst fears were confirmed. Her limbs suddenly felt weak and she could not still her trembling. Her gaze skipped about the room for any means of escape, but there was none.

  "Oh!" she gasped, backing into the divan placed near her bed. She scrambled around it, taking some fleeting comfort that there was an obstacle between them.

  Stefan stopped his relentless advance, one hand resting on the back of the divan. His eyes raked over her. "Tell me, Kassandra," he breathed softly, belying the torment twisting within him. "What game have you been playing tonight . . . and with so many?"

  Ire coursed through her, jolting the fear from her heart and giving her courage. Bastard! He spoke of games . . . to her! She drew herself up before him, her gaze meeting his with defiance. "Game, my lord?" she retorted, throwing all caution to the wind. "I play no game. I am merely exercising my prerogative to choose a lover. That is the custom in Vienna, is it not?"

  Stefan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching perceptibly. But before he could reply, she rushed on breathlessly.

  "From what I have seen, it's only fair. God knows to whose bed you ride out almost every night. Obviously you have your whores . . . your mistresses . . . that . . . that Sophia!" she spat angrily. "I see no reason why I might not have a lover as well!"

  Stefan exhaled sharply, momentarily confused. Sophia? What the devil could she mean by . . . ? Then suddenly it all made perfect sense to him. An amused smile tugged at his mouth, the anger ebbing from his body, overwhelmed by an emotion far more intense. He threw back his head and laughed deeply, loudly.

  Kassandra stared at him in shock, hardly expecting this reaction. But she misread his mirth, thinking he was mocking her. "Don't let me keep you, my lord," she grated, her chin lifted truculently. "I have no doubt your mistress awaits you." Her eyes flickered toward the door. "Now get out of my room."

  Stefan's smile faded and he took a step toward her, glancing down at the divan blocking his way. Then he raised his head, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. "You are correct on one count, Kassandra," he murmured lightly. "I agree wholeheartedly that you should have a lover."

  "Y-you agree?" Kassandra queried, astonished. She gaped at him, caught completely off guard by his unexpected acquiescence. And in that same moment, he shoved the divan roughly out of the way and caught her within his arms. He drew her against his chest, and though she struggled wildly, he held her fast.

  "Yes," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her neck, "but I must tell you, Kassandra, your other accusations are way off the mark." He brought his hand up and tilted her chin so she would look at him. "I have no mistress . . . not since we met that night in the garden. You are the only woman I desire, the only woman I long to possess."

  He paused, drawing a shuddering breath, his unflinching gaze searing into the violet depths of her eyes. "As to your other charge, you must be referring to the nights I have spent alone at my hunting lodge, my only refuge against the torment of having you so close to me . . . wanting you, more than I have ever wanted any woman, while I have waited for that moment when you admit to the desire that is raging within you, a desire that is matched only by my own."

  "No . . ." Kassandra whispered fiercely, tossing her head. "No, it's not true. I hate you . . . despise you!" She felt as if she were being ripped apart, long-repressed emotions welling up inside her, vivid memories of shared passion, shivering sensations . . . aching desire,

  "It's true," Stefan insisted, drawing her closer, his powerful arms like bands of iron. "For you have just revealed something to me this night, Kassandra, something I have not seen before," he murmured, stroking her hair, then running his finger lightly along her cheek. "Your jealousy."

  Stunned, she renewed her struggles, kicking, lashing out with her arms, anything to be free of him. "Blackguard! You're mad!" she exclaimed, striking his chest with her doubled fists. But he easily caught her hands and drew them behind her back, making her lithe body arch against his.

  "And when there is jealousy, Kassandra . . . there is desire," he said softly, his eyes holding her own with an intensity that took her breath away. "I know that because I, too, have felt unreasoning jealousy possess me tonight. I believe you want me now as much as I want you."

  She shook her head, the fierce pounding of her heart a deafening roar in her ears. It seemed the room was crashing down around her, along with her will, her resolve to resist him. Nothing made sense anymore but the truth in his words, and the stirring power
of his arms.

  "Then deny it and I swear I will leave you," Stefan said abruptly, releasing her.

  She fell back against the foot of the bed, groping for the corner post so she might regain her balance. Her breath tore at her throat, her breasts heaving against her taut bodice as she brought herself around to face him.

  Sweet Lord, deny him! her inner voice screamed. Deny him! She met his eyes, and in that fleeting moment he knew . . . as she knew. She opened her mouth to speak, to cry out, but no words came.

  Kassandra's hands slid limply down the corner post and she slumped to her knees, her gown fanning out around her. She bowed her head in defeat and sighed raggedly. She could no more deny him than she could deny she lived and breathed.

  When Stefan bent over her and lifted her gently to her feet, she did not protest. The muscled strength of his arms around her once again thrilled her, and she returned his embrace, knowing she was lost . . . yet no longer caring. She lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, a mirror to his fervent desire. Then his lips touched her own, tentatively, sweetly, deepening into a kiss that seemed to draw her soul from her body.

  "Kassandra, my only love," Stefan murmured huskily against her mouth, as she entwined her slim arms about his neck. They twirled slowly about in the center of the room, lost in their embrace, their solitary dance serenaded by moonlight and the rustle of satin.

  Then his hands were sliding over her while his mouth continued its tender assault down her throat. He expertly unpinned the outer robe of her gown from her bodice and pulled it gently from her shoulders and arms, letting it drift to the floor in a cloud of sapphire blue and glinting silver threads. Then he deftly untied the drawstring of her satin overskirt, and next her hoopskirt. The heavy garments fell from the graceful curve of her hips and sank to the floor. All that was left were her stays, with the beribboned bodice pinned to its front, her stockings and satin shoes, and her linen drawers.

  Stefan lifted Kassandra from the midst of her crumpled gown as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, holding her against his chest as he moved to the door adjoining their rooms. He unbolted the lock, pulled open the door, and crossed the threshold into his own chamber. Laying her gently on the great bed, he moved away for the briefest moment, quickly kicking off his boots and stripping away his clothing.

  Kassandra watched through eyes half-closed with passion as Stefan's magnificent body was revealed to her, a ruggedly powerful silhouette in the flood of moonlight from the tall windows. Then he was sitting beside her, and she rose up to meet him, her arms once again weaving about his neck as his strong hands caressed her. She shivered deliciously as his fingers crept beneath the stiff fabric of her stays to the curve of her waist, exploring a silken path to the small of her back, where he reached up and around and quickly untied the laces, flinging them with her bodice to the floor.

  "Lie back, my love," Stefan murmured thickly, kneeling over her as she sank languidly against the down pillows. He kissed the tempting hollow between her breasts, their taunting beauty at last bared to his torrid gaze. He eased off her shoes and unrolled her stockings from her long legs, his feather-light touch sending shivers of anticipation through her body. She caught a glimpse of a roguish smile, a flash of white in the shadows, as he tossed her hose playfully over his shoulder, then bent his dark head to grasp the delicate laces of her drawers with his teeth, untying the tiny bows one by one.

  Kassandra arched against the tingling warmth of his breath playing across her skin, impatient to be free of this last vestige of clothing. Stefan seemed to sense her thoughts. In one swift movement he slipped the drawers from her body and cast them to the end of the bed, then stretched his hard-muscled length atop her and captured her mouth with his own.

  It was a savage kiss, possessive, all-encompassing, as Stefan sought to slake his driving need, too long denied. He rolled onto his back, pulling Kassandra with him, his fingers freeing the silver combs and ribbons from her hair and entwining in the fire-gold mass cascading about them like a gossamer veil.

  A low moan escaped Kassandra's throat as her repressed desire for this man exploded within her, and she returned his kiss deliriously. Her moan suddenly became a gasp of pleasure as his warm mouth moved down her throat, across her smooth shoulder, seeking her breasts.

  He nibbled at the pouting nipples, flicking them with his moist tongue, suckling lingeringly, exulting in the sweetness of her skin, and marveling that there could ever have been a woman fashioned as beautifully as she.

  Kassandra knelt above him, her thighs hugging his tapered hips, the swell of her womanhood pressed against the hardness of his desire. A flutter in her belly surged outward through her limbs, a tightening, a hunger building up inside her that she knew only he could fulfill. She trembled, her hands resting on the sculpted span of his chest, her fingers enmeshed in the dark mat of curls. She reveled in the sinewy strength of his battle-hardened muscles, rippling beneath her palms with his slightest movement.

  Then he was lifting her from him and she felt strangely bereft, moaning the loss of the overwhelming sensations, only to find herself suddenly impaled upon his thrusting manhood. He filled her completely, and an impassioned cry tore from her throat as he began to move within her, slowly at first, then faster, his large hands gripping her to him, urging her on with sweet words and whispers, her name a caress upon his lips.

  Kassandra arched against him, again and again, panting breathlessly, her skin bathed in a fine wash of perspiration as he sought to lose himself within the soft warmth of her body. She felt him tremble beneath her, heard him groan with passionate urgency, then she knew nothing more as jagged streaks of light burst before her closed eyelids, her mind, body, her very soul lost in the shuddering rapture that enveloped her. She cried out, dragging her nails across his chest, and felt his own throbbing release deep within her, as he pulled her to him, crushing her lips with his own.

  They clung together for a long time, drawing breath after ragged breath, a tangle of limbs and flaming hair. Then Stefan gently rolled to his side, bringing her with him, and stroked the sleek line of her hips while she rested peacefully with her head nestled on his shoulder. He gazed down at her face, swathed in moonlight, his heart aching with love for this one woman.

  He knew he was hardly sated. He would rouse her soon, even now his overwhelming desire for her was rekindling in his loins. He had no doubt that this storm of passion finally unleashed between them—wild, shared, freely given—would rage well into the night, even until the first rays from the rising sun streaked the morning sky.

  Chapter 24

  Kassandra's eyes flickered half-open and she brought her arms above her head, stretching languorously. She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, then smiled contentedly and closed her eyes again. She rolled to her side, fitting her hands under her chin, and snuggled into the downy warmth of the bedding. Sighing softly, she felt sleep stealing over her once more, seducing her, lulling her . . .

  "A good morning to you, milady," Berdine said cheerfully, bustling into the room with a silver tray laden with a steaming teapot, toasted bread slathered with butter and honey, and two boiled eggs set in a china bowl that rattled against the delicate teacup and saucer. Humming a lilting tune, she set the tray on a small table near the bed and moved to the window, drawing aside the lacy curtains.

  Kassandra's eyes flew wide open, her brow knit in confusion. Where was she? she wondered hazily, her thoughts muddled with fragments of dreams and whispered memories. She was in Stefan's room, wasn't she? A sudden wave of panic gripped her. Dear God, Berdine had found her in his bed!

  Kassandra sat up abruptly, her unfocused gaze darting about the bright room, decorated in feminine shades of rose, cream, and pale lavender. With a start she realized she was in her own chamber. She sank back onto the bed, relieved yet still bewildered.

  "Or perhaps I should say 'good afternoon' to you," Berdine said, giggling.

  "W-what time is it?" Kassandra murmured, almo
st afraid to ask.

  "Why, three o'clock, milady. Prince Eugene's gala must truly have been grand to keep you up till all hours. You've slept through two meals this day." She set the pot down upon the tray. "It was Countess Isabel who decided I should wake you."

  Berdine plopped the silver tea ball into the cup, glancing over her shoulder while she allowed the tea to steep. "I would have come to your room to help you undress, milady, however late, if you had only called me," she apologized, her gaze shifting back to Kassandra. "But it appears to me you had no trouble at all, even with your stays."

  Kassandra sat up at this statement, her eyes widening at the sight of her gown—overskirt, hoopskirt, stockings, everything!—neatly draped over the divan, which was set exactly where it should be, at the foot of her bed. Even her satin shoes were placed toe to toe near her closet. She shivered despite the warmth of her linen nightgown.

  Nightgown! Kassandra's glance fell to the fine lace garment, her cheeks flushing heatedly. She had no recollection of donning a nightgown . . . Her gaze flew to the door adjoining her chamber with Stefan's. It was bolted securely, as if it had never been opened.

  "Now lean back, milady, and I'll hand you your tea," Berdine murmured, plumping up the large down pillows.

  Kassandra did as she was told, her mind racing. Surely she hadn't imagined last night, she thought dazedly. A blush crept across her skin as a secret smile touched her lips. No, never in her wildest dreams could she have envisioned such a night . . . or such a lover.

  "I hope the tea is to your liking, milady," Berdine said, handing the teacup to her carefully. She slid the table a little closer to the bed. "And the cook made a nice breakfast for you." She paused, smiling. "Well, brunch, that is. Now then, will there be anything else?"