Chapter 9 #2
“Your cape,” Stefan murmured, taking the luxurious fur-lined garment from the footman and wrapping it around her.
His fingers grazed her bare shoulder, and she drew back as if stung.
But if he noticed, he made no mention of it, his features implacable as he hailed a carriage.
It pulled around the magnificent entryway of the Hofburg, and in a moment she was seated beside him and he was shouting for the driver to be on his way.
“Good night, my lord,” Kassandra said tersely, her back proud and straight as she walked up the stairs, a surge of relief overwhelming her.
She had thought the carriage ride might never end.
Fortunately it had passed in relative silence, after her initial excuse that she felt too ill for any discourse.
She had sat as far away from Stefan as possible, discouraging further conversation by keeping her eyes trained out the window as the carriage clattered through the darkened streets of Vienna.
Yet she could have been blind for all she had seen on the way back to the estate. She had sensed his unflinching gaze upon her the entire time, his unwanted presence arousing emotions she could not suppress.
“Sleep well, Kassandra.”
His deep, rough voice carried from the foyer below, causing her to stiffen and clutch the banister.
She quickened her pace up the rest of the stairs and down the corridor.
She did not stop until she was in her chamber, did not feel safe until her trembling fingers had securely bolted the door.
She was not about to take any chances with him in the same house.
Kassandra leaned on the door for a long moment, her eyes closed, her heart pounding. She started when a soft knock broke the silence.
“Who is it?” she whispered, whirling around, her hand to her throat.
“Berdine, milady,” the maid replied in a hushed voice. “Count von Furstenberg said you had returned, so I’ve come to help you undress.”
Kassandra relaxed and unbolted the door, opening it with a sigh.
“Come in, Berdine,” she murmured. She said little else as the maid went expertly about her business, and soon she was free of the gown and its ungodly stays.
As Berdine hung everything in the closet, Kassandra donned her linen sleeping gown, then followed the maid to the door, thanked her, and bolted it once again.
At last she was alone. Kassandra ran to the bed and climbed in, pulling the thick covers under her chin. She gazed unseeing at the cream lace canopy above her, turbulent thoughts tumbling through her mind.
What was she to do? She wanted to ignore Stefan completely, but that might arouse Isabel’s suspicions that something was wrong.
Kassandra couldn’t leave the estate; she had nowhere else to go. Her father had given up their apartment in the city when she had agreed to stay with Isabel. No, she would have to remain at the von Furstenberg estate, however awkward it proved, until her father returned to Vienna.
Kassandra rolled onto her side, a hot tear trailing down her cheek. Her situation was so wretchedly impossible! she raged silently, stifling her sobs with her blanket as a torrent of tears streaked down her flushed face. She cried until she was spent, one determined thought ringing in her mind.
She would do just as she had vowed in the garden…give him no indication that she had ever seen him before this night. And if, God help her, he challenged her, she would deny everything. He had no proof!
Except for the tattered gown in the closet, she remembered with an awful start, and his velvet money bag.
There was a chance he might not recognize the gown, but the bag was another matter.
She would have to find a way to rid herself of the incriminating articles, perhaps find a place to bury them during her ride in the morning.
She would be alone. Isabel trusted her prowess with horses enough not to require any escort to accompany her, as long as she remained on the estate grounds.
Yes, that would be the perfect opportunity.
Closing her eyes, Kassandra prayed fervently that once that was done, she could lay her fears to rest.
Stefan entered the library just off the foyer and poured himself a brandy. He tossed it down, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned his throat, then stared into the blazing flames roaring in the fireplace, leaping red-gold flames that reminded him of the glistening waves of Kassandra’s hair.
God, she was beautiful, far more so than he had remembered from the tavern, or even in his dreams. And she was here, in this house. What a twist of fate!
Lady Kassandra Wyndham.
He could swear she was the one he had been seeking, the woman who had given herself away on more than one occasion tonight, though she pretended—quite convincingly, he thought, with a hint of a smile—that they had just met.
Yet he had to be completely sure, Stefan considered, setting the crystal glass on the mantel. There had to be a way to draw her out, to confirm beyond any shadow of a doubt that she was the temptress who had ensnared him with her passion.
Stefan chuckled deep within his chest. He was a soldier. It would take time, yes, and patience…like mounting a campaign. Somehow she would give herself away completely, perhaps with her own admission, possibly even with her kiss…
Stefan brought his fist down hard upon the mantel, the memory of her lips parted beneath his own almost more than he could bear.
This woman had fired his blood and captured his imagination like no other!
he thought, striding from the library and out the front door.
He must know the truth—whether the woman he had possessed was a lowly tavern wench or a high-born woman of title and position.
Once outside, Stefan paused and gazed up at the ink-black sky, glittering with stars. These warm autumn nights enlivened his senses. He filled his lungs with the fresh air, his eyes drawn to the golden cast of a lighted window on the second floor. Kassandra’s window…
A lithe form passed in front of the window, a tantalizing silhouette. Stefan’s breath caught in his throat, a searing pang of desire ripping through his body. Then the light was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.
“I will have you,” he whispered fiercely, shaken by the intensity of his need for this one woman.
He knew he was letting his desire get the better of him—he was behaving like a brute—but he couldn’t help himself. Nothing would stop him. Abruptly he wheeled about and climbed into the waiting carriage.
“To the Hofburg, man,” he shouted to the driver, the snorting horses leaping forward at the crack of the whip above their heads. As the carriage lurched into motion, Stefan leaned against the seat and closed his eyes.
Ah, but what of Sophia? Even now she was waiting for him at the palace, waiting to begin again nights of passion such as they had enjoyed before he left on the last military campaign.
There would be no more of those nights, at least not with Sophia. But she would understand. He had never led her to believe there was anything more between them than the erotic pleasures they had shared. She had always known it would end one day, for whatever reason.
Sophia would easily find another man to fill her bed, Stefan thought with wry humor. As for him, he would wait…