Chapter 13
It was well past midnight when Stefan finally returned to the estate.
A drowsy footman opened the door for him as he stepped inside the entrance hall, dark but for a few lighted candles still burning in the ornate chandelier.
He stamped his feet and dusted the wet snow from his heavy cloak, then pulled it from his shoulders and dropped it over a high-backed chair against the wall as he walked into the library.
The room was also dark, the fire long since reduced to a pile of blackened ash, and there was a chill in the air.
He sighed wearily, dropping the large leather bag that held his papers and maps, and rubbed his hands together to warm them.
Guided by the dim light from the hall through the open door, he poured a snifter of brandy.
He swallowed, the fragrant liquid burning his throat, then stood in silence, absently toying with the heavy glass.
Damn, it had been a long day, he thought, much longer than he had expected. Due to the length of his meeting with Prince Eugene, he still hadn’t found time to visit Sophia.
He had been an hour late as it was, a breech the prince had fortunately forgiven, but then the discussions of war and strategy had gone on long into the night, with scarcely a pause for meat and refreshment.
The map of Belgrade had been the focus of great interest and attention among the many officers present, affording a well-drawn diagram of the layout of the near impregnable fortress: valuable information that would hopefully ensure another victory for Prince Eugene during the next summer’s campaign.
Other discussions had centered upon the winter camp of the Imperial army, where the standing forces would be quartered until spring.
Set in the Hungarian lowlands, the camp was a good day’s ride from Vienna.
Stefan knew he would be called upon at some point during the winter to supervise his cavalry forces, for a month, maybe longer, but he hadn’t told Isabel yet.
There would be plenty of time for that, once the final date had been decided.
She would no doubt be distressed to learn he was leaving again so soon.
Stefan set down his half-empty glass and rubbed his hands over his eyes.
What would Kassandra think of his departure? Would she also be distressed…or elated?
“Milord?”
Gisela’s soft inquiry intruded upon his thoughts. “Ah, Gisela, you are still up,” he murmured.
“Are you hungry, milord?” she asked. “The cook has kept a platter of beef and roasted potatoes warm for you. There was plenty left over this night, what with Countess Isabel’s usually small appetite and Lady Kassandra shut away in her room all day—”
“What’s that?” Stefan queried sharply. At the maid’s surprised expression he softened his tone. “Lady Kassandra spent the day in her room?”
“Yes, milord,” Gisela replied. “She came flying into the house earlier today, slamming the doors and such, and fled straight to her room. The door has been bolted, and no one has been allowed in, not even your sister, who pleaded in vain to find out what was the matter.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders.
“Perhaps her ride this morn did not agree with her.”
Stefan frowned. If Gisela only knew how right she was! He moved past her and into the hall. “I won’t be needing any dinner this night, Gisela, but my thanks. Rest well.” He turned on his heel and took the steps two at a time, the wide-eyed maid staring after him in astonishment.
Stefan strode down the hall, stopping abruptly at Kassandra’s door.
He had rehearsed his words over and over during his long ride back to the estate, all the while knowing no matter how he delivered them, they would be taken as ruthless and harsh.
Yet he had no choice. He couldn’t take the chance of losing her now… for both their sakes.
He paused, listening, and was not surprised to hear the floor creaking slightly from light footfalls pacing back and forth. He took a deep breath, then tried his hand on the doorknob while leaning his broad shoulder into the door. It held fast.
So it was still bolted, just as Gisela had said, he thought, his brow arching with displeasure.
He stepped back, looking up and down the dimly lit corridor, then moved once again to the door.
He no longer heard pacing within the room, only a heavy silence laced with palpable tension.
Stefan knew she had guessed he was at her door.
“Unbolt the door, Kassandra,” he whispered, his soft tone belying his impatience.
He waited a moment, but there was no sound.
Damn. He would break the door down if need be!
“I will not ask again, my lady,” he murmured tightly.
“Open the door, or I will do so myself, in a manner you will find most unpleasant.”
His threat was rewarded by the sound of footsteps crossing the floor. Stefan smiled grimly. The bolt grated and squeaked as it was suddenly drawn back, then the footsteps fled and faded into the far recesses of the room.
Stefan turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, not certain of his reception.
He stepped in gingerly and closed the door behind him with a decisive click, scarcely daring to breathe.
His gaze swept the shadowed room, lit only by pale rays of moonlight across the thick carpet, but there was no sign of Kassandra.
He waited, tense and alert. It was only the sheerest whisper of a movement that caught his attention; perhaps the rustle of a silken nightgown, he thought heatedly, and he realized she was hiding behind the oriental screen in the far corner of the room.
Overcoming a pang of guilt that he had so subdued her brave spirit, he stood quietly by the door, his legs spread, his arms crossed in front of him.
Kassandra crouched behind the screen, furiously chewing her lower lip.
Where was he? What was he doing? Blackguard! He obviously wanted something from her, but what? Wasn’t it enough that he had discovered her secret?
Several moments passed, each one an eternity for her, and still Stefan made no movement toward her.
After another long silence, she had had enough.
Her knees were beginning to ache, kneeling on her haunches as she was, a most uncomfortable position.
This was her chamber, and here she was cowering in it like a frightened lamb.
With a sigh of angry exasperation Kassandra rose to her feet, wincing as pinpricks of sensation shot through her legs.
She cursed under her breath and leaned on the screen, but somehow misjudged the distance and lost her balance.
The screen fell forward with a resounding crash, and she would have toppled with it if she hadn’t grabbed the side of her tub, righting herself, just in time.
“Why don’t you light a candle, my lady?” Stefan’s voice, deep and husky, came to her from across the room. “It might make it easier for both of us to see each other.”
“Why would we want to do that?” Kassandra snapped.
“I can assure you I have no wish to see you. Why don’t you just leave?
” She straightened shakily; then, as an afterthought, she moved to the fireplace not far from the tub and grabbed the poker propped against the wall.
She might need it to protect herself, she thought fleetingly.
After this morning in the woods, there was no telling what he might try to do.
“Very well. I’ll light the candles,” Stefan replied, unperturbed that Kassandra had armed herself once again.
He could see in the dark, but for what he had to say to her, he thought it best if he could also read her expressions.
He walked to the low table beside the bed, found the flint, steel, and tinderbox, and lit the three candles in the delicate porcelain candelabra, their flickering golden light settling over the room. Then he turned to face her.
Stefan inhaled sharply as his eyes moved over Kassandra, her beauty stunning to behold.
She wore a cream lace nightgown that left little to his imagination, the curves of her lithe, long-limbed body barely concealed by the flowing folds of the gossamer fabric.
Her long hair, brushed to a burnished glow, curled softly around her furious face and tumbled down the front of her gown, concealing the high, firm breasts he ached to caress.
It was all he could do not to go to her and crush her in his arms, but he forced himself to think clearly, rationally.
There would be time enough for that…later.
“That’s better,” he murmured, sitting down in one of the comfortable upholstered chairs at the foot of the bed. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and nodded toward the other one. “Sit down, Kassandra. We have an important matter to discuss.”
She eyed him suspiciously, shaking her head. “No.”
“Very well, then, stand if you wish—”
“We have nothing to discuss!” she stated hotly, cutting him off. “I have already asked you to leave my chamber, Count von Furstenberg.”
Stefan sighed. His attempts at civility were getting him nowhere. Best to get on with it, he decided quickly. He brought his legs up and leaned forward in the chair, his tone grown deadly serious. “It’s time to put an end to this charade, Kassandra,” he said simply.
She paled, shaking her head as if she did not fully understand his meaning. “Charade?”
“I know you are the woman I found in the tavern, though why you were there, I have yet to discover. Our encounter in the woods this morning only confirmed what I have believed all along, and what you have sought, for obvious reasons, to conceal from me since we met at the Hofburg.” He paused, studying her face, but her lovely features were set and immobile.
It was her eyes, wide and full of turmoil, that gave away her true feelings.
Do not be swayed, Stefan told himself. It is the only way you will have her. He continued relentlessly. “I have not come to speak of our past, though it has much to do with why I am here, but of our future.”
Our future? What could he possibly mean? Kassandra licked her lips, a glimmer of fear coiling in the pit of her stomach.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered, her throat constricted.
So many tormented thoughts had assailed her while she had paced furiously back and forth across the room, playing out so many scenarios of what he might do now that he had discovered the telltale clothing and his cursed money bag.
Yet as she faced him now, she could not fathom what Stefan might demand from her.
She watched as he rose from the chair and crossed to stand in front of her. Startled, she looked up at him, looming so large before her, his masculine frame so much broader and more powerful than she remembered.
His eyes, so arresting, caught and held her own, penetrating to some hidden part of her, and it took all her effort not to tremble uncontrollably.
“I want you to become my wife.”