Chapter 16
From her vantage point on the chaise longue, Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg surveyed with a jaundiced eye the cluster of elegantly dressed men and women.
She was already bored to tears by their predictable chatter and idle gossip, and could hardly wait to leave, even though she had arrived at her cousin Countess Maria von Thurn’s gala only an hour ago.
She thumped her fan irritably on the brocaded cushion in response to a whispered conversation nearby, certain that if she heard one more miserable tale about a lover’s infidelity, she would scream. The anecdote for that malady was simple. Find another lover.
Sophia sighed with annoyance and shifted on the plump cushions, carefully rearranging the glistening folds of her mauve damask gown.
She had been longing for some harmless diversion, some trifling pastime, when Maria’s invitation to this afternoon’s gala had arrived at her country villa only yesterday.
She had hoped it would be just the tonic to free her mind from plaguing thoughts of Stefan von Furstenberg, but she realized now such an escape was impossible.
She could think of nothing, and no one, else.
Sophia chewed her lip. Damn him, where was he? What could he possibly be doing that would keep him from her these past weeks?
It was so unlike him to ignore her, especially after returning from such a long military campaign.
She had envisioned them spending many luxurious hours in her bed, wanton hours filled with the sensual pleasures only she could give him.
Instead they had shared just one fleeting moment of passion in the Hofburg gardens, hardly enough to satisfy her insatiable desire for such a magnificent man.
And why hadn’t he answered her letters? She had never before deigned to write to any man. On the contrary, it was she who received the frantic, pleading missives from her lovers, fervent letters that did little more than amuse her. With Stefan it was different. For him, she would do anything.
Sophia leaned her head against the chaise and closed her eyes, rubbing her cheek thoughtfully with the mother-of-pearl fan. She summoned forth vivid memories of their other separations and impatiently awaited reunions, and she shivered deliciously, recalling the feel of him, the taste of him.
A wry smile curved her mouth, a slim eyebrow lifted archly. Who would have ever thought it? she mused. Sophia von Starenberg had finally fallen in love…
Certainly she had never expected it. She had been a young girl of sixteen when she had married her husband, a stooped, time-worn figure of three score years.
Yet it had been an admirable match nonetheless, masterfully arranged by her debt-ridden parents.
She had wanted it just as much as they, and had gladly traded the threadbare existence brought on by their incessant gambling for a life of wealth and luxury.
Her only regret was that she had wasted her virginity on such a man.
Sophia grimaced with distaste, remembering.
Fortunately the archduke’s sexual demands had been mercifully few and had ceased altogether several years ago, but even now the memories of his fumbling, slack-lipped lovemaking were enough to fill her with disgust. Not long after the marriage she had taken a lover, the first of many, beginning eight years of casual alliances in which she honed her erotic skills to perfection.
Casual, until she met Stefan. From the moment she looked into his eyes, she knew she was lost.
He was everything she craved in a lover, everything she admired in a man.
After they had loved for the first time, when he lay sated and sleeping in her arms, she had sworn somehow she would become Countess von Furstenberg.
She had only to rid herself of the one detestable thing standing in her way… her husband.
Sophia’s eyes flew open, her grip tightening on her fan, her skin flushing with uncomfortable warmth.
If only that man would die! She had gone herself to the poorest section of Vienna, where coin was precious and scruples unknown, her servant Adolph leading the way, to seek out an apothecary.
They had finally stopped at a makeshift structure built against the city wall, and a small man with hawkish features had shuffled forth from the shadowed interior to greet them.
She had not minced words. It was poison she wanted, but of a special nature.
“I believe what you are seeking is this one,” he rasped, holding up a dusty vial containing a grayish powder. He eyed her shrewdly. “But it is costly, my lady.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Sophia replied tersely, without blinking. “Have no fear, man. I will pay you well for your powder…and your silence.”
He nodded, a look of tacit understanding passing between them.
“Dissolve a small portion into your…friend’s tea or coffee once a day.
It will bring about a creeping death that has the appearance of natural causes, like dying in one’s sleep.
” He laughed shortly, revealing a jagged row of blackened teeth. “We should all be as fortunate, eh?”
“How long will it take?” she demanded, ignoring his remark and anxious to be gone from the place. It rankled her nerves, what with rats skittering about and the putrid stench of garbage.
“Two, maybe three weeks.”
Liar! Sophia seethed. It had been two months since her visit to the apothecary, and almost that long since she had begun to poison her husband.
It was true his speech had become increasingly slurred, his gait awkward and weaving, yet he clung to life as tenaciously as he clung to his money.
He even managed to attend court functions, such as the reception at the Hofburg, though he fell asleep at the most inopportune moments—while she had wanted to be done with the unsavory business by the time Stefan returned from Hungary!
Obviously she had been deceived by that dirty little man in the market, Sophia decided grimly. She would have to seek out another apothecary, one better-versed in his craft. And this time, she would not fail.
Shrieks of feminine laughter broke rudely into her thoughts, and her eyes narrowed at the group of five women seated across the drawing room at a finely wrought gaming table.
They were merrily engrossed in a game of ombre, a fast-moving card game for three players, while attentive gentlemen leaned over their shoulders or stood behind their chairs, offering advice.
Sophia sighed with displeasure. Another common diversion of these insufferable galas. Perhaps it was time she left.
“A kreuzer for your thoughts, milady.”
Sophia started in surprise, looking up into a pair of ice-blue eyes that she could swear were laughing at her. She immediately recognized the strikingly handsome man, and just as easily she dismissed him, her brow arching as her gaze wandered over him.
If ever there was an aristocratic fop in the Viennese court, a true dandy who seemed to be in attendance at every social gathering, however inconsequential, it was Count Frederick Althann.
“Save your kreuzer, Count,” she said breezily. “My thoughts belong to me alone.” She smiled up at him, though her eyes were cold. “You’re looking stylish today.”
He was dressed in a full-skirted coat of dark blue brocade, a laced waistcoat, matching breeches, gartered silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes, with a lavish muslin cravat tied jauntily about his neck and a silver-hilted sword hanging at his left side.
In one hand he held a pair of fringed gloves and a cane, his thumb caressing the polished gold crown.
On his head he wore a powdered tie-wig with a long, plaited queue down his back, tied at each end with a black bow, just a hint of his light blond hair peeking out at his forehead.
A pity he is only half a man, she mused wickedly, recalling the rampant rumors about the Count’s unnatural affinity for smooth-faced boys.
Though it was hard to believe…he was really quite attractive: tall, fair, with an undeniable air of virility.
The excellent fit of his clothes revealed a lean, athletic body… yes, truly a pity.
“And you, Archduchess, take my breath away, as always,” Frederick returned her compliment, bowing gallantly.
He reached into his deep side pocket and pulled out an enameled snuffbox, flipped it open to reveal a tiny mirror on the inside of the lid, then deftly applied a pinch of the powdered tobacco to each nostril.
Snorting delicately, he offered her the snuffbox with a flourish.
“No, thank you,” Sophia murmured, wrinkling her nose with distaste. She turned away from him, her eyes widening as Isabel von Furstenberg swept into the drawing room.
Her cousin Maria hadn’t told her Isabel would be attending her gala! Sophia thought, her mind racing. She watched motionless as the Countess made her way through the crowd, exchanging lighthearted banter and greetings. Perhaps she might be able to tell her what had become of Stefan…
Sophia rose gracefully from the chaise. “If you will excuse me, Count Althann,” she murmured, brushing past him. She walked regally across the room, stopping just short of where Isabel stood talking with several young women.
“How wonderful to see you again, Countess,” she broke in, keeping her voice light. She lay her hand on Isabel’s arm.
Isabel froze at the sound of the familiar voice and the unexpected pressure on her arm, a shiver running through her. She turned, a fixed smile upon her lips. “Archduchess von Starenberg,” she acknowledged coolly.
“I was wondering if perhaps we might talk,” Sophia began somewhat lamely, noting a strange flash of triumph in Isabel’s blue eyes. It momentarily unsettled her, though she could not imagine why. “About Stefan.”
Isabel’s heart seemed to stop within her breast as she turned back to the women at her side, who were listening with rapt attention, and quietly excused herself. They glided away, whispering behind their fluttering fans.
“I am not one to speak for my brother,” Isabel said firmly, her eyes meeting Sophia’s once again.
Sophia’s temper flared at this remark, but she held herself tightly in check.
She had always found Isabel particularly insufferable, and this moment was no exception.
“I simply want to know why…that is, if Stefan…” She paused, then drew her red lips into a determined line.
“What has become of Stefan?” she asked, her voice strained.
“I’ve written him many times within the past weeks, yet I haven’t received a single reply. ”
“Whatever do you mean?” Isabel asked sweetly. Heaven help her, it wasn’t her place to reveal Stefan and Kassandra’s engagement, but if this woman pushed her too far…
So that was it! Sophia fumed, her eyes narrowing at the petite woman.
“You have been intercepting my letters to Stefan, haven’t you?
” she queried, her voice a grating whisper.
“You’ve never accepted my relationship with your brother, and now you wish to destroy it.
” She gripped Isabel’s arm. “Well, it won’t work, my dear Countess.
There is nothing you can do that will tear us apart. ”
Isabel stepped back as if she had been struck, Sophia’s unwarranted accusation ringing in her ears.
“I know nothing of your letters,” she retorted heatedly, visibly shaking, “but as to the other charge, yes, it is true. I have never liked you, or your liaison”—she spat out the word—“with my brother.”
She wrenched her arm free of Sophia’s grasp, fury overwhelming her, all thought of restraint banished from her mind. “As for tearing you and Stefan apart, it appears that unremarkable feat has already been accomplished. He has found another—” She bit off the words, her hand flying to her mouth.
Sophia blanched, her gaze widening in disbelief. “What do you mean…he has found another? Another what?”
Isabel decided quickly, throwing back her shoulders. She would face Stefan’s wrath—for he would no doubt hear of this exchange from Sophia—regardless of what else she said.
“As I told you before, my dear Archduchess,” she mimicked with unaccustomed sarcasm, “I do not speak for my brother. You must ask him yourself about the woman he will wed. He is planning to visit your estate this very day.” With that Isabel whirled around, her slender back straight and proud, and walked across the room, where she joined a group of guests applauding a musician seated at a harpsichord.
The woman he will wed…the woman he will wed. Isabel’s words echoed in Sophia’s mind as she stood there, scarcely able to breathe. When she did at last inhale, low, husky laughter erupted from her throat.
“She lies, of course,” Sophia whispered under her breath, her ears deaf to the strains of melodic music drifting through the drawing room. Isabel had never liked her, not that she cared in the least, and now she was spreading malicious lies in an obvious ploy to drive her and Stefan apart.
She would go back to her estate and wait for him, Sophia told herself, moving with statuesque grace to the door of the drawing room, a smile frozen on her lips as she nodded her good-byes.
He would hold her in his arms and caress her, and tell her it was nothing but a lie…