Chapter 17
“Adolph, you must let me know the moment you see him,” Sophia admonished from her dressing table, glancing at the misshapen little man, a dwarf since birth, standing on his tiptoes and peering out the window.
He nodded in reply, intent on his appointed task.
She turned back to the mirror, her attention riveted once again on the ministrations of the two serving maids hovering over her.
“Ouch! Take care with that, you stupid fool!” she snapped at the youngest maid, who was quickly unrolling the still warm clay curling tubes from Sophia’s long, mahogany tresses. The girl jumped at the reprimand, her shaking fingers inadvertently snagging another loose strand of her mistress’s hair.
“That’s enough!” Sophia exploded, wheeling in her chair, her beautiful face contorted in anger. “Will you pull every hair from my head, girl? Leave me at once! Marietta will finish your tasks. Go!”
“For-forgive me, milady,” the hapless girl stammered, bobbing an awkward curtsy. With tears swimming in her eyes she cast a sideways glance at the other maid, then fled from the room.
“I thought you said she was well trained in dressing hair, Marietta,” Sophia muttered tersely, settling back in front of the silver-framed mirror, her almond-shaped eyes scrutinizing her own reflection.
Her slender fingers drummed impatiently on the dressing table as the matronly maid expertly lifted her hair and patted a light dusting of fine powder along her alabaster shoulders.
“Aye, well trained she is, mistress,” Marietta replied calmly, accustomed by now to Sophia’s outbursts.
She had been in her employ since the archduchess had come to this house nine years ago as a bride, and could well remember the many times she had cried into her pillow at night, swearing she could never last another day with such a woman.
Yet she had stayed, and by her stoic fortitude and patience had won Sophia’s grudging respect.
“But she is unused to working in such haste.”
Sophia sighed with exasperation, but said no more, her lips drawn into a tight line.
She watched in silence as Marietta deftly brushed out her thick hair and wound it atop her head in an elaborate coiffure, securing it with three gold combs set with seed pearls and square-cut emeralds.
Then the maid applied her favorite perfume, a heady mixture of bergamot, musk, and amber imported from Spain, to her throat, behind her ears, pierced by glittering emerald earrings, and along the lush curve of her breasts.
“He comes, milady,” Adolph said matter-of-factly in his high-pitched, nasal voice.
He watched, unblinking, as Stefan rode up the drive on his black stallion and dismounted before the front entrance of the von Starenberg villa, then he dropped the hem of the brocade curtain he had been holding in his stubby fingers and waddled over to the dressing table. “Shall I meet him in the hall?”
Sophia rose so suddenly that he had to step back for fear the stiff whalebone hoopskirt beneath her voluminous gown would bowl him over. She looked distractedly at him. “Yes, yes, Adolph, greet him. I will be down in a few moments.”
Adolph nodded, his piercing black eyes, overshadowed by his protruding forehead, studying her intently.
He hadn’t seen her so agitated before, though she was struggling to maintain a facade of nonchalance, nor so pathetically haunted.
An almost imperceptible hint of fear hung about her like a cloying fragrance.
“What are you waiting for, Adolph?” she demanded irritably, shoving him forward with a rough push on his narrow shoulder. “Be off with you. Run!”
Adolph lost his balance and fell to the floor, grunting as the breath was knocked from his compact body.
He struggled to sit up but could not; then, using a trick he had learned in the traveling menagerie where he had performed on a stage with puppets and monkeys, he brought his stunted arms against his chest and began to roll across the floor until he had gained enough momentum to right himself, bounding from his knees to his feet.
“And enough of your tricks,” Sophia called out after him as he scampered through the door and ran down the hall as fast as his short legs could carry him.
Wheezing and puffing, Adolph took perverse pleasure in kicking Sophia’s white Persian cat away from the top step of the staircase, where it was lolling sleepily.
Its startled yowl echoed in the hall below.
A lopsided grin split his reddened face as he hurried down the stairs, holding on to the railing so he would not fall, and once at the bottom, he took a moment to straighten his cropped coat.
Then he strutted self-importantly up to Stefan, who turned from a portrait of Sophia he was studying.
“Milady bids you welcome, Count von Furstenberg,” he stated formally, with a curt nod of his large head. He flourished his arm toward the salon. “I am Adolph. If you will follow me.”
Stefan’s gaze flickered over the little man, though he quickly masked his initial surprise.
So it appeared Sophia had acquired a new servant while he was in Hungary, he thought, noting Adolph’s flushed face and the sweat streaming from his brow.
He was struck most by the coldness in his eyes, an impenetrable veil which, no doubt, hid the life of suffering he had endured due to his deformity.
“Lead on,” Stefan murmured, following him into the white-paneled and gilt salon.
Stefan took a seat in a soft armchair, watching as Adolph poured him a brandy. The dwarf’s short fingers fumbled with the crystal stopper in the decanter, and he almost dropped it.
Stefan frowned, turning to look out the window at the crisp, sunny day.
He doubted he would ever grow accustomed to this latest passion of the aristocracy to possess these unfortunate beings, using them as servants and confidants, treating some as nothing more than pampered pets.
Even the Emperor and his wife kept a pair of dwarfs, cosseted and bejeweled favorites of the court, who often stood at Their Majesties’ elbows during court functions.
“Thank you, Adolph, I will see to that.” Sophia’s husky voice interrupted Stefan’s disapproving thoughts. He rose abruptly from his chair as she glided into the room with seductive grace and took the snifter of brandy from her servant’s outstretched hands.
“Leave us now, Adolph,” she said sweetly, though her eyes flashed as she looked down at him.
Adolph nodded and hurried from the room, reaching up on tiptoe to close first one, then the other of the double doors.
Sophia waited, her heart hammering within her breast, until the staccato tapping of his boots died away before she spoke, breaking at last the thick silence that had descended over the room.
“I’ve missed you,” she said simply, her ivory satin gown swishing against the carpeted floor as she moved toward Stefan, smiling provocatively. She held out the snifter to him, but he merely set it down on the table next to the chair.
Stefan’s eyes swept appreciatively over her.
Sophia was as stunning as ever, an incredibly desirable woman many a man would sell his soul to possess.
It was no wonder he had been so drawn to her just over a year ago when they had first met, at a dinner gala at the Belvedere, Prince Eugene’s summer palace.
She had everything a man could want in a mistress, beauty, poise, and a sensual appetite that had amazed and delighted him time and again.
Yet he no longer had need of a mistress…
Sophia thrilled at the open admiration in his gaze, her overwhelming relief making her limbs tremble.
Isabel had lied! she exulted, so close to him now, she could feel the warmth emanating from his powerful body.
With a sudden movement she wound her slim arms about his neck, nuzzling against him, at any moment expecting to feel the exciting pressure of his arms tightening as he returned her embrace.
“Oh, Stefan,” she breathed, her pulse racing wildly. She tilted her head back, her half-closed eyes laden with desire, her parted lips aching for his kiss.
Stefan stared at her upturned face for the briefest moment, then brought his hands to the curve of her waist. With determined resolve he lifted her arms from his neck and drew them down to her sides.
It was the simplest of gestures. Yet in that fleeting moment, Sophia knew Isabel had spoken the truth.
“Sophia, I haven’t much time,” Stefan began, stepping away from her. “There is something we must discuss—”
“Who is she?” Sophia broke in, her back to him now, her voice strangely hollow.
Stefan started. How could she possibly have known? he wondered. Then he shrugged. He would never fathom the uncanny intuitions of women.
“You met her at the Hofburg…Lady Kassandra Wyndham,” Stefan said evenly. “If you recall, she’s the daughter of Isabel’s betrothed, Lord Harrington.”
Lady Kassandra Wyndham. The name struck like a dagger into Sophia’s heart, and she fiercely bit her lower lip to keep from crying out.
The bitter pain of this confirmation was almost more than she could bear.
“She is your…new mistress, then?” she queried almost hopefully.
She glanced at him, refusing to believe Isabel’s words.
Stefan shook his head. “Sophia, there has never been any deception between us, and I will not have it now. I have decided to marry Lady Kassandra as soon as her father returns from Hanover and gives his consent. I think it is best, meanwhile, for our relationship to cease.”
Sophia looked away, tremendous fury flaring within her, quelling all other emotions.
No! She was to become Countess von Furstenberg, she raged, not some English bitch who was little more than a schoolgirl!
Somehow she found her voice, forcing it to remain calm.
“Her father is in Germany? Ah yes, I had almost forgotten. When do you expect his return, Stefan?”
“By spring,” Stefan replied tersely. “Though it is my hope it will be earlier.”
Sophia’s eyes glittered ferally, a slow smile curving her lips. Then all was not lost, she mused. Spring was yet a long time away. She whirled to face him.
“I am so happy for you, Stefan!” she exclaimed, bustling forward and kissing him lightly on the cheek.
“Truly I am. Of course our relationship must cease…for now. It would hardly be suitable for us to continue our present arrangement, considering you lack the good ambassador’s consent.
As an Englishman, he is hardly versed in our Viennese customs.” She chuckled knowingly.
“You would not have him thinking you were a rogue.”
Stefan studied her beautiful face with wry amusement. He was pleased she was taking his news so well, though for a moment he had begun to have his doubts.
He relaxed. It seemed he had not underestimated her good sense after all.
As to her insinuation they might continue their affair at some later point, perhaps after his marriage—well, for now he would let it go.
It was enough that she had accepted his news with such obvious grace.
Eventually he would have to make it very clear that his burning desire for Kassandra left no room in his life for any other woman.
“Let us share a drink to your marriage, Stefan,” Sophia suggested, interrupting his thoughts. She poured herself a good measure of sherry while Stefan picked up the brandy snifter, then held the crystal goblet in front of her. “To your future bride…Countess von Furstenberg.”
“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.”