Chapter 18
Kassandra closed the thin volume of English verse she had been reading for most of the morning and leaned against the leather chair.
It had been unexpectedly generous of Stefan to allow her the use of his extensive library, she mused, and she had done so with great pleasure on many occasions during the past weeks—but only when she was certain he would not be there. It was unnerving to be alone in the same room with him.
She had tried once, at his insistent invitation, to read a book there while he was poring over various maps and manuscripts at the massive table he used for a desk. She had been unable to concentrate on the page before her, his every movement, every rustle of paper, a jarring torment.
It seemed each time she had looked up he would be studying her intently, almost curiously, as if he sought to know what she was thinking.
His gaze alone was enough to send her mind reeling, tinged with the desire that was always reflected there, and something else she could not fathom.
Flustered, she had hurriedly sought her page again, but finally gave up and fled the room, fearful that he might see her own hated desire smoldering in her eyes.
No, it was far more to her liking to be here by herself, among the hundreds of leather-bound volumes gracing tall shelves that reached to the ceiling.
Her gaze drifted around the large room, silent but for the ticking of the ornate gilded clock on the mantelpiece, and she noted the trappings—oak paneling, heavy, imposing furniture, a collection of swords and pistols upon the walls—that gave it a decidedly masculine ambience.
The only liberty she allowed herself whenever she entered the library was to draw back the velvet drapes so the bright winter sunlight could stream into the room.
Kassandra sighed as she set the book on a table beside the chair, then rose to her feet and crossed to the window. She gazed out, the sunlight warm on her face, marveling at the blinding snow covering the ground.
She had never seen a winter quite like this one, so unlike those she had known in Sussex. It snowed very little there, if at all. Here, although it was only January, the sparkling drifts already reached well above the lower panes of the windows.
Kassandra’s fair brow furrowed in thought. Surprisingly enough, the deep snows had not kept them confined to the estate, as she might have expected.
The past few weeks had been a blur of activity, much of it due to the Christmas season and the coming of the New Year.
She suspected some of it was due to the unsettling conversation she and Stefan had shared a few days after she had moved her belongings into the sumptuous bedchamber adjoining his own.
She had done her very best to avoid him altogether, or at the very least spend as much time in Isabel’s company as possible so he would not catch her alone.
Yet on that particular night, Isabel had retired early, Kassandra recalled, so she had sought the solace of the drawing room…
Sitting down at the harpsichord, she had skimmed her fingers lightly over the keys, her lilting soprano quietly accompanying her favorite melodies.
She was so lost in her music, she did not hear the door open and close quietly, nor did she realize Stefan was silently watching her until his voice sounded from across the room.
“Do you play only sad melodies?” he queried gently, stepping from the shadowed background into the flickering light cast by the candelabra atop the harpsichord.
Kassandra’s hands froze on the smooth keys, and she flushed with sudden warmth.
It never ceased to amaze her how even the sound of his voice could send her senses reeling, but she quickly regained her composure.
“I play what is in my heart,” she retorted hotly.
“If it is not to your liking, you have only to leave.”
Stefan chuckled softly, seemingly unperturbed at her tone. “Ah, but it is very much to my liking, Kassandra. You sing beautifully,” he murmured, pulling up a chair. He seated himself, then leaned forward, a pleasant smile on his handsome face. “Please go on.”
Kassandra had no wish to remain in this room with him. His accommodating mood hardly suited the picture of him—cruel, callous, a blackguard of the worse kind—she nurtured as a constant reminder of what he had done to her.
She stood up from her chair and swept across the room, leaving a good distance between them. She was almost to the door when his next question caused her to stop abruptly in her flight. Her heart lurched within her breast.
“How did you come to be in that tavern, Kassandra?” he asked gently.
At first she was too stunned to answer, but the bitterness of her recollection soon forced her to speak. “What does it matter, especially to you?”
“I wish to know,” he replied softly.
Kassandra sighed heavily, pondering his request. Her eyes stared unseeing at the intricate pattern woven into the carpet. Then she shrugged. There was no reason not to tell him, she decided. She no longer had anything to hide.
“I wanted to lose myself in the city,” she began, her voice a monotone.
“To experience Vienna without the burden of my identity as the daughter of an ambassador. So I dressed as a maid and set out on my own through the streets, chancing upon a cattle parade. One of the oxen broke loose, and there was a great deal of commotion”—she paused, taking a deep breath, the vivid memory looming before her—“and I was fortunate enough to stumble into the tavern, probably saving my life.”
Kassandra looked directly at Stefan, her gaze locking with his.
“Yet it seems in truth I was not so fortunate. Your city was not what I imagined it to be, nor its inhabitants. I lost my life at that moment, or at least control of my own fate, almost as surely as if I had been trampled to death,” she whispered fiercely, startled to see his expression of pain.
It quickly passed, and only a slight tension in his square-cut jaw betrayed any emotion. “May I go now?” she queried tersely.
His only answer was a short nod, then he looked away.
She swept angrily from the room, and was making her way up the stairs, guided by a footman holding a silver candlestick, when she heard him call out her name.
She turned to find him standing at the bottom, one foot resting on the step above it, his arm braced against the balustrade…
as if he had stopped himself from following her.
“Beginning tomorrow, I will show you a different Vienna,” he said seriously. “One of beauty…and laughter.” His eyes gleamed with an intense emotion she had never before seen there. “You cannot blame the city for what fate has ordained, Kassandra.”
A stinging retort flew to her lips, but she bit it back.
She could see by his determined stance that he would not be swayed, and she was too tired to battle with him further tonight, even if it was only a war of words. “As you wish,” she replied, turning her back on him.
And so it had been, Kassandra mused, absently fingering the delicate gold chain around her neck, just as Stefan had said. During the past weeks he had given her a glimpse of the imperial city she might never have experienced without him, a peek into the splendid wonder that was Vienna.
A few times Isabel accompanied them, but after a while she claimed she was not well suited for the role of chaperone.
With a playful glance at her brother, she laughingly insisted they were better off without her.
Kassandra had protested, albeit lightly, always fearful that she might give Isabel the impression that something was amiss.
It was to no avail. Like it or not, she had to contend with Stefan as her sole companion.
Yet aside from the interminable carriage rides, which passed in uncomfortable silence on her part and studied amusement on Stefan’s, at least she had some consolation. Everywhere he had taken her there had always been other people, so in her mind they were never truly alone.
They attended all manner of musical events, from impromptu concerts of flute, violin, and zither held in luxurious cafés, to the grandest performances of the Hofmusikkapelle, or Court Orchestra, at the Hofburg.
She watched in astonishment as Charles VI himself, from sheer love of music, conducted the orchestra from the harpsichord, his virtuosity a wonder to behold.
Stefan whispered in her ear that the Emperor spent several hours each day working at his singing and playing various instruments, as a refuge from the burdens of power and responsibilities of court life.
They went to an opera where the wonderful singing was nearly surpassed by the amazing light effects—a wild storm complete with thunder and jagged streaks of lightning, then the twinkling of stars as the veiled clouds rolled away.
Remarkable whirring machines had moved the scenery to and fro, some causing the actors to disappear beneath the floor as if by witchery.
Stefan even took her to a puppet show, though she found it very strange…
a ballet performed by dwarfs and lifelike marionettes.
At times it was hard to discern what was real, or illusion.
The ballet was coupled with the latest optical effects: lanterns that projected phantoms upon pale backdrops, eerie winds stirring the curtain.
All the while, moaning voices carried forth from the sides and back of the stage, sending shivers down her spine.
They had twice dined in sumptuous restaurants, Stefan insisting she sample specialties from many nations—Slav, Italian, German, and Czech—and varieties of wine, both red and white.
Each time, she declined more than a few sips of the fragrant vintages, fearful lest she lose control of her wits.
She was determined to remain wary of him, despite his obvious efforts to win some measure of her favor.
For that was exactly what he was doing, Kassandra reflected, settling herself on the wide windowsill.