Chapter 19
Stefan studied Kassandra’s face in the dim light of the theater, fascinated by her range of expression.
Wonder, shock, astonishment, delight. Her face was like an open book, almost as easily read as a child’s, yet endlessly intriguing.
He smiled wryly. He doubted she suspected she was far more entertaining than the action on the stage.
She was paying him little heed, her eyes drawn with rapt attention to the wild antics of the actors dressed in flowing Greek costumes.
Occasionally she laughed, a bright, carefree sound that delighted him—a sound he heard far too rarely—or she would shake her head, blushing becomingly at an indecent word or a crude gesture.
Suddenly Kassandra gasped aloud. He glanced toward the stage, his brow lifting at the sight of two young male actors dropping their breeches in full view of the audience, which made him laugh.
He had seen this celebrated comedy once before, but this time the author was taking unusual liberties with his interpretation.
Yet despite the bawdy rendition, the audience seemed quite pleased with the entertainment. Uproarious laughter echoed under the painted and gilt ceiling, and the common people seated on the ground floor were elbowing and jostling each other roughly, to further enhance the joke.
Stefan leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting around the crowded theater and back to Kassandra.
He was glad he had paid a gold ducat for their front box.
It offered the best seats in the house, situated as it was on the second tier above and to the right of the stage.
He hoped Kassandra was pleased as well. Though in this last instant, he thought ruefully, their box was perhaps closer than she might have wished.
He exhaled slowly, his forehead furrowed.
He had never before been so baffled by a woman.
Here he was, wondering if she was pleased, and she hadn’t even wanted to attend the comedy in the first place.
It was only because he had once again forced his will upon her that she had relented.
His actions had probably set him back even further in her opinion, making for naught his efforts of the previous weeks to win her favor.
Stefan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. He cursed under his breath. Damn it all, what was coming over him? Since when had he been at a total loss as to how to win a woman’s favor?
He glanced at Kassandra, innocently unaware of his dilemma.
Or was she? he wondered, thinking back over the past weeks.
During their outings together she had seemed to enjoy herself, though she had remained coolly distant toward him.
His gifts—even the costly Arabian mare that he had handpicked for her from a renowned merchant—had brought a temporary light to her eyes, a fleeting smile, but then she had closed herself off from him again.
Stefan’s gaze lingered over the sculpted perfection of her profile, coming to rest on the delicate curve of her lips, seductively parted in a smile.
His blood coursed hot within his veins at the memory of their soft warmth against his own.
She was such a bewitching contradiction.
Despite her outward reserve, his gut instincts told him she was wavering.
He could swear on several occasions he had caught a glimpse of desire in the depths of those stirring amethyst eyes, a hint of the tempestuous passion she held so determinedly in check, as if it were a wild spirit within her, desperate to be free; the very same passion that inspired him to pursue her so mercilessly.
Perhaps it would just take more time to convince her that their marriage would not be the nightmare she envisioned, Stefan considered, though the grim prospect of waiting a moment longer did not sit well with him.
It had been difficult enough during the past month.
He had spent many hours with her, during the day and into the early evening, torturous hours in which he played the part of the perfect gentleman, though he longed to crush her in his arms.
It was the nights that were pure hell.
He’d been a fool to insist she move into the chamber adjoining his own. The thought of her so close to him—her fiery hair in disarray on the pillow, her body lushly curved, inviting, known only to him—was proving too much of a temptation.
He grimaced, recalling nights he’d spent in near pain, his body inflamed from wanting her. On many an occasion, he had thought of breaking down the bolted door that separated them, but his sense of honor had always stopped him.
Stefan stared blindly at the stage, gripping the arms of his chair as a stab of remorse cut through him.
He had always sought willing women for his bed, and had believed Kassandra willing and simply toying with him to earn extra coin—damn, and she had been no tavern wench at all!
Where had his sense of honor been that fateful day to so misjudge her?
He swore again to himself that he would wait until he was certain she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
To ensure his intent, he would continue to spend nights at his hunting lodge several miles from the mansion.
He was not about to jeopardize whatever progress he had made with her by his impatience to possess her completely.
A burst of thunderous applause erupted from the audience, halting his thoughts, and he looked over to find Kassandra studying him quizzically.
“Did you enjoy the performance, my lord?” she repeated, louder this time to be heard over the hoots of approval and stamping feet.
Though she doubted he’d seen much of it at all, she thought irritably.
She’d been hard pressed during much of the comedy to ignore his constant staring and keep her mind on what was transpiring onstage.
Stefan smiled, noting her flushed cheeks and slightly sarcastic tone. So she had felt his gaze after all…
Never underestimate this woman, he admonished himself, rising to his feet. “Yes, I did,” he replied, holding out a hand to her. “The scenery was inspired.”
Kassandra ignored his remark, and his proffered assistance.
She rose gracefully from her chair and glanced over her shoulder, her gaze sweeping the quickly emptying theater, searching for someone.
Then she spied him, the dark-haired dwarf who had also been watching her for most of the performance from his seat just below their box.
He was pushing his way down the crowded aisle, his booted heels grinding rudely on the toes of unfortunate patrons in his haste to leave the theater.
Strange, Kassandra mused. She had no idea why the little man had scrutinized her so. She had never seen him before, though his fine suit of clothes indicated he was probably the servant to a wealthy aristocrat. She quickly dismissed him from her mind at the pressure of Stefan’s hand upon her elbow.
“There is a wonderful inn near the Danube, the Golden Rose, where I thought we might enjoy a light supper,” he murmured, holding back the red velvet curtain that separated the box from the corridor. “It’s a bit rustic, but a favorite of mine.”
Kassandra nodded in quick agreement. Though she did not want to prolong this outing, she had to admit she was hungry.
She had eaten only a thin slice of toasted bread since early that morning.
Her stomach growled painfully as she stepped from the box, and she blushed in embarrassment.
A hint of amusement glinted in Stefan’s eyes, but he gave no other indication that he had heard.
Together they walked down the narrow corridor, lit by small oil lamps set in ornate gilt sconces, then down the plush carpeted stairs that led to the main hall of the theater.
Stefan wasted no time in retrieving her fur-trimmed cape from a liveried footman and wrapped it about her shoulders, his fingers brushing her throat as he insisted upon fastening the embroidered frogging himself.
Kassandra shivered at his touch and turned her face away from him. She did not trust herself to look into his eyes. He threw on his own heavy cloak and took her arm, guiding her through the milling crowd to the front entrance.
It was only half past five o’clock, but the sun had long ago disappeared behind the gray, snow-laden clouds.
Streetlamps glowed hazily along the street, their golden light dimmed by an icy drizzle, and the air was crisp and cold.
Kassandra lifted her hood over her head, then plunged her hands into her deep side pockets to warm them.
In her haste earlier that day she had forgotten her long woolen gloves.
“Wait here, Kassandra,” Stefan bade her gently, with a light squeeze on her arm. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He strode down the walkway, searching the shadowed street for Zoltan and the carriage.
Several moments passed, and still Stefan did not return.
Kassandra stamped her numbed feet, the satin shoes beneath her gown no protection from the chilling wind.
Her teeth were chattering, and she doubted she could withstand the cold much longer.
She decided to wait for him across the street from the theater, beneath an overhanging second-story balcony, where she would at least have some shelter from the freezing drafts.
Stepping into the snow-packed street, Kassandra did not hear the thundering hooves until they were almost upon her.
“Look out, miss!” a woman screamed behind her. “Oh God, the carriage!”
Kassandra turned her head, her eyes widening in horror as a black carriage, led by four galloping horses—like snorting dragons, she thought fleetingly—careened directly at her. There was no time to flee. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the awful impact.
Suddenly she was yanked violently backwards and hit something broad and hard.
The breath was knocked from her body and her eyes flew open in surprise, just in time to see a face peering out at her from a window of the carriage as it raced by her, the deadly metal-rimmed wheels barely a foot away.
Kassandra gasped for air, her dazed mind unable to register that visage. Then she realized it had been the dwarf from the theater! Her thoughts were interrupted as she was roughly spun around, and enveloped in a fierce embrace that left her feet dangling above the ground.
“Kassandra, my love,” Stefan murmured raggedly against her silken hair, his heart clamoring within his chest. If he had arrived a moment later, she would have been crushed by the carriage!
He shuddered, drawing her closer, her jasmine scent enveloping his senses.
In the next instant a great surge of anger welled up inside him, and he wanted to shake her for her incredible folly.
He set her down so abruptly that her head snapped back, his hands gripping her upper arms like a vise, his eyes searching her ashen face with grim intensity.
“Good God, woman, what were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. “You could have been killed.” With a brusque nod he indicated where he had left her standing. “I told you to wait over there.”
Kassandra stared up at him, dumbstruck.
Stefan had saved her! Yet his harsh tone stirred her own anger, and she railed at him, her eyes flashing.
“What do you mean, what was I thinking? What were you thinking, to leave me standing on the corner, freezing to death? None of this would have happened if you had asked Zoltan to wait for us near the front of the theater!”
Stunned by her shrewish tone, Stefan loosened his grip on her arms, though he did not release her.
Obviously she was overwrought by what had happened…
perhaps even in shock, he thought grimly, noting the pallor of her skin and her glittering, overbright eyes.
He sighed heavily. It was best to leave at once for the estate.
“Zoltan!” he called out, waving his arm.
The carriage, set on smooth wooden tra?neaus that enabled it to be drawn through the deep snow like a sleigh, pulled up alongside them.
Zoltan jumped to the ground with a grunt, his dark eyes clouded with concern, and held the door open as Stefan lifted Kassandra and stepped up into the carriage.
“Drive swiftly, man,” Stefan muttered as the door closed firmly behind them.
Zoltan nodded, then climbed into his seat and cracked his whip above the heads of the dappled horses.
The carriage jerked into motion, then slid effortlessly along the winding street, guided by lighted lanterns swinging from curved hooks on both sides of the front panels.
Atop his lap, Kassandra struggled against Stefan’s firm hold on her, but finally slumped against his chest in futility. A ragged sigh escaped her as she glanced up at him, his expression barely discernible in the dark interior.
“I can assure you, my lord,” she said through gritted teeth, “that I am quite able to sit upon the seat without your assistance.” To emphasize her words she wriggled some more, but to no avail. He merely tightened his arms.
“Be still, Kassandra,” he admonished softly, yet in a tone that brooked no argument. He said no more, but held her against him all the way back to the estate as if he would never let her go.