Chapter 21
“So this is the famous Winter Palace,” Kassandra breathed with excitement, her gaze sweeping the length of the building as Stefan lifted her from the carriage, his strong hands encircling her slender waist beneath her cape.
He set her down gently upon the walk, a black brow lifted in puzzlement at her winsome smile, surprisingly directed at him.
“You said Prince Eugene lives here all alone, Stefan, in this massive place?” she asked, enchanted by the way the high white walls gleamed golden in the light of the streetlamps. She accepted his proffered arm.
Stefan nodded, the light pressure of her hand in the crook of his arm and the sound of his name upon her lips unexpected favors.
She called him by his name so rarely, usually making do with either his title, a simple ‘my lord,’ or, he considered wryly, a wide range of colorful expletives that would set a nun’s ears to burning.
Come to think of it, he mused, walking alongside her to the main entranceway, she was unusually animated this evening.
He had seen her laughing and conversing gaily in Isabel’s presence, but never alone with him…
at least not since those first few weeks at the estate when they had spent a great deal of time together and she had played out her pretty charade with remarkable authenticity.
Yet Isabel would not be with them tonight.
She had taken ill at the last moment with a headache, so it was just he and Kassandra in attendance at the gala.
He was amazed that Kassandra had agreed to accompany him after the shock she had suffered the night before at the theater. Then again, he thought ruefully, she had been well enough to bolt the door when he had neared her chamber to inquire after her comfort.
A few moments later, when he had saddled Brand and was preparing to ride from the estate, he had spied her at her window, gazing dreamily at the moon.
He had been mesmerized by the ethereal picture she made, the fiery luster of her hair in stunning contrast to her creamy skin and flowing white nightgown.
He gazed down at her as she walked past the long line of gleaming carriages, as much a vision now as she had been the night before. Her eyes shone and her cheeks blushed with a healthy glow. Yes, all in all, she had made a remarkable recovery.
Which was more than he could say for himself, he thought, feeling strangely subdued. He had spent the night at his hunting lodge, not for fear he might be tempted to break down her door, but because he needed to be alone.
Kassandra’s close brush with death had shaken him deeply, unleashing a barrage of feelings within him.
He had slept little, instead pacing the wood-planked floor and raging at the four walls over what he had done to her, and agonizing about what he could do to make amends… to show her how much he loved her—
His expression grew mildly self-mocking.
Yes, he, Stefan von Furstenberg, a man who had sworn he would never be ruled by his emotions, had finally fallen in love, and it had taken a near disaster for him to realize it.
Yet this dinner gala was neither the time nor the place to bare his soul to her. When the time was right, he would know it.
His lips drew into a faint smile. This shift in her manner seemed to be evidence that perhaps her heart had softened toward him. Yet it was so sudden, he couldn’t help wondering how it had come about.
Could it simply be gratitude for saving her life? Or had his efforts of these past weeks at last won her favor and acceptance? Whatever it was, it was enough to give him some hope that all was not lost between them.
Kassandra paused in front of the center doorway, the largest of the three flanking the street.
She tilted her head back to admire the monumental building, created by the joint efforts of Vienna’s greatest architects, Hildebrandt and Fischer von Erlach.
There were seventeen tall windows on the first story, above each window an elaborate ornament, while the three windows above the doorways had graceful balconies.
The building was crowned with a richly sculptured frieze, a balustrade, and eighteen statues, each posed differently.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
Kassandra felt Stefan stiffen at the unfamiliar though pleasant male voice.
How strange, she thought, glancing over her shoulder to return a most engaging smile.
The stylish aristocrat standing just to her left seemed hardly the person to elicit such a reaction from Stefan.
He looked harmless enough, in his powdered bobwig and elaborate plum-colored coat bedecked with frothy cream lace.
“Yes, it is,” Kassandra replied, suppressing an urge to giggle. She had never before seen such a preening dandy. She extended her hand as he stepped beside her, and then she glanced up pointedly at Stefan.
He caught her look, and frowned with displeasure.
“Lady Kassandra Wyndham, Count Frederick Althann,” he said gruffly.
He watched with disdain as the younger man pulled his tricornered hat from his head with a decidedly feminine flourish, then bent over Kassandra’s gloved hand and lightly kissed her fingers.
“I am most honored,” Frederick murmured pleasantly. He straightened, his gaze moving to Stefan. “I have not had the pleasure of congratulating you, Count von Furstenberg, on the glorious success of the last campaign. As ever, your legendary valor is to be commended.”
Stefan merely nodded in acknowledgment. “If you will excuse us, Count Althann,” he said tersely, cueing Kassandra with a light squeeze on her elbow.
She looked up at him, perplexed by his rudeness, then sighed and walked with him up the curved steps and through the entranceway, determined to query him about his behavior later.
She sensed that the young count followed not far behind, and when Stefan wasn’t looking, she threw him an apologetic smile.
A flurry of liveried servants rushed to and fro in the marble hall just beyond the entranceway, taking capes, canes, and hats from the arriving guests. As Stefan shrugged off his dark woolen cloak, Kassandra could not help but notice how strikingly handsome he looked this evening.
He was dressed with intensely masculine flair, from the fine cut of his brocade coat, a deep burgundy that heightened his bronzed coloring, and the laced waistcoat beneath it that stretched across the powerful breadth of his chest and shoulders, to the dark breeches that hugged his muscled thighs, and the well-fitting black boots that came to just below his knees.
He wore no wig—he had been vocal on several occasions regarding how much he despised them—and though it went against fashion, his thick hair was tied together at his nape with a black ribbon.
It suited him, Kassandra mused, lowering her eyes as she smoothed a satin flounce on her gown.
If there was one thing she had learned about Stefan von Furstenberg, it was that he was his own man, and did exactly as he pleased.
She looked up, not surprised to find him also appraising her.
Warmth raced through her limbs as his heated gaze moved slowly over her, from the elegant coif of her hair, which had been swept up and fastened at her crown with two silver combs, then allowed to tumble down her back in a riot of curls interwoven with silver ribbon, to her satin shoes, which peeked from beneath the hem of her skirt.
Her gown was a rich sapphire-blue concoction bedecked with matching satin ribbons and delicate embroidered flowers in silver threads, and a daringly low neckline that showed off to perfection her flawless breasts and shoulders.
Kassandra used her fluttering fan to hide her smile.
She had once sworn never to wear such a gown again, but on this occasion she was pleased by his obvious approval.
She had dressed for the dinner gala with special care, and she was determined to enjoy herself, even to the extent of letting down her guard toward Stefan.
She did not want their verbal sparring to spoil this evening.
For, though as a rule she disliked these social gatherings and was not accustomed to playing the coquette, tonight was different.
Tonight was the perfect opportunity to begin her search for a lover, and if Stefan found her alluring, perhaps other gentlemen might as well…
Kassandra again took Stefan’s arm as they were ushered up the white spiraling staircase, which was supported at the landings by writhing stone giants, and into the ballroom. A portly footman announced their names in reserved tones to the thirty or so guests present.
Kassandra’s gaze swept with pleasure about the well-appointed room, lit by gleaming chandeliers holding hundreds of candles.
Although this room was built on a much smaller scale than the ballroom at the Hofburg, it far surpassed it in richness of decoration and furnishing, like a finely wrought jewel box filled with gems.
She marveled at the profusion of gilding and elaborate carvings about the tall windows and the doors leading to the balconies. The windows were polished to a sparkling shine and framed by curtains of the finest Genoa Damask, the hems fringed in gold lace.
Paintings by well-known masters graced the paneled walls, while manicured orange and lemon trees were set about in large gilt pots.
In the center of the ballroom, a curved table in the shape of a horseshoe was dressed with the whitest of linen tablecloths, polished silver candelabra, and china plates edged with gold.
“As you can see,” Stefan murmured, following her gaze, “the Emperor well rewards those who serve him. For a man who has saved our country from the Turks, there can never be enough praise or compensation.”