Chapter 22
“Your knowledge of literature is extraordinary,” Prince Eugene complimented Kassandra as they walked along the hall leading back to the ballroom, the thin poet following them like a discreet shadow. “My library is open to you whenever you should take a fancy to visit it,” he offered graciously.
Kassandra smiled her thanks. She studied with interest the paintings, lustrous clusters of rock crystal displayed on marble pedestals, and alabaster statues he pointed out to her along the way, his comments punctuated by knowledgeable remarks from Rousseau.
She had very much enjoyed her tour, even though it had passed so quickly, and truly hoped she would have occasion to visit the palace again.
Prince Eugene had shown her not only his magnificent library, which was filled from floor to ceiling with thousands of books bound in Moroccan and Turkish leather dyed red, blue, and yellow, but also three drawing rooms hung with portraits, both life-size and miniature, and the finest tapestries from Brussels.
He had even allowed her a glimpse of the Blue Room, with its splendid furnishings upholstered in complementary shades of blue and turquoise, and the Golden Cabinet, its walls hung with shimmering gold brocade.
“Now, Lady Kassandra, I must take my leave,” Prince Eugene murmured, with a courteous bow, at the entrance to the ballroom. “The banquet is soon to begin, and I must see that all is in readiness. Perhaps we may have a chance to converse again later in the evening.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her fingers. “You have been most charming, my lady,” he added, his dark eyes twinkling kindly. “Count von Furstenberg is a man to be envied. I must congratulate him on his excellent fortune.”
Kassandra gazed after him as he moved away, followed by Rousseau after he, too, had expressed his pleasure in her company. The two distinguished men were immediately surrounded by other guests.
Congratulate Stefan? she wondered, mulling over his words. Surely he hadn’t already told Prince Eugene of their marriage plans…
His marriage plans, she amended irritably, her gaze sweeping the ballroom. Blackguard! He had no right to discuss even the possibility of a wedding until they had received consent from her father—
All thoughts fled her mind, her gaze widening in shock as it came to rest on Stefan. He was seated upon a wide divan, engrossed in conversation with a curvaceous dark-haired woman whose back was turned to her.
Kassandra watched, motionless, her feet rooted to the floor, as he threw back his head and laughed at some private joke, then suddenly spied her across the room. After a quick word to the woman, he rose and strode toward her.
It was only when the woman rose as well, in a swirl of shimmering black satin, and began to follow him, that Kassandra recognized her. “Sophia,” she whispered, her heart lurching within her breast, just as Stefan reached her side.
“Did you enjoy your tour?” he asked with some concern, noting the heightened color on her cheeks and the animosity simmering in her eyes.
Strange, he thought fleetingly. Her expression was hardly what he would have expected, considering she had been so gay only a half hour past, when she had left with Prince Eugene.
“Perhaps not quite as much as you have enjoyed my absence,” she replied cryptically, barely restraining her angry words.
Damn him! It wasn’t enough that he sought the company of his mistress virtually every night.
Now he was flaunting their sordid affair in her face so she would have no doubt as to her own role in his life.
What the devil could she have meant by that? Stefan wondered, puzzled. Sophia’s graceful approach prevented him from answering, much to his rising irritation.
“What a pleasure to see you again, Lady Kassandra,” Sophia purred.
Her careful expression was one of polite concern, but her almond eyes glinted harshly.
“Stefan has told me of your narrow escape from serious harm at the theater yesterday afternoon.” She leaned forward and lightly touched Kassandra’s arm.
“You must be watchful of Viennese carriage drivers, my dear,” she murmured, shaking her head.
“They are the most daring in the world, and the most skillful, but often foolhardy in their haste to reach a destination.”
Kassandra shivered at her touch and stepped back.
“I shall take your advice to heart, Archduchess von Starenberg,” she said with a fixed smile, though her throat constricted painfully.
“Now if you will both excuse me, I believe I shall find my place at the table. Prince Eugene has informed me the banquet is soon to begin.”
With a stiff nod, she brushed by them and walked swiftly to the table, searching the gold engraved placards set beside each plate for her name. She was so intent in her task that she bumped headlong into Count Frederick Althann as they both converged upon the same chair.
“My apologies, my lady,” he exclaimed, catching her around the waist. Fighting to regain his own balance, he brought her hard up against his chest, one hand firmly grasping the back of the nearest chair as his other arm held her tightly.
“Oh!” Kassandra gasped, blushing with acute embarrassment.
Yet she could not help thinking he was amazingly strong, all vestiges of the effeminate posturing he had displayed earlier now vanished.
Then, just as suddenly, he drew away from her, fluttering his hands about his person, adjusting his linen cravat, smoothing his waistcoat, and checking the alignment of his wig, which had been knocked slightly askew.
Kassandra stared up at him, both bemused and intrigued.
How odd, she thought, quickly regaining her composure. She could almost swear this gentleman was pretending to be something he was not.
“I believe this seat is yours, my lady, not mine as I had thought,” Frederick offered, one red-heeled shoe placed before the other as he bowed elegantly.
He pulled the cushioned chair away from the table, waiting until she was seated before pulling out his own and sitting down beside her.
He pursed his lips indignantly. “The servants have placed the placards so close together, it’s hardly clear which seat belongs to whom—”
“Please, it was a simple mistake,” Kassandra interrupted, studying his features. “Don’t trouble yourself any further.”
“You are most forgiving, my lady,” Frederick murmured, averting his eyes and fussing with the napkin on his plate. Careful, man, he berated himself. This is the closest you have come to giving yourself away…
He let out a breath. It was just his luck that he was seated next to the most beautiful woman in the room, making his foppish role all the more difficult to play.
He had seen the flash of intuition in Lady Kassandra’s gaze when she looked at him a moment before.
No doubt it would take all of his resources not to further arouse her suspicions, as well as keep his mind on his mission…
to see and hear everything, and forget nothing.
Just think of the Sultan’s gold, Frederick admonished himself sarcastically, with a faint smile. It always gets you through.
Kassandra started at the jarring sound of a chair scraping along the floor and turned her head, noting that Stefan was sitting across the wide table that separated them. Her face fired heatedly at his dark scowl, directed more at the gentleman on her left than at her, but it gave her an idea.
Two can play at your little game, Stefan von Furstenberg, she thought defiantly, pointedly ignoring him and turning back to Count Althann.
She quickly appraised him. He was handsome enough, with his ice-blue eyes and angular features, as blond as Stefan was dark.
Though she wasn’t attracted to him, she could not deny that she sensed an air of mystery about him, as revealed to her during their mishap.
Not a lover…but an intriguing dinner partner, to be sure, she mused, leaning toward him and returning his smile.
Stefan stood at one end of the ballroom, watching in grim silence as two lines of couples met at the center of the polished floor where the table had been, now cleared away for the dancing that would last well into the evening.
The lilting strains of a minuet floated through the air and the first dance began, the men bowing and advancing, the women retreating in a rustle of petticoats, silk, and satin.
Then the women advanced, dipping and swaying, and joined hands with the men, each graceful turn punctuated by whispered compliments, furtive glances, and seductive smiles.
Stefan took a long swallow of brandy, his eyes darkened with fury.
He briefly noted Sophia in the group of dancers, then dismissed her from his mind, his gaze moving instinctively to Kassandra.
He followed her every movement, her lighthearted laughter ringing in his ears, as she stepped blithely from one gentleman to the next, finally arriving again at her original partner, Count Frederick Althann.
Stefan’s hand tightened on the glass, his jaw set in anger.
Damn it all! If Count Althann wasn’t such a useless fop, he would have called him out at dinner and been done with it, but somehow he had restrained himself. He knew he could hardly test his sword against a man who was better known for his impeccable taste in clothes than his prowess with weapons.
Stefan’s lips drew into a sardonic smile. He could not believe he was so jealous of such a man, if one could even call him that. But he was, painfully so.
Or perhaps it was any man who looked at Kassandra with the slightest interest; he had certainly seen on many occasions this night. It seemed she had charmed every gentleman at the gala, including his commanding general.
As she has never sought to charm you, he thought fiercely.