Chapter 35
“But I tell you, Stefan is not seeing anyone,” Isabel insisted, her hands pressing into her black crepe skirt. Oh, if only she had been closer to the door, she thought irritably. She would never have allowed the footman to grant this woman entrance.
“Isabel…” Sophia purred, her eyes narrowing. “It has been over a week since”—she paused, shaking her head sadly—“well, since the unfortunate accident. Surely Stefan would allow a visit from a friend, an old friend, who wishes only to offer him comfort and condolences at this trying time.”
Isabel shook her head firmly, raising her voice. “No, Archduchess von Starenberg, that simply won’t be possible. Stefan has left express wishes that he does not want to be disturb—”
“I insist on seeing him!” Sophia exclaimed, cutting her off.
“I lost my own husband, dearest Stanislav, only a few months ago, and I can well imagine what Stefan must be feeling. Who better than I to offer him consolation, when I have recently experienced such grief, such anguish, myself.” With a determined smile fixed upon her beautiful face, she swept past Isabel, her voluminous mauve taffeta gown rustling vigorously. “Where is he? In the library?”
Isabel rushed after her, grabbing her arm, undaunted by Sophia’s height.
“I demand that you leave at once, Archduchess. You are sorely testing the limits of my hospitality, which when it comes to you, are narrow indeed!”
“What is going on out here?” Stefan shouted, opening the door to the library. His eyes widened at the sight of Sophia, his expression hardening.
“I’m sorry, Stefan,” Isabel murmured. “I told her you did not wish to be disturbed.”
“Oh, Stefan, I only wanted to let you know how truly sorry I am,” Sophia began, composing her features into an appropriate expression of sympathy.
She took a step forward. He didn’t appear to be suffering overmuch, she thought with quick appraisal.
He was dressed well, in his dark blue uniform, shaven…
all in all, a good sign. “If we could talk for only a moment.”
Stefan abruptly threw open the door and strode back into the room. “It’s all right, Isabel,” he said over his shoulder.
“You see,” Sophia murmured in an aside to Isabel. “We’re old friends.” She threw a smug smile, then flounced into the library, closing the door firmly behind her.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn, and only a few candles lit here and there.
Sophia shuddered. What a dreary place, she mused.
Well, when she was Countess von Furstenberg, she would redecorate the room more to her liking.
Her gaze settled on Stefan, who was intent upon throwing documents and rolled maps into a leather satchel.
He was clearly ignoring her, and she didn’t appreciate being ignored.
“You’re packing?” she inquired, trying to keep her tone light.
“Yes. I’m leaving shortly for the Imperial camp. You have excellent timing, Sophia. A few moments longer and you would have missed me entirely.”
Sophia smiled, not sure whether his words were a compliment or not, but she remained unruffled. She took a few light steps forward.
“What a pity, Stefan. I was hoping I might persuade you to leave this gloomy house for a while and share supper with me tonight.” She mistook his raised brow for interest. “Perhaps you might reconsider your journey, and linger another day or two.”
Stefan’s lips drew into a tight line. Was the woman mad? he mused incredulously. Surely she didn’t think he might be interested in…
His mouth curved into a sardonic half smile. With Sophia, nothing surprised him.
“I will have to decline your invitation,” he stated bluntly, resuming his packing. “Prince Eugene is expecting my arrival by nightfall.”
“Prince Eugene, Prince Eugene,” Sophia muttered.
She had heard enough of that pompous little man and his plans for glory and conquest!
It seemed the talk in Vienna was of nothing else but the summer campaign, which would part them again for six months or better.
Why did she have to fall in love with a soldier?
Ah, but what a soldier. Sophia sighed softly, her gaze moving over him, her pink tongue flicking over her lips.
Although he was fully clothed, she could imagine the sinewed muscles beneath the taut fit of his uniform, the sculpted planes of his body, the black hair matting evenly across his chest, trailing down the tight muscles of his belly, past his navel—that tempting hollow she longed to kiss and suckle—and trailing to the dark triangle at the juncture of his powerful thighs…
She drew in her breath, her face flushing.
How she wanted him, how she loved him! Now there was no one between them, no husband, no meddling English bitch…nothing but this odious summer campaign.
Sophia slapped her fan irritably against her palm, her ire rising once again. Perhaps she should rid Austria of Prince Eugene as well.
Stefan buckled the flap on the satchel, and the clicking sound startled Sophia from her venomous reverie.
She reached a quick decision. She was not about to give up so easily, not after she had expended so much effort to free them of any entanglements.
She sauntered over to him and laid her hand on his arm, caressing his sleeve.
“You are a commander yourself, Stefan,” she purred persuasively.
“One of the highest-ranking officers in the Imperial army. Surely you have the power to determine your own schedule. What will another evening matter?” She leaned against him, plying him with all of her seductive power.
“I promise you, I could help you forget.”
Stefan flinched at her words, his eyes flashing angrily.
“Just as you have so quickly forgotten your own husband, Sophia?” he tossed at her, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I think not. I do not wish to insult you, but nothing you could say—or do—will help me forget Kassandra. Nothing.” He moved away, his breathing hard, his hands doubled into tight fists.
“If this is your idea of offering sympathy, Sophia, it’s a wasted effort.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have much to do before I leave. ”
Sophia stiffened, the blood rushing from her face.
If he had struck her, she could not have been more stunned. He’d never spoken to her like this before, never! She whirled, seeking to hurt him as well, but she bit her tongue. She knew he didn’t really mean it. He was merely speaking out of his momentary grief.
Stefan was a virile, passionate man. It wouldn’t be long before he sought out the company of a woman. And when he did, she would be there, waiting. She decided to try another tack.
“I’ve heard they have not as yet found a body—”
“Not a body,” Stefan cut her off vehemently, “Kassandra.”
“Oh, so you still hope to find her alive, then?” Sophia scoffed lightly, not surprised when he did not answer.
Thankfully that would never happen, she mused. She had no doubt that Frederick had carried out his end of their agreement; he would be a complete fool to have done otherwise. His gloating letter had assured her that Kassandra had drowned, that he had accomplished his task easily, and well.
It was no matter to her that there was no body.
Kassandra could rot at the bottom of the river for all she cared.
Yet it seemed Stefan needed some sort of final proof before he could be free of her.
Well, it was only a matter of time before her bloated corpse would float to the surface, squelching the last remnant of his misplaced hope.
“You will have to face the truth eventually, Stefan. Kassandra is dead,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Perhaps your heart will start to mend when they finally lay her in the ground. I assume they will continue the search while you are at camp?”
“Enough!” Stefan demanded. He strode to the door and wrenched it open. “I think it’s best you leave, Sophia. Now.”
She sighed heavily. Obviously this would take more time than she had imagined, but he was worth it. She would just have to be patient. It was enough, for now, that she had finally gotten rid of that English tart.
She waltzed slowly to the door, stopping in front of him.
“You may not believe it now, Stefan, but one day you will be over this…dreadful incident. I want you to know that I’ll be here, on that day, waiting for you.
” She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek, then swept from the library.
She grimaced as the door slammed behind her, but she shrugged it off.
Remember, my girl, she consoled herself, the worst is over. It will only take a bit more time to become Countess von Furstenberg.
Sophia smiled tightly at Isabel, who was standing near the staircase, a distinguished gentleman at her side. He was dressed from head to toe in black mourning. Lord Harrington…
“My dear ambassador,” she murmured, holding out her hand to him as she hurried across the floor. “I was just offering my condolences to Stefan at his loss. I should offer them to you as well. A terrible misfortune.”
Isabel barely managed the amenities, her blue eyes flashing fire. “Archduchess Sophia von Starenberg…my betrothed, Lord Harrington.”
“You have my deepest sympathies, Lord Harrington,” Sophia rushed on as Miles bent his head and brushed his lips atop her hand. “Your only daughter. So tragic…and in the prime of her youth and beauty.”
Sophia saw him swallow hard when he looked up, but before he could reply, she turned to Isabel.
“My dear Countess, I hope you and Lord Harrington are able to find some happiness in the midst of such sorrow.” She did not wait for an answer, but whirled and flounced toward the opened door.
Such a splendid final coup, she gloated, stepping up into her carriage with the assistance of her liveried footman. She settled on the plush seat, an amused smile lighting her face.
A kiss on the hand from the father of the girl she had consigned to death. How rare!