Stolen Splendor by Miriam Minger

considered. She was dressed as
a lady of the Imperial court, hardly a thief. He was not a man to doubt his
instincts, but what if he was wrong, and she was not the woman he was seeking?
Could there be two such women in Vienna, so alike in face and form?
    Kassandra's blood ran cold at his sharp scrutiny, yet
she did not miss the flicker of doubt in his rugged features. Sensing his
confusion, she felt hope flare within her that her plea had been answered. It
fanned her anger and gave her sudden courage.
    "I demand that you let me go at—"
    "Surely we have met before, my lady," Stefan
interrupted.
    Kassandra gulped, stunned, but she forced herself to
think clearly. Do not give yourself away! her inner
voice screamed. "You—you are mistaken, sir. I can assure you we have never
met. As for calling me a spy, I was merely walking along this path and
unwittingly came upon you and your lady . . . I mean, in the alcove . . . That
is, I stood behind the tree for fear you might . . ." She blushed, unable
to go on.
    Stefan chuckled at her discomfort, not ready to give up
so easily. "But I could swear we have—"
    "Sir, you are no gentleman to hold me against my
will," Kassandra snapped, her eyes flaring.
    "And you are no lady," Stefan replied easily,
"to spy on lovers and frequent lowly taverns for your amusement."
    Kassandra gasped, her mind racing wildly. He knows! He
had recognized her! She raised her arm to slap him, but he caught it and
brought it to his lips. He kissed her open palm, his burning gaze never leaving
her face.
    Kassandra jumped at the touch of his lips against her
skin, a thrill of fire streaking to the core of her being, memories of shared,
tempestuous passion flooding her mind and threatening to overwhelm her. She
stared breathlessly at the unmistakable challenge in his eyes . . . It seemed
she had given herself away without saying a word.
    Damn him! Damn his kisses and damn his eyes! she raged, swept by a terrible storm of emotion that battled
within her until she thought she might be torn apart. She hated this man. God,
how she hated him . . . for what he had done to her, and for the awful
predicament she now faced.
    It was obvious from his attire, a rich brocade
overcoat, waistcoat, and dark breeches, which he wore with casual flair, that
he was a member of the aristocracy and not the common soldier she had thought.
Would he cause a scandal?
    But all thoughts fled as he once again kissed her palm,
lingeringly, possessively, his warm breath making her shiver. Unconsciously she
leaned against him, unaware of the smoldering desire reflected in the depths of
her eyes, conscious only of the feel of his lips upon her skin and the wild
beating of her heart within her breast . . .
    "So beautiful . . ." Stefan murmured, a
rakish smile tugging at his lips. The feel of her lithe body pressed against
him was the sweetest torture; his blood raced hot through his veins. He could
swear she was the woman he had been seeking. Kassandra blinked at the sound of
his voice, the taunting smile on his face shattering the spell that held her
captive. She tore her hand from his grasp, her eyes glinting fire.
    "How dare you," she whispered, steeling
herself against trembling desire, a determined resolve forming in her dazed
mind.
    She would give him no further indication that she had
ever seen him before, she vowed. And if he challenged her, whoever he was,
soldier, aristocrat . . . yes, and most certainly a scoundrel, she would deny
everything. He had no proof, other than her own admission, and that she would
never give him.
    Kassandra drew herself up, meeting his gaze
unflinchingly. "As I said before, my lord, you are mistaken," she
stated with icy reserve. "We have never met. And if we had, I am sure I
would recall your brutish manners. As for spying on lovers and your strange
talk of taverns" —she paused, drawing a deep breath— "it appears the
full moon has addled your senses. Now release me at once."
    Stefan gazed down at her,