Upon A Midnight Dream Page 6

  With that she marched out of the orangery, leaving him again confused. Why the devil was she so angry?

  Just as he was ready to swear aloud, she re-entered with a smile on her face. "And, Stefan?"

  "Yes?" He would be lying if he said his heart didn't jump in his chest at the look on her face.

  "That, was not a sonnet."

  Biting back a string of expletives, his mouth dropped open as he watched her again leave him alone to his devices. Why the devil couldn't the girl be least bit encouraging?

  Stefan trounced out of the orangery after her, purposefully making his steps loud and angry, quite like a young child who had just been scolded, but she had disappeared. He grumbled on his way to the stables to see how Samson was faring, slaying Rose the entire way.

  At the stables, Samson was enjoying a handful of oats when Stefan strolled in. It was beyond Stefan how his horse managed to woo everyone within his vicinity. One time a patron of a store gave him apples merely because he thought the horse smiled at him.

  Of all the ridiculous notions. Samson neighed and kicked his hooves.

  "Alright, old boy, alright." Stefan laid his hands on either side of Samson's face and looked him in the eye. It was peculiar how well the horse seemed to read others.

  "Blast, I'm going crazy!" Stefan muttered to himself as he grabbed another handful of oats and held them out to the horse who had become more of a friend than a mere pet.

  "She hates me, Samson! Everything about me! I wrote a blasted sonnet, and she walked away! I guess maybe it could be that I keep kissing her…" Stefan began pacing in front of the horse's stall. "And maybe if I wasn't so pushy, she might actually wish to talk to me. But I can't help that every time I look at her I can think of nothing else except kissing her."

  A branch cracked in the distance, putting an abrupt end to his blubbering idiocy. Frozen in place, he looked slightly from right to left before exhaling in relief.

  The trouble with saying things out loud was someone might hear him. He glanced around the empty stable, then stepped back towards Samson and whispered, "And it's not that she hates it, Samson. Quite the opposite, in fact, if you get my meaning."

  Samson looked at him without blinking as if to say, "You do know that I'm a horse?"

  And then a thought occurred. It was an unfortunate truth, but a truth, nonetheless. The horse, it seemed, was better at courting than the master. How often had he been approached in Hyde Park? How often had women complimented his horseflesh? Women, who in his mind, wouldn't know how to purchase a good horse any more than they knew how to purchase Hessians.

  "How do you do it, old boy?" Stefan ran his hand along the horse's glistening fur. "What are your secrets, hmm? A little neigh in the right direction and the ladies flock, isn't that right?" Stefan elbowed him, and let out a teasing laugh.

  "Well, I must say this is another first, Stefan. Asking for seduction tips from your horse now are you? My, my, how the mighty have fallen." Rosalind quirked a smile as she approached Samson and nuzzled his neck. "At least you sought out a wise teacher. I'm sure he could teach you a few things, couldn't you, boy?"

  Samson, the traitor, neighed in response, kicked his heel and smiled, yes it appeared that horses did in fact know how to smile, though Stefan could have sworn he was mocking him. Wanting to kick something, he managed to keep his voice even.

  "Rosalind, were you wanting to go for a ride then?"

  "No," her delicate hand rubbed the horse's shiny coat. "I came to relay a message to you. It seems you're needed in London."

  "Reading my correspondence now, sweetheart?" Stefan swiped the letter from her hand and ripped it open.

  "No, simply lying in wait for you to get summoned away."

  Stefan grumbled a few French words under his breath as he ripped into the piece of paper. His eyes scanned the written words, but it was hard to believe that this piece of paper would be addressed to him instead of Rosalind, for it didn't concern him as much as it did her.

  "It appears we are to be married today," he announced, handing the paper back to her.

  "You jest. Enough with the horrid proposals. Are you truly leaving?"

  Stefan reached out and cupped her chin. "Not without you, sweetheart. Your mother is ill and requires our presence immediately. And you are aware you cannot travel on your own without being ruined."

  Rosalind's eyes widened. "I'll bring my godmother."

  "Brilliant. She can sit between us and bring her cane." Stefan swore again. "We simply cannot bring your entire household!"

  "We're not!" Rosalind clenched her fists and stood her ground. "I refuse to travel alone with you. We're bringing Mary, and that's final! I won't be leg shackled to you against my will. Not now — not ever!"

  "I did write you a sonnet…" Stefan said leaning in to kiss the fierceness from her face.

  Rosalind licked her lips and turned away. "Sonnets are longer."

  "Maybe I left out a few parts to keep you in suspense," he whispered against the back of her neck as he made quick movement to bring her back into his arms. He chuckled against her hair as he flipped her around to see him. His breath was inches from her lips.

  She laughed. "Or maybe your brain couldn't handle so much information at once, and you ended it because you had no other option?" Rosalind's chest was rising and falling with great effort.

  "I'm going to kiss you now."

  "You wouldn't da—"

  His lips devastated hers before she could finish her sentence. It was the type of kiss Stefan had always wanted to give, but never understood why, until this moment. It was aggressive, like all his kisses had been. But it seemed what he could not communicate with his words, he still wanted to communicate with his lips, in the most primal way he knew how. His tongue invaded her mouth, slowly at first, trying to taste what she lay so tempting before him. Rosalind's breath hitched as his hands reached around her, pulling her body flush against his. Her mouth was so sweet, so warm, it wasn't like anything he had ever tasted. It was fresh, invigorating, and it seemed the more he deepened the kiss, the more he felt he would never quench the thirst she had started within him.

  Stefan desired to kiss her until she forgot her name, to arouse her until she was screaming for him to stop, and to make even his horse blush and turn away. Her lips pushed back against his, but it only spurred him on more — that is, until she bit his bottom lip. Yes, at first it was erotic, but when she did it again, and this time pushed against his chest, he relented. It was quite honestly one of the biggest regrets of his life, having to stop what felt so good to begin.

  Laughing, he cradled her chin in his warm hand. "Must you always cheat? You never play fair, sweetheart."

  "At least I'm playing, Your Grace."

  Stunned into silence again. Wonderful. He stepped back from her as he tried to regain the upper hand. "Regardless of your feelings, my lady, we must be on our way first thing in the morning…"

  Rosalind placed her hands on her hips and turned her head back towards the house letting out a puff of air. "Don't worry that ducal head of yours, Your Grace. I'll make sure I'm ready."

  "Lovely. Then I take it you're still set on not getting married and taking the sorry excuse of a godmother with us?"

  Rosalind reached out and touched his chest very lightly with her finger. He felt it all the way down to his… well, suffice to say he was quite wound up.

  "You wouldn't be afraid of a little old lady, would you?"

  "Course not, she's just irritating… and violent. You can't say she isn't violent. She did try caning me yesterday."

  "She thought you were an intruder."

  Stefan looked down at his expensive tailored clothing. "My apologies. I do look exactly like a ruffian."

  Rosalind eyed him up and down. "Yes, you do. I am so thankful I am able to invite her to attend to me, for I can't imagine being stuck in a carriage with such a savage. Considering I have no weapons, her cane will be most welcome."

  "Savage," Stefan repeate
d, lifting his lips into a tight smile. "Keep teasing me, my lady, and we'll see how much of the savage is still alive and well. Now, hurry on your way before, I forget my good manners and give you reason to need a weapon."

  She poked him in the chest. "That may be a chance I'm willing to take…" she paused, inclining her head towards him.

  Stefan's blood roared. He leaned forward, fully expecting to meet her lips. He closed his eyes, but felt nothing save her finger against his lips. "Perhaps another time, Your Grace. According to you, I have to pack. Alas, it seems our little tryst will have to wait."

  Rosalind hopped off, leaving Stefan restless, wanting, and ready to bellow at the top of his lungs.

  Samson neighed and shook his head. Always encouraging to be mocked by one's horse.

  Stefan briefly contemplated shooting him, or at the very least, threatening to take away his entire storage of oats.

  Instead he glared at his hairy mutinous friend and put his hands on his hips.

  The horse was obviously not the least bit threatened and continued to neigh. Stefan huffed and stomped off.

  CHAPTER SIX

  To sleep perchance to dream…

  ~ Hamlet — William Shakespeare ~

  Rosalind lifted a shaky hand to her face. Truthfully, she was alarmed. Her mother hadn't been sick once that she could even remember. Whatever was wrong, it must be urgent for her to send for her. At any rate, it would be one of the longest journeys of her life considering she had to sit in such close proximity with that beast of a man.

  She had Abigail pack what she needed and informed her godmother they would be making the trek back into the city the following morning. Mary didn't seem at all put out. Instead, she looked excited. So much for having a birthday celebration. With all her preparations for travel, it seemed her birthday would again be forgotten.

  It was the same way last year. Rosalind hated that her little girl fantasies were still so present. Though she was old enough not to care about birthdays, it still made her heart drop to her feet whenever they were uneventful. Her father often told her that magic took place on birthdays — one just had to believe.

  She believed, but the minute she opened her eyes for a miracle, Stefan showed up. He was not her knight in shining armor. Unless the knight was supposed to be egotistical and irritating, albeit handsome. The only thing that fit was the white horse, but that seemed too cliché.

  Perhaps, the reason she enjoyed Stefan's kisses, or at least allowed herself to entertain them was because she knew her time was limited, and it was inevitable that she would die of this dreadful disease though she hadn't had a spell since retiring to the country, or at least that she could remember. Wasn't that a good sign? If she couldn't remember her last spell, perhaps it meant the disease was going away? Or maybe Stefan's kisses were just muddling her memory.

  She should not have allowed him such liberties, but she seemed unable to control her more physical urges whenever he was around. It was as if his mere presence drew her into a spell that she was unable to fight.

  "Cursed man," she muttered, taking one last look around her room. It was time to leave. Maybe in London she would be able to see Stefan in a different light. It raised Rosalind's hopes that somehow the arrogant man would grow or develop a romantic notion and pursue her like a man ought to.

  A girl could hope. And it seemed hope was all she had to hang on to. That and the curse.

  Stefan made his way back into the house slowly, taking in the expanse of the property. The vision in front of him was nothing short of extraordinary. Snow-filled forests swept out from behind the Tudor styled mansion framing the sight in such a picturesque view it nearly took his breath away. Such a shame that he wasn't to be staying longer. The adventurer in him wanted to see what else the lands beheld.

  The wind picked up, nearly knocking his beaver hat to the ground. A chill unlike that of cold weather plagued him. Just as winter was enchanting the lands around him — and reminders of cold death lay in front of him, Stefan was again reminded of the seriousness of the situation. If he didn't marry Rosalind, and marry her soon — their families — both of them, would be doomed. It didn't matter that he wasn't convinced it was some sort of gypsy spell. What mattered was that he was given one way to fix everything. It was his fault that things had occurred as they had in the first place. Rosalind needed to marry him and if love was what she required, then his persuasion needed to be better than barking orders that they should marry in haste.

  And it was for that reason alone — desperation and necessity that he went in search of Alfred. If he was to truly behave a gentleman, he needed some reminding in the art, for the girl was correct. His romancing was at a standstill, and it seemed that his only option at this point was to seek help — preferably from a human, not his horse.

  Hanging his head in the only smidge of humility he possessed, Stefan went to his room. A knock soon came on the door. Fully expecting to see Alfred on the other side, Stefan blurted, "I need help!"

  "I see you've swallowed that roguish pride of yours since the horse incident, hmm?" Rosalind winked.

  May God have mercy.

  "I was… talking to, er… myself." Stefan cleared his throat.

  Red hair glistened as Rosalind wrapped it around her finger in thought. "First your horse and now yourself. Are you sure you're well, Your Grace? Shall I call for Mary to nurse you back to health until you're feeling more like yourself?"

  "By all means, call your godmother. Perhaps she can beat the last of my pride out of me. Sounds lovely, I'll just be sitting over here waiting for the caning. I do hope she doesn't break it on my back when she lunges for my head."

  "Oh posh. You're no fun whatsoever!"

  Stefan's head perked up. Was she jesting? So, she did care. She—

  "What woman beats a man who just sits there and mopes?"

  Right. Stefan's mouth gaped open to speak or snap — really to respond in any manner, whether it be a grunt or some sort of beastly noise. Nothing came, and with that he did indeed find out that his pride was nearly gone. In its place was desperation for the redhead standing ever so provocatively against his bedpost. A few measly inches and he could have her on her back with that glorious red hair splayed across the satin sheets. His body hovering over hers, promises of pleasure and passion and…

  "Your Grace? Did you hear me?"

  He shook his head. Had Rosalind truly been talking that whole time?

  "Course I did." Stefan cleared his throat. Saints have mercy on him if she asked any sort of repetition to what she just said. Curse his lust-filled thoughts!

  "So would that be agreeable?"

  Stefan nodded; it was really the only option he had at the moment. Well, that or lifting her skirts, and he figured one of those two options would probably result in him being on the other side of that blasted cane.

  "Good! I'm so very relieved that it is settled! I do worry about this estate when I'm not here, and it would be so kind of you to help out."

  "Help out?" he repeated. What in the blazes was she talking about?

  "Yes." Rosalind winked. "I'll just let the estate manager know you'll be making the final preparations with him before we leave."

  Devil take it, her smile sent tremors through his already hard body. "Yes, well, I would do anything for you, my Rose."

  She lifted an eyebrow. "I can very well see that. Now, off you go. I'm sure you have much planning to do before we leave. I'll just leave you to your talking, perhaps looking in the mirror would help next time?"

  "I was not — yes, perhaps." Stefan clenched his teeth and gave a curt bow as Rosalind's laughter echoed in the room.

  "Until dinner, Your Grace. Remember. Eight o'clock sharp."

  The door shut behind her, leaving Stefan with the aching suspicion that he had just agreed to do something horribly disagreeable. Well, he was a duke! As long as he wasn't mucking out stables and farming with the tenants, he would be fine.

  "Son of a—"

  "O
h, Your Grace! So glad to see you! We have been waiting in expectation for your grand tutelage!"

  Oh, how he wished for his own cane, or possibly to wrap his hands around Rosalind's beautiful slender neck. Yes, he would cheerfully punish that woman for putting him in this predicament. Outside, in the snow, mucking stables. Dukes did not muck stables. Dukes rarely stepped foot inside stables unless it was to buy some greys or perhaps ride or…

  "When you're ready, Your Grace." Higgins, the estate manager, was a short plump man with an all too cheerful demeanor and an aggravating voice that sounded quite like an animal in heat, though to be fair, worse comparisons were out there.

  Stefan muttered a few more curses for good measure and plastered a ducal smile on his face while he reached out to shake the man's hand. "Higgins, it seems I'm a bit in the dark. Tell me how I can be of service."

  "Right away, Your Grace! And may I just say, to work next to such a man! Well, I don't think my Betsy will believe me when I tell her!"

  As long as Higgins didn't repeat all the curses Stefan muttered, repeating the story would be fine.

  "Yes, good." Stefan looked around the stables. Where was all the help?

  Higgins stepped closer to Stefan and whispered in that awful voice, "What'cha lookin' for, Your Grace?"

  "Pride."

  "What was that?"

  Stefan cleared his throat. "People, my good man. Where are all the servants?"

  Higgins brow furrowed, a bark of laughter escaped his lips. "Oh, apologies, I thought the lady of the house told ya. It's just me and the stable boy, cook, and of course, Abigail, and ol' cranky pants, the butler. We haven't had servants in this house since the earl's passing."

  Which meant Stefan was to be a servant for the day. Oh the ways he would make Rosalind pay. On second thought… A smile spread across his lips.

  "Very good!" Stefan slapped Higgins on the back and walked towards the shovels. "Shall we get to work then? It seems these stables need a good cleaning before we leave in the morning, wouldn't want the estate to fall into disarray with the lady's absence."