Upon A Midnight Dream Read online

  Higgins joined his side and slapped him on the back, obviously not aware that dukes did not, in fact, get slapped by servants or any person for that matter. But he meant it in good fun, so Stefan let it slide like he had so many other things the past few days — pride, sanity, good sense…

  "Well, let's get to it, good man. Wouldn't want to keep you from Betsy."

  Higgins grin was so wide, Stefan's own mouth grew slightly sore. "Thank you, Your Grace. I tell you it is an honor, it is."

  "Right."

  Stefan gripped the shovel. Rosalind had another thing coming if she thought he was to be scared off by a little work. Had she no idea what he was doing in India that entire time? Nor that his father had tenants and estates of his own before his passing? Ones that Stefan saw flourish under his own two bare hands. If she wanted help, well, help was what she would get.

  And with that, Stefan began to whistle a tune.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hear my soul speak;

  The very instant that I saw you, did

  My heart fly to your service.

  ~ The Tempest — William Shakespeare ~

  Rosalind looked out the window facing the stables and froze. Was that…? Her ears strained to hear the melodious tune. No, it couldn't be. The man was whistling! And the blasted horses seemed to be dancing along with that sorry tune.

  "Of all the…" Her eyes flashed back to the window. Breath stole straight out of her lungs causing her to choke. The duke had removed his jacket. Seconds later, his shirtsleeves, as he began the laborious chore of chopping wood. May God rain curses on him for being such a fine specimen to look at.

  Her elbows leaned on the windowsill of their own accord; her chin soon followed until she was leaning against the window, pasting her face to the glass so hard her nose was smooshed.

  "My Lady?" A man's voice penetrated her spying, throwing cold water onto the fervor of heat. With a bang, her forehead hit the window. Rolling her eyes, she put a hand to her skin hoping it wouldn't bruise and turned around.

  "Yes, Alfred?"

  "I merely came to see if you needed any more assistance, were the windows dirty? Perhaps a good cleaning before we off tomorrow?" Alfred made a move to look out the window.

  "No!" Rosalind yelled pressing her hands against the valet's chest. With a jerk she pulled them back and let out an embarrassed laugh. "I mean, no need! I was just inspecting them for dust and they seem to be perfect. Not one speck of dust, or fat, or deformity…"

  Alfred turned his head to the side in thought. "On the windows, you say?"

  "Course, yes. I meant the windows, whom, I mean what else would I be referring to?" She nervously cleared her throat and clenched her hands behind her back.

  "Right then. I shall sleep soundly tonight knowing there isn't at trace of fat on them. Good day, miss." Alfred gave her a knowing wink, then walked off just as another hot wave of embarrassment washed over her.

  Sighing, she turned back towards the window. Just one more glance, she told herself as her eyes searched for Stefan's muscled form. Where the devil did he go? Rosalind pressed her nose closer, her eyes now roaming in earnest to search the estate grounds.

  "What are we looking for?" Stefan's breath fanned the side of her neck making the embarrassment complete.

  "Ah, Your Grace! Was just looking for you. It seems the windows are clean!" Alfred announced coming back in their direction.

  Oh no.

  "Is that so?" Stefan said still standing dangerously close to Rosalind who had yet to take her eyes off the cursed window.

  "Oh yes, miss Rosalind was very perceptive earlier when she was looking at them for all traces of… Let me see what did you say? Oh yes dust and fat, was it, Miss?"

  "What is this nonsense?" Mary walked up behind Alfred. "We do not use fat to wash our windows!"

  "Did you need something, Mary?" Rosalind nearly yelled above the commotion.

  "Yes, Cook isn't yet back with supplies and we need all the help we can get in the kitchens."

  Rosalind smiled, feeling the upper hand. "I'll just send His Grace down in a bit, shall I?"

  "Very good!" Mary stomped her cane and walked off. Rosalind allowed herself a brief smile. She would like to think that every time Mary came into the room Stefan was a trifle fearful of the cane she carried.

  "But—" Stefan opened his mouth to say more, but Rosalind took advantage of his being tired from hours of work.

  "No buts, Your Grace. You said you'd help in any capacity, it seems we are to help with dinner tonight. That is, if you don't mind getting your ducal hands a bit dirty."

  Stefan leaned in pinning her against the wall and his rock hard body. "I think we both know I don't mind a bit of dirt." His eyes locked on her lips, and instinctively she leaned in.

  Alfred coughed.

  With a shaky hand, Rosalind pushed Stefan back, so what if that same hand stayed longer than necessary across the flat planes of his godlike stomach? He was solid, hard, and so foreign, yet her hand remained, until Stefan cleared his throat. Pulling back as if burned, she snapped a retort, "I'll see you after you clean up a bit, Your Grace."

  On wobbly legs, she made her exit and prayed the entire way that God would grant her momentary blindness so she wouldn't fall into the wicked temptation pooling in her mind.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

  ~ Lord Byron ~

  The large kitchen was a sight to behold, even for Rosalind. Alfred was in the corner learning the proper practice in making bread. Mary was working at the stove stirring the stew, and to Rosalind's amusement, Stefan was to cut vegetables for the dinner.

  Not that anyone would point it out, but the duke wasn't exactly skilled in the kitchen. The stew hadn't been the first choice, but after nearly setting his valet as well as the rest of the kitchen on fire, it was decided that his certain talents would make an excellent stew. So he sat, in the corner, much like a punished young boy and peeled carrots and potatoes.

  "Missed one." Rosalind couldn't help it. With a little push, she put the potato in front of the duke. Probably not her smartest moment considering the knife he held was quite menacing. It had a large serrated blade, and in his more than capable hands, it looked more like a sword.

  Stefan glared at the missed potato, but instead of snapping at her, he smiled a sinfully sweet smile and peeled the potato without complaining, whistling that same blasted tune he'd been whistling upon their first meeting.

  It was difficult not to tease the man. His presence alone filled up half the kitchen, then to see the tiny vegetables in his hands; it was too much to take in. Rosalind had to continuously cough in order to hide her laugh. Serves him right for not listening to her earlier that day when she asked how long the trip would be.

  Instead of answering, he had given her one of those wicked smiles and looked at the bed as if he meant to take her right then and there. It wasn't at all shocking that he had missed her simple question. So what if she tricked him into thinking he had agreed to help around the manor? They did need help as short staffed as they were.

  Rosalind just wasn't counting on Stefan being such a big help, nor her estate manager, tears in his eyes, offering to erect a statue in his honor. Wouldn't surprise her one bit if he already wrote a song about the duke.

  "Ah, smells good! Oh, looky at all ya fancy folk in here workin' in the heat. Dear me. Well, I'm back now, so off with you!" Cook shooed them out of the kitchen quicker than a hound on the hunt.

  Alfred, Mary, Stefan, and Rosalind watched as the doors closed behind them. They still had a few hours before the night time meal. With a thump, Mary's cane came crushing down onto the floor.

  "Well it's back to work for me. Want to make that birthday special for ya, since this one burnt the first pie. I'll just think of something else then." Mary pointed at Stefan and pushed back into the kitchen.

  "Sorry I burnt the pie." Stefan hung his head. "In my defense, I was so concerned about the flyi
ng cane in the kitchen that I wasn't concentrating on anything that witch said."

  "Flying canes are indeed dangerous, Your Grace." Alfred nodded his head somberly. Rosalind covered her laughter with the back of her hand.

  "Anything else, Rose?" Stefan turned his full body towards her, again pinning her against the wall and blocking her only escape route.

  Alfred cleared his throat. "With your permission, sir I'll just—"

  "Go away, Alfred."

  "Very good, Your Grace."

  Rosalind glared after his retreating form. The traitor should at least chaperone his brute of a master.

  "He's not coming back." Stefan read her thoughts as he leaned in closer, she could smell the sweat right off his skin. "Nobody to guard your virtue anymore, eh Rose?"

  Rosalind scoffed. "Guard my virtue? I wasn't at all concerned, Your Grace."

  Stefan's smile curled upwards towards his eyes. Tiny crinkles paraded around his piercing gaze as he leaned even closer. Shudders of excitement traveled down Rosalind's body as his look went from hungry to ravenous. Lifting his hand he traced the line of her jaw with his finger using only the slightest of pressure. Trembling under his touch, Rosalind could only close her eyes against the god-like man standing in front of her.

  "No, Rose, you may not close your eyes. You may not escape me. Not after putting me through such a toil-filled day. I imagine you meant to punish me or to at least intimidate me. Perhaps scare me off?"

  What could she do but nod and pray his lingering would cease?

  "I was shipwrecked."

  Everyone knew he was shipwrecked. Was his purpose now to gain her pity? "Yes, I know." Rosalind's voice shook.

  "I built fires."

  Well if praise was what he wanted. "How very brave, Your Grace."

  "Stefan," he corrected with a wink. "Thank you, but I was not looking to obtain favor. Do you know what it is like to be shipwrecked? To think yourself dead? To hunt for food and make shelter? How about owning more than ten estates, each with tenants who depend solely on you for their next meal. You've shown me your life, Rose, but you've left me to wonder, do you know my reality?"

  Sheepishly, she shook her head, suddenly embarrassed that she would think him like every other duke of the realm. A duke who would never toil along with other workers, and sweat with the common man. A duke who would rather spit on work than lift one soft finger.

  "I-I was not aware… Stefan." She lifted her head. "But we did need help, we do need help! We are short staffed and everyone pulls their weight around here. I meant not to punish you merely to teach you a lesson, for your forwardness."

  "So we get to the bones of it don't we, sweetheart?"

  "I know not what you mean." Oh sweet deliverance, if only she could inch by him and run up the stairs. They called to her — escape called to her.

  "Think it is I who will teach you a lesson, my dear."

  And with that Stefan's head descended towards her lips. He let out a throaty chuckle as his lips rained kisses up her neck, stopping just once near her ear, pulling it between his teeth. Gooseflesh rose all over her arms as she felt his breath caress her neck. The sweetness of his proximity threatened to overwhelm her as his skin, just slightly in need of a good shave, rubbed against her cheek.

  Warm strong hands cupped her face drawing her lips dangerously close to where his hovered. With a mind of its own, her body leaned towards him, nearly shaking with excitement. Surely he was hypnotizing her!

  Cautiously, his warm lips moved to kiss each cheek, and then her forehead, her nose, her eyelids. He was trying to drive her mad! Stefan paused the onslaught of seduction and pulled away.

  Embarrassed, Rosalind's eyelids flew open to see a smug grin spread across Stefan's face.

  "Lesson one," he said.

  "Lesson one?" Rosalind repeated voice shaky, her entire body buzzed with excitement and need. The only thing keeping her upright was Stefan's muscular body holding her firm against the wall.

  "Always leave with your opponent begging for more."

  "I do not—"

  "—Lesson two. Start with a simple caress or touch." His hands again reached out and cupped her face before his thumb rubbed across her bottom lip, finally dipping into her mouth just slightly before he said, "And lesson three."

  Rosalind swayed on her feet as Stefan lifted his body away from hers. "What is lesson three?"

  "Tonight, Rose. I'll show you tonight."

  With a bow, Stefan took his leave and marched up the stairs, leaving Rosalind so bewildered she wasn't sure in which direction to go. So instead of walking anywhere, she slowly slid down the wall and sat in the middle of the hall and pulled her knees to her chest. Stefan's familiar whistle reached her ears. As she fought to keep herself from smiling, she realized that for once in her life she had been thoroughly bested.

  Rosalind's shaky legs took her down the staircase towards the dining room. Curse that arrogant man for making her feel so weak! She would not — no she could not allow him to have such power over her! She hadn't expected the man to be so open to manual labor, nor for his countenance to be that of a thankful servant instead of a boastful duke. Why, she was even told by the stable hand that he helped birth a cow! Perhaps he was putting on a show for her? Logically, it would make sense, but she knew in her soul the man who constantly whistled — who talked to his horse like a fellow man — this was the true duke. And the more she thought on it, the more uncomfortable she became.

  The very idea that he was pulling down her defenses was unnerving, not to mention that he thought to teach her yet another lesson.

  Lesson one and two were hard enough, and her virgin mind could only horrifyingly bring up images of what his version of lesson three might be! With a deep breath, she entered the large dining room and gasped.

  Stefan was standing next to her chair. The fire roared next to the table, but it wasn't heat she felt, but gooseflesh all over her body. For the barbarian of a man had cleaned up quite nicely. Blond hair was tucked behind his ears, his boots shined to perfection, and his dinner jacket hugged his large frame perfectly. His glaring white teeth against tanned skin were devastating, and for once in her life Rosalind thought she might actually swoon for want. Lustful desire made her knees weak as she continued to stare at the man. Her own body physically responding as her breathing hitched, and a throbbing ache made it's presence known. Her heart didn't help the matter for it thudded helplessly against her chest, "this one," it said over and over again. Stefan's chest rose and fell in cadence with Rosalind's own heartbeat. It seemed to take an eternity as she walked to where he stood and did a slow curtsy.

  "No," Stefan murmured lifting her chin up with his gloved finger. "It is I who will bow to you, for the birthday girl should never have to humble herself or have proper manners on such a day."

  Lifting a rakish brow, he bowed crisply, beautifully in front of her, his entire presence leaning ever so slightly in the air and returning back to his full stance. And then with the grace of hundreds of years of breeding helped her to her seat but not before bestowing a kiss upon her hand.

  "My lady," His words lingered on the word my — warmth radiated through Rosalind's body until she thought she may promptly faint out of her seat as he took a chair next to her.

  "Are you well?" Stefan asked.

  "What? Yes?" Rosalind answered the affirmative; in all honesty, her eyes had been so thoroughly trained on his broad shoulders that she hadn't heard a thing. Ironic, since she had punished him earlier today for being guilty of a similar crime.

  Feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment, Rosalind looked down at the table. The need to escape and break the spell he so powerfully wielded over her was almost suffocating.

  "Hmm, it seems my punishment is appropriate then."

  "Whatever do you mean?" Rosalind feigned a weak smile and took a sip of wine. There wasn't enough wine in all of Europe to make her nerves wither away. Why hadn't she taken to brandy?

  "I mean—" Stefan sa
id as he moved to his seat closer to hers. Lovely. They were apparently dining casual. At this rate, he would have her jumping over the table just to get the madness over with. Perhaps a chandelier would fall on her head? "—that you punished me soundly, or so you thought, for not paying attention to you when you were speaking. Alas, can you blame me, sweet Rose? For I was imagining how my hands would feel all over your body. How the nectar of your mouth would taste… I imagine you were thinking similar things when you entered the room, and by the blush on your cheeks, I can see that I'm right. So, truly, it is only fair, sweetheart."

  "Fair, hah!" Rosalind reached for her wine again, but Stefan pushed it out of her reach.

  "Tsk, tsk, wouldn't want you to be foxed during the lesson."

  The man had a point. No telling how many liberties she would allow him when she wasn't in her right mind.

  With a sigh, she leaned back against the firm chair. "So, this lesson, is it starting now?"

  His rich laughter filled the room. Excitement jumped through her. "Believe me, Rose. You shall know when the lesson is to start."

  With that, cook and Mary brought out the food. Stefan was wonderful conversation, telling her tales of his life in India. And Rosalind found herself wanting nothing more than to relax in his presence, but every so often he would smile and the candlelight would catch on his face. Or his leg would somehow manage to touch hers. And once, he leaned over and wiped a bit of desert from her face. She could have died from lust-filled mortification. In fact, it wouldn't have surprised her at all if she would have exploded.

  But it was as if he wasn't affected at all! He just continued to relax and tell stories as if it was the most natural thing ever to be so familiar with her. It was driving her mad. She wasn't sure how much longer she could take it.

  "And then," Stefan said scooting his chair closer. "Banana ran into the maharajahs tent and stole as many pieces of fruit as his little hands could carry. He took all types of fruit. Apples, oranges, pomegranates. Say, have you had a pomegranate before?"

  "No." Considering Rosalind's wine was being monitored by Stefan, she took only a sip and waited.

  Stefan grinned and leaned in. She could smell the wine on his breath as he continued his tale. "They say pomegranates are the fruit of love. I say it's the fruit of lust. You see they have these tiny seeds." He reached out for her hand and opened it in his. "You put them in your hand like this, as many as you can and then you eat them. Each seed has its own delicious flavor that pops in your mouth. It quite makes my mouth water when I think on that delicious flavor rolling around my tongue."