Upon A Midnight Dream Page 9

  Rosalind smirked at him and he found himself helpless as to how to continue on without, one getting caned, and two aroused quite awkwardly as the godmother held a blunt object within her grasp.

  The footman was still standing outside the door, mouth ajar, the poor bloke was probably already thinking of where to seek other employment after allowing a passenger in the duke's carriage to put a stop to their journey.

  Stefan nodded his head towards the pale man and told him to get on with it. The man scrambled to shut the door and soon they were off.

  "I gather you're over your aversion to our picnic?" Stefan dusted his hands of the stolen fairy cake.

  "Well, if you wouldn't have been so belligerent with your waving of that horrid-looking meat, I wouldn't have had to step outside of the carriage, Your Grace."

  "Are you scolding me?" He felt his chest rise as his fingers clenched into the seat.

  "Nonsense," Rosalind piped up, gently touching the top of his clenched hand. "Mary was merely pointing out that we were insensitive to her…"

  "Delicacies." Stefan finished through clenched teeth.

  Rosalind turned giving him a blinding smile. "Precisely."

  Well, he couldn't exactly argue with the girl considering his mouth had suddenly gone dry, and she hadn't let go of his hand. The warmth from her skin seeped through her kid gloves and Stefan silently wondered if it was possible for a man to go insane from one touch.

  "We should be in London within the next few hours," he said.

  Rosalind winked while Mary continued to argue about the cold, and Stefan couldn't help himself from turning over his hand and grasping Rosalind's delicate fingers. He also couldn't help but smile triumphantly as her hand grasped his back, hidden beneath her skirts it seemed all was well within the world. Propriety be damned.

  He was holding her hand.

  And Stefan had trouble remembering a hand that had ever fit so beautifully within his.

  Thump! Stefan jolted awake. He must have fallen asleep near the end of the trip. The carriage was stopped, why was it stopped?

  Rosalind awoke from her slumber as did Mary and unfortunately her cane got a good waving about before she managed to calm herself enough to know the carriage was not in fact tipped on its side.

  He'd be lucky to survive that cane. In fact, he made a mental note to hide it first thing in London.

  "I'll just be a minute." Stefan rapped on the door. The footman opened it to let him out. "What seems to be the problem?"

  "Sorry, Your Grace. The horse, it seems to have thrown a shoe."

  "Where are we?" he asked ignoring the horrid news.

  "Just over yonder hill is the Knights Inn, Your Grace. If we stay there for a few hours, I'm sure we can fix the problem."

  The sun was beginning to set. It was a stretch to have made the trip in one day as it was. And he wasn't exactly thrilled that they would have to travel through the night in order to make it to London.

  "We shall stay at the Inn over night."

  "But—" the footman's nostrils flared.

  "Well what is it?" Stefan was irritated and tired of sitting next to Rosalind for so long.

  "Well, Your Grace. It's just that, well…"

  Alfred hopped down from his seat, "Your Grace, forgive me but it wouldn't be proper to spend the night alone un-chaperoned."

  "I'm sure Mary is a proper chaperone. She has a blasted cane Alfred, and she glares at me as if she intends to make any excuse to use it. Lady Rosalind's virtue will be intact, I assure you. My sanity however, is still in question."

  "Very good, sir." Alfred bowed and motioned for the groom to bring the horse. Samson neighed at Stefan, though he could have sworn it was mockery the way it sounded coming from his beloved horse. Another night, alone, with this woman and he was going to go mad. Truly, his curse must be Rosalind, for he hadn't slept a wink since laying eyes on her.

  "Let us be off, Samson." He pulled at the reigns and knocked on the carriage door. "Ladies, it seems we are to be taking a short respite for the night. Rosalind, if you would be so kind as to accompany me on Samson, we'll just be off to the nearest Inn over the hill."

  "And what of Mary?" she asked stepping down.

  "She shall stay with Alfred, he will be sure to take great care of her."

  Mary blushed like a schoolgirl. Bewildered, Stefan looked at his valet only to see him with a similar rosy hue.

  "Well?" Rosalind said standing in front of him.

  Stefan shook his head. "Right, off we go." He mounted Samson and held his arm to Rosalind. With little effort, she was on the horse behind him. And dash it all if Samson didn't seem to be proud as he neighed, pranced, and snorted.

  "Show off," Stefan muttered. Samson neighed and lifted his head. Stefan rolled his eyes in disgust, pleading to the heavens yet again for a horse that wouldn't take attention away from him.

  "He's really such a lovely horse." Rosalind said with a throaty laugh.

  "Yes, my thoughts exactly." Stefan clenched his teeth and pulled tight on the reigns. Shown up by his horse… again.

  The smell of horse mixed with sweat and leather pounded into Rosalind's senses. The last thing she needed was to be trapped in a small inn with a man of Stefan's nature.

  She was beyond being worried or irritated or perhaps even frightened at the prospect. Fear and excitement twisted inside her gut until she thought she would surely expire from the turmoil of her circumstances. Why couldn't they merely change horses and ride through the night? Surely it wouldn't take that long to reach London!

  "Sorry, Rose. It seems that we were already behind schedule as it was. We would have needed to stop regardless. Naturally, I blame Mary." Stefan muttered as they reached the top of the hill and were able to see the inn. She desperately wanted to be back at the carriage. At least then her body wouldn't be awkwardly pressed against his. Sitting side-saddle behind him made it difficult to concentrate on anything but the way her arms fit around his waist, or the hard planes of his muscles as they clenched and twitched beneath hers. Would it be so terrible to lay her head down on him?

  "Rose?" he prompted.

  "Really, it's not trouble at all!" Rosalind feigned any sort of confidence she could muster up. "Truly, we shall arrive in the afternoon."

  Stefan shrugged and started to whistle. It appeared his only aim when he could sense her frustration was to drive her mad with that ridiculous tune! And why the devil did he constantly whistle the same thing? Was his creativity in the same category as his romance?

  Not that his romance was at all lacking. Quite the opposite in fact, which was why in her desperation and worrisome thoughts she found herself nearly bruising her lip as she bit down in concentration.

  Stefan hopped off the horse and held his hand to her. With reluctance, she conceded and with a swift prayer slid off of Samson straight into the barbarian's arms.

  Magic. It had always been as such when his firm body came into contact with hers. There was no release. As if sensing her need, her desire — her want. His muscled arms bracketed around her.

  "In the mood for more lessons, sweetheart?"

  Breath coming out in short gasps, Rosalind could only shake her head and close her eyes as his forehead leaned against hers.

  "Why do you fight it so?" Stefan whispered.

  "What woman would not fight what she does not have any semblance of control over?"

  He smirked. "What woman would desire to control something so passionate?"

  His arms continued to encircle her as he lifted his head and laid a soft warm kiss on the curve of her neck. The faint brush of his hair tickled down her collarbone as she memorized the way his lips felt against her skin.

  "Don't fight me, love. I only want—"

  "Your Grace, so sorry for interrupting, but you may want to acquire rooms. It seems to be quite busy!" the footman said apologetically as he turned his cherry red face away from the couple and cleared his throat.

  Warmth immediately left Rosalind as Stefa
n pulled away and straightened his jacket. "Of course. Shall we, my Rose?"

  Rosalind gave a short awkward nod and took his arm.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  We are such stuff

  As dreams are made on, And our little life

  Is rounded with a sleep.

  ~ The Tempest ~

  Stefan scanned the crowds of people as they neared the inn. It would be a miracle for them to find a room, let alone two. Knowing he was without any solid option other than claiming Rosalind as a wife, he approached the innkeeper and prepared for battle, for the woman next to him would rather be trampled by Samson then announce to the world that they were married.

  "My good man, my wife and I are in need of two of your best rooms."

  Rosalind began choking. Stefan used the opportunity to pull her closer into his frame. All the while trying desperately not to grin as she stiffened beneath his hold.

  "Wedding night. She's a tad frightened." He gave a little wink to the innkeeper, who abruptly started laughing as if they were sharing a small joke at Rosalind's expense.

  Then the woman drove her heel into his boot sending a yelp of pain out of Stefan's mouth before he could stop it.

  Rosalind smirked. "Sorry sir, it seems my husband is nursing some fears of his own as well. Aren't you husband?" She turned to look at the innkeeper. "Seems tonight will be a night of many firsts. Can you imagine? A duke as innocent as this one!" Rosalind sent an elbow sailing into Stefan's stomach. "Now, about those rooms."

  The innkeeper smiled revealing two rotting teeth. "Yes, well you see, we only have."

  "One room?" Rosalind guessed.

  Stefan winced. Leave it to Rosalind to make an even bigger spectacle; more than likely she would start shouting at any minute.

  "Yes, my lady, or Your Grace?" He said it as a question, apparently still not sure with whom he was conversing.

  "The Duchess of Montmouth, but we need to keep it a secret. You see I ran away to escape my evil mother only to be rescued by this brute here and his glorious horse—"

  "—here we go." Stefan muttered a curse and shook his head.

  "His horse is lovely, by the way." Rosalind patted the innkeeper's hand. He leaned forward with obvious rapture at Rosalind's treatment of him. "Where was I? Oh yes, the rescue! So, as I was saying. The duke here came searching for me as a man would his long lost princess and now we are returning to claim what is rightfully ours!"

  The innkeeper sighed. "That's a lovely story, Your Grace."

  "Indeed," Stefan grumbled.

  "And can you imagine that this one here didn't even offer me a proper proposal?" Her finger pointed directly into Stefan's face making him sweat profusely under his tight fitting jacket. Devil take it, where was the air in that tiny hole?

  "No proposal, Miss?" A woman came up behind the innkeeper and shook her head. "What type of man doesn't propose to the woman he rescues?"

  Somehow, Rosalind managed watery eyes as she shook her head in feigned sadness. "He merely said we must marry at once!"

  Both gasped.

  "And you haven't heard the worst of it."

  Stefan tugged on Rosalind's arm. "I'm sure they don't need to hear—"

  "He took advantage of me being without a chaperone, and he still hasn't wooed me!"

  "Woo?" the innkeeper said as the woman continued to shake her head.

  "Yes, woo." Rosalind confirmed.

  The innkeeper looked to Stefan. "Did you try flowers?"

  "Or sonnets?" The woman chimed in clapping her hands.

  Expletives poured out of Stefan's mouth before he was able to say anything remotely appropriate. Unfortunately, his goal had not in fact been to appall everyone, including himself, though he succeeded admirably if the shocked expressions on everyone's faces were any indication. Had he lost all control over himself? His horse would be doing a better job than he at this moment! Wincing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked away.

  "Your Grace." The lady shook her head somberly at Rosalind as if she felt sorry for the obvious hardship she was undertaking in accepting Stefan's proposal of marriage. "I will prepare the best of rooms for you and your brute of a husband. Now, why don't you go over and have yourself a nice cup of tea while my husband here gives yours some pointers. Surely he needs them! To think a virgin man who demands women to marry him without any sort of romance! Well, I'm troubled by it!"

  "Virgin!" Stefan roared.

  "Shhh…" the lady hushed him. "All will be well. Your fear will hold you back no longer, Your Grace."

  Stefan had several things at the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say, none of them appropriate. "My wife, it seems has been misleading. I'm not afraid." He choked somehow on his tongue, as it became like sand in his mouth. Why was he so blasted nervous?

  "Off you go!" the woman called to Rosalind. The girl smiled triumphantly as she strutted over to a small table.

  "Conniving, impetuous, manipulative—"

  "Your Grace?" The innkeeper cleared his throat. "Now, I'll have the room ready in a small bit. We need to do some—" Cough "—rearranging of our guests, so if you'd like a tankard of ale or whiskey while you wait, I can easily…" He cleared his throat again. "That is to say, I can go over a few specifics for such a night, if you—"

  "I am not virgin!" Stefan shouted, drawing the attention of every eye in the room and more than likely every ear on the continent. Men and women everywhere burst out laughing.

  He was going to kill her.

  Slowly.

  And then pleasure her until she couldn't take it.

  And promptly leave her — alone, cold and in the bed without any way to rid herself of the heightened lovemaking and the emotions that went with it.

  "You're smiling, Your Grace. I take it your fear has lessened." The innkeeper lifted an eyebrow.

  "Immensely, thank you for your… talk." He shook the man's hand and went to sit by the little chit who thought making a laughingstock out of him would keep his more carnal instincts at bay.

  She was in for a rude awakening.

  Or possibly just an awakening like none other, and he couldn't wait to be the one man to bring her to her knees.

  His happiness at pleasuring her trumped his desire to strangle her as he made his way to where the manipulative little thing sat.

  "Oh, the virgin approaches!" Rosalind lifted her cup of tea with a snicker.

  Stefan opened his mouth to give her a good set down, but she interrupted.

  "I find your need to control everything extremely aggravating."

  Stefan slammed his ale on the counter. "Well, I find your need to embarrass a man in front of a large group of people infuriating!"

  "It helped!"

  "Oh, good. The insane woman thinks it helped! Well, perfect! And just how did you announcing that little tidbit to the entirety of the inn help, sweetheart?"

  "You'll see." She winked.

  Stefan continued to glare at Rosalind as her dainty lips parted every so often in order to drink her tea. Scowling, he crossed his arms across his chest and tried not to think about that delectable mouth of hers. The same mouth that had the power to bring him to his knees or make him want to throttle her with one breath.

  Just how long did it take to ready such a room, anyway? Just as Stefan was contemplating making a move to ask the innkeeper, Rosalind's eyes locked onto something behind him.

  He turned around.

  "Your Grace?" The innkeeper's wife approached. "Your rooms are ready if you'll just follow me." A slight blush stained her cheeks as she led them up the stairs and down the hall to the farthest door at the end.

  "'Tis our best room. Though we've only a small inn, we wanted to give you as much privacy as you needed." The blush deepened.

  Stefan clenched his teeth and sent a seething glare to Rosalind, who merely gave him that confident shrug he found so blasted irritating.

  "We are so very honored you have chosen to stay with us tonight." She unlocked the door and handed Stef
an the key before rushing out of sight.

  "Well…" Stefan looked to Rosalind. "May as well make the lie believable."

  And with that he pulled Rosalind into his arms and carried her across the threshold, fighting with everything in him not to actually blush at the cheer that came from below the stairs.

  With a grunt, he pushed the door open. And promptly dropped the very woman he was carrying onto the cold hard ground.

  Rosalind squeaked as she hit the floor with a thud. Stefan smirked and reached to pull her to her feet, but she slapped him away with dainty hands.

  "Mind allowing me the courtesy of knowing why in heaven's name you would drop me?" She seethed.

  Unfortunately, Rosalind's cheeks were rosy and vibrant. Pieces of hair had all but fallen out of her coiffure and rested very slightly against her soft face. In that instant, Stefan felt himself blush. Actually experienced the feeling of all the blood rushing to his face — his need, his desire, and actual embarrassment over the shameful things he was going to do to her came barreling forward into his consciousness as he looked at the beautiful woman in front of him, and the breath-taking room they had been given.

  A bath was drawn, the smell of rose water fresh in the air. A small dinner and bottle of wine sat in the corner and in all her haste the innkeeper's wife was still able to scatter about tiny little candles everywhere, which he knew would be expensive for such a small inn. It seemed to have remnants of a romantic night full of pleasure and fantasy everywhere. The darkness of the room draped in candlelight sent chills through his body. Selfishly he wanted it to be real. All of it… and he wondered if he had already ruined everything by his careless proposals.

  He truly expected Samson to burst his head through the windows covered in roses. A more magical room he had never before seen.

  At least that was what he thought, until his eyes took their fill of Rosalind as she twirled around the enchanted room and laughed.

  In his head, it happened like a slow aching dream. Vibrant red hair danced around her shoulders, green eyes closed in rapture. Long black eyelashes fanned against her high cheekbones, and her sultry laugh rang through the room. Absorbed, he could only continue to watch and curse himself for truly feeling like a virgin.