Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(15)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

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 repeated, 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.