Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(11)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"Oh, I think I know what can be done in fifteen minutes." He winked again, ever so wickedly.

Pausing, she tilted her head, patronizing him just a bit. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I doubt even your barbaric virility could last all of fifteen minutes. And I was alluding to the time it would take to accompany me on walk."

"Why walk when you can ride?" He offered her a juvenile grin before blowing her a kiss.

"Not what I meant, and please keep your crude humor to yourself. I’m afraid it falls on deaf ears when you share it aloud. Not to mention, I cannot take you seriously when you have split pea soup dripping from your chin."

Brooding, Stefan swore under his breath and threw his napkin onto his plate. He leaned back, crossing his large arms across his broad chest. "Are you sure you want to make this so difficult?"

Difficult? More like aggravating, irritating, and impossible. At her silence he added, "Rose… dear sweet, Rose. I can guarantee that you will be on the losing end of this little battle. Just imagine, within days not only will we be legally wed, but I’ll be having my way with you every night. I find that my carnal tastes are even more awakened when I gaze upon that glorious red hair, imagining it pooling by your waist, covering your br**sts in a most scandalous manner. Alas, that is only the imaginings of a man. I can only assume the real thing is even better. Shall we take a look?"

"Barbarian," Rosalind snapped, though inwardly she couldn’t help her treacherous body as it warmed to the idea. Liquid desire pooled in her belly as she thought about his large hands touching her bare skin, that sensual mouth bringing her to the brink of pleasure. Doing things she had only heard about but never experienced. "What makes you believe I’ll even agree to this marriage? Your powers of persuasion are lacking, Your Grace. Why saddle myself to you when, according to your eloquent speech, I’m the stuff of dreams?"

The duke leaned forward, and candlelight bounced off of his high cheekbones. His eyes appeared black as he tilted his head to one side. "You will be my wife, Rose."

"Give me one good reason."

"The curse."

"That’s it? That is your reason? No I love you, Rose — You’re beautiful, Rose? Not even a I’m so glad it’s you the curse requires I marry, for my heart couldn’t bear to be without you?"

"You do realize you read too much, right?" At her grumbling response, he continued, "Love, is that your demand then? That I love you before I marry you?"

Rosalind looked away. How was she to answer that? Her heart screamed, "YES!" But, it was silly. How was he to fall in love with her in only a few weeks, and how could she tell him she would surely die early on in their marriage? But didn’t she deserve, at least once, to be courted? To be wooed? Never had she had a chance. Not with all her betrothals. Sadly, her first kiss had been from the man sitting across from her. The same man who had soup on his chin and started proposals with, "We shall marry at once."

"Love." She heard her strong voice echo off the walls. "It is my only demand. You have to try, Your Grace. I am a woman. I wish to be pursued."

"And you think I have the ability to pursue you in the way you desire, Rose?"

Her eye scanned the man across from her. Every plane of his face. The shadows that danced in the evening candlelight. The strong arms placed on either side of the table. His broad chest and easy manner. Not to mention his entire god-like presence. It also didn’t hurt that every time she looked at his mouth all she could think about was his knee buckling kisses.

"Yes," she said more certain than previously. "I think you’re up to the task. We have until the new year before the curse takes us all, correct?"

At his nod, she continued.

"I believe that will give you enough time."

"To woo?" His eyebrow rose.

"To woo and to make me believe that this will be the best idea for everyone involved. You have exactly twenty days before the new year, Your Grace. On the twentieth day, we will marry. If, and only if, you can prove yourself to be something other than the arrogant, spoiled, ill-mannered man sitting across from me now."

The duke leaned back in his chair. His body seemed too big for his seat. Suddenly nervous, she swallowed the fear in her throat.

"Shall we seal it with a kiss?" His loud chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back and rose.

Rosalind felt her breath quicken as the sound of sure footsteps reached her ears.

"Your Grace, I—"

"Stefan. My name is Stefan." He stopped in front of her, but she was still facing the table; he was to her side. Maybe if she stood still enough he wouldn’t make her do anything but be immobile.

"Rose?" He held out his large hand. An invitation, and not one of force or brute strength, but that of tenderness. Slowly, her gaze lifted to meet his. Stefan looked back at her through hooded eyes and smiled that devastating smile she had heard so much about. Deep inset dimples added a blindingly irritating sensuality to his smile. Straight white teeth glared against his still-tan skin. Oh my, what have I gotten myself into this time?

Rosalind pushed her chair away careful not to appear too eager to launch herself into his arms. Even as she rose to her full height, her chin still did not come up to his face, rather she received quite a view of his broad chest. The man was a giant, towering over her and everyone else he spoke to. Two of her could fit in his shadow.

"One kiss," he whispered, leaning towards her face. By the saints, the man was dangerous! At this distance, she could almost hear her own heart thudding in her chest. His soft lips inhaled and exhaled in such a slow erotic manner that she wondered for just an instant if he was using some sort of Hindu trance on her.

Stefan’s breath was hot on her neck, and she hated herself for wanting to feel his lips again.

Eyes closed, she waited.

Stefan grabbed her hand. Her eyes flashed open, and she stared as he quirked a smile and bestowed a warm kiss on her hand, his tongue darting out ever so slightly to touch her flesh. The devil!

"I bid my lady, goodnight." He turned on his heel and sauntered out of the hall. Rosalind, continued to stand, and then swayed towards the table, bracing both of her hands in front of her. Legs like lead, she was suddenly fearful she was having another spell, but the feeling quickly dissipated, and in its place a funny feeling in her stomach. A fluttering of sorts. She closed her eyes and relived the almost kiss.

Curse the man for making her want him! Well, one thing was for certain. She wasn’t going to make this easy. If he wanted a marriage, he better understand just what he was getting himself into. Rosalind had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t crumble at the feet of any man. And she didn’t plan on starting now, even if the curse was real, which she suspected it was, considering she had seen her father fall to his death with her own eyes. Something good had to come out of all the darkness that surrounded her. She just wasn’t sure that the something she referred to was named Stefan. Maybe her curse was to be pursued by a man she could never truly have.