Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(13)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

His father would not have been pleased by the turn of the events. It seemed the man knew what he was doing when he sent Stefan away, though he was the heir and titled son.

The idea jolted his memory. Lady Rosalind and her mother were obviously still living in their residences. Just whom had the title passed down to upon the late earl’s death? He lay down and told himself to remember to ask Alfred in the morning.

Rosalind woke early the next morning after a fitful night of sleep. The only thing that sounded even minutely relaxing was a cup of hot tea in her father’s old study.

It didn’t help that it was her birthday today and nothing had changed. The snow still fell lightly over the estate, and the house seemed as glum as ever. She could only hope that the weather would let up enough for her to take another afternoon stroll. How depressing that the only entertainments to look forward to were walks in the cold dead snow. It could be worse, she scolded herself.

A loud knock came on the door, scaring her out of her wits. Before she had time to answer, it was forced open, revealing Stefan dressed and ready for battle. Or so it seemed, if the all too alert look in his eyes was any indication.

Swallowing the sudden nervousness at his presence, she rose from the desk and patted down her simple brown muslin dress and inclined her head to the side in question.

"Good morning, Rose. I trust you slept well." Stefan filled the large doorway, imposing his maleness into the dim room. The man had more confidence than the entirety of the ton combined.

Rosalind fought the onslaught of nerves and managed a small smile. "Thank you for asking, and yes I did. Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?"

His only answer was the wolfish smile as he took a seat in one of the leather chairs. "Now that you mention it, I believe there are several things you can do for me, Rose." His eyes boldly scanned her from head to toe. "But more of that later. Alas, I must ask important questions first. To my deep regret, of course."

Rosalind did not like the sound of that, nor did she appreciate his obvious interest in her morning dress. She took a seat opposite him and forced herself to wear a bland expression despite the swell of nervousness she felt.

She leaned back against the chair as he leaned forward resting his forearms against his muscular legs. "I find myself curious as to who inherited the title after your father’s passing? You have no brothers, so the only logical answer would be an uncle or perhaps a cousin?"

If only it were a cousin or uncle rather than the horrid stranger who not only held the title but the family wealth as well. She cleared her throat. "I believe the name he goes by is Dominique Maksylov, now the Earl of Hariss."

Stefan merely stared at her with a blank expression. "The Beast of Russia? The Russian royal, Dominique Maksylov?"

"So you know him." Rosalind winced against her better judgment. Clearing her throat, she managed to change the subject. The sooner Stefan left her room the better. "Is that all then, Your Grace?"

He didn’t take the hint. "How in the blazes did that dirty Russian obtain an English title? The monster eats small children to break his fast!"

Rosalind lifted a brow. "In his defense, he is part English. His late father was a cousin to Alexander the first. I won’t make the assumption that you know anything of history. He was the Czar. But I’m sure your education provided you at least that much knowledge. We are related to him through his English mother. Both his parents are deceased, leaving only Dominique. Considering my father had no brothers and the only male cousin now resides in America, the title then fell to our second cousin, the man I just named."

"Fascinating." Stefan leaned back in his chair. "You know he’s known as the beast to every single person he meets in polite society? Can’t imagine why the man would live in that foreign country with nothing but that blasted piano as his mistress. I’m sure he eats the souls of his tenants as well. Hats off, it seems you truly are cursed," Stefan said quite cheerfully, irritating her all the more with his presence.

Rosalind shifted uncomfortably; she was all too aware of the horrid stories about the man, and didn’t need this savage to confirm her fears, least of all on her birthday! "I’m aware. Now if that is all you need, Your Grace, I do have some important things to attend to."

His lips curled into a smile. "My apologies, my lady. I hadn’t any idea that you would be so busy with correspondence on your birthday."

Rosalind froze. How on earth did he know it was her birthday? Curse her enthusiasm that he actually paid attention to such details.

Stefan rose from his seat. "And here I was under the impression you should like to take a stroll through the snow and possibly partake in an indoor picnic with me. Pardon the intrusion."

He strode to the door.

"Wait!" she heard herself call. "Perhaps a walk would be agreeable." The last thing she wanted was to be cooped up pretending to write to family members whose only response of late had been to inquire if she had indeed broken the curse and married the brute opposite her.

"Agreeable or exciting?" he asked, not turning around. Her eyes greedily took in the vast expanse of his back. Strong, sinful shoulders filled out his jacket in a way that made her stomach flop. His hair was so unfashionably long! Leave it to him to make something unfashionable look so rakish and cunning. The temperature in the room took a considerable leap.

Grinding her teeth, she refused to answer, but merely folded her arms and waited for him to either relent or laugh.

He turned and looked directly in to her eyes. "Dress warm. The snow has let up, but it won’t do for my future wife to catch a chill before our wedding."

Chill — she felt a chill all right. It started at her neck and slithered down to her toes at lightning speed. The man was too charming by half.

By the time she reached her bedroom to change, she had already talked herself out of the walk at least four times. Resigning herself to fate, she slipped on her walking boots and grabbed a warm cloak. Surely it couldn’t be any colder than the day before.

Rosalind took her time making her way back down the stairs to a waiting Stefan. Things would be a lot easier if he were unfortunate to look at. Instead, his warm fur-lined jacket had him looking much like a royal prince.

He held out his hand but she walked right past him. She wasn’t frail; she didn’t need to be escorted through her own home, or even outside for that matter! Throwing open the door to the back garden, she took a step out and gasped. What once was only crisp harmless snow had melted and refroze into something quite treacherous. She tried to regain her footing, but felt her arms flailing about her.