Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(21)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"Oh, stop, stop, stop!" Mary yelled. If anything, the woman had just proved to everyone within a square mile that she had a healthy set of lungs at such an old age.

The carriage stopped, she hopped out, and Stefan watched as she climbed up top to where the footman was sitting. After bundling herself in a blanket she nodded her head and the carriage took off.

Rosalind sat motionless and angry. Mary and her reaction to any sort of food that carried even a hint of the color pink, was truly too much.

"What just happened?" Stefan had his hands in the air in total bewilderment.

"Well, to be truthful she despises anything resembling pink." Rosalind shrugged.

"It is beef. It’s more red than anything," Stefan argued. "Blast if I knew pink to be such an intimidating color."

"Yes well, to her it has pink edges, so she had to leave." Rosalind rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Right." Stefan still looked confused. "Will she be back?"

Rosalind contemplated lying but thought better of it because she was so blasted hungry. "No, I assume she’ll stay next to the footman and Alfred until it gets too cold for her tender disposition."

"Tender disposition my—"

"—At any rate," Rosalind interrupted. "It was my birthday yesterday, and you did promise me a picnic. Are we to eat it or simply discuss it?"

"Have I told you how much I admire your moods? All twenty of them. And how you so effectively go from one to the other, quite exciting for a man. I’m never quite sure which woman I’ll have the fortune to talk to. Most excitement I’ve had in months I assure you."

"The food?" Rosalind repeated.

"As you wish." Stefan pulled out a bottle of wine, rolls, meat pies, and some beef.

The smell of fresh food filled the entire carriage. Closing her eyes, Rosalind leaned back and inhaled the scent.

The noise of preparation stopped. She opened one eye and watched Stefan watch her and very slowly uncork the wine, all the while never taking his eyes off her throat. His unblinking stare could seduce a woman out of her good sense.

"Only barbarians stare with such hunger in their eyes," Rosalind stated as Stefan’s eyes slowly closed halfway, becoming more hooded with desire by the second.

He shifted in his seat and looked quite uncomfortable with his legs stretching around the carriage. "Apologies, it seems age agrees with you. I found myself wondering how old you turned yesterday?"

Rosalind looked away and felt herself flush. "Old enough to be on the shelf, Your Grace."

"Deuced lucky shelf," he muttered pouring her a glass of wine and lifting her spirits at the exact same time.

Rosalind received the glass of wine and laughed. His large hands moved delicately over the foods as he chose her delicacies and then handed her the plate.

"Your food, my lady."

"You make a good servant, Stefan."

He threw his head back and laughed. "I’m good at everything. Including serving a deserving woman on her very important day, even if I’m a trifle late. Though to be fair, I had this brilliant plan on your actual birthday, so I believe credit and praise is still due." He winked.

"You know, my father once told me a woman’s birthday is the most confusing day of her life."

Rosalind nibbled at her meat pie. "Why is that?"

"Well," Stefan helped himself to his own food, "it’s the one time of year that reminds a woman that her youth is behind her, and more mature years are ahead of her. Women seem to speculate over years gone by with either regret or fondness. And swear to make the next year better than the last. If they do not meet their own expectations a birthday can be devastating. Yet another reminder that time is going by too fast."

"Then why is it also the happiest? That sounds dreadfully sad."

"Yes." Stefan sipped his wine. "It can also be a joy filled day."

Rosalind couldn’t wait to hear what his definition of a woman’s joy may be. No doubt he would say it had to do with a woman getting married or having a man to share her life with.

"It can be the happiest day of a woman’s life because she has finally learned the one universal truth about herself."

Here it came.

"That with age, she becomes wise, self assured and confident. Consequently, the happiest women in the world are the ones that understand birthdays are a symbol of beauty. For there is nothing more attractive to a man than a woman who has truly lived. She who wears her age gracefully and with pride. Yes, birthdays for a woman are special. If anything, they announce to the world that you continue to grow more beautiful with time, like a rose coming into full bloom." Stefan leaned forward placing his large hand on Rosalind’s leg. "And you, my dear, grow more beautiful each day I see you. I gather each minute you age represents another man’s heart breaking with sorrow that you will never share your life or your bed alongside them."

Rosalind, quite literally had no idea what to say. In all her speeches about wooing, she had completely underestimated the man. His eyes crinkled into a smile and he went about his meal as if the sudden temperature in the carriage hadn’t changed, as if she wasn’t now positively charged with desire for him and confused as to where on earth he had come up with such beautiful words.

They ate their meal in silence and Rosalind found herself stealing glances in his direction constantly trying to find a chink in his armor. His arrogance it seemed was the only thing that still existed. She held onto that truth with a vice grip knowing if it was to shatter as well — she would have no reason not to allow herself to love him, and her heart simply could not take loving a man who did not love her back.

CHAPTER TEN

Love is a spirit all compact of fire.

~ Venus and Adonis 151 ~

Insert mind-numbing silence here with a large dose of madness, Stefan thought for the tenth time as he watched his delightful companion once again pull into herself as if she were hiding something. Well, it was of no matter. They would arrive by nightfall and in the time leading up to it he would do everything in his power to persuade her to see things his way.

Stefan watched through hooded eyes as Rosalind continued to shift in her seat until, irritated, he reached across the carriage and laid a hand gently across her thigh. His only intention was to stop her from moving, lest he throw her out of the carriage to join her mad godmother, but as his hand rested across her dress, it was as if every nerve could feel the heat emitting from the woman.

"Be still," he croaked.

Rosalind eyed him pensively before making a grand gesture of folding her hands in her lap and sighing.