Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(23)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"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.