Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(24)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"Don’t fight me, love. I only want—"

"Your Grace, so sorry for interrupting, but you may want to acquire rooms. It seems to be quite busy!" the footman said apologetically as he turned his cherry red face away from the couple and cleared his throat.

Warmth immediately left Rosalind as Stefan pulled away and straightened his jacket. "Of course. Shall we, my Rose?"

Rosalind gave a short awkward nod and took his arm.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, And our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

~ The Tempest ~

Stefan scanned the crowds of people as they neared the inn. It would be a miracle for them to find a room, let alone two. Knowing he was without any solid option other than claiming Rosalind as a wife, he approached the innkeeper and prepared for battle, for the woman next to him would rather be trampled by Samson then announce to the world that they were married.

"My good man, my wife and I are in need of two of your best rooms."

Rosalind began choking. Stefan used the opportunity to pull her closer into his frame. All the while trying desperately not to grin as she stiffened beneath his hold.

"Wedding night. She’s a tad frightened." He gave a little wink to the innkeeper, who abruptly started laughing as if they were sharing a small joke at Rosalind’s expense.

Then the woman drove her heel into his boot sending a yelp of pain out of Stefan’s mouth before he could stop it.

Rosalind smirked. "Sorry sir, it seems my husband is nursing some fears of his own as well. Aren’t you husband?" She turned to look at the innkeeper. "Seems tonight will be a night of many firsts. Can you imagine? A duke as innocent as this one!" Rosalind sent an elbow sailing into Stefan’s stomach. "Now, about those rooms."

The innkeeper smiled revealing two rotting teeth. "Yes, well you see, we only have."

"One room?" Rosalind guessed.

Stefan winced. Leave it to Rosalind to make an even bigger spectacle; more than likely she would start shouting at any minute.

"Yes, my lady, or Your Grace?" He said it as a question, apparently still not sure with whom he was conversing.

"The Duchess of Montmouth, but we need to keep it a secret. You see I ran away to escape my evil mother only to be rescued by this brute here and his glorious horse—"

"—here we go." Stefan muttered a curse and shook his head.

"His horse is lovely, by the way." Rosalind patted the innkeeper’s hand. He leaned forward with obvious rapture at Rosalind’s treatment of him. "Where was I? Oh yes, the rescue! So, as I was saying. The duke here came searching for me as a man would his long lost princess and now we are returning to claim what is rightfully ours!"

The innkeeper sighed. "That’s a lovely story, Your Grace."

"Indeed," Stefan grumbled.

"And can you imagine that this one here didn’t even offer me a proper proposal?" Her finger pointed directly into Stefan’s face making him sweat profusely under his tight fitting jacket. Devil take it, where was the air in that tiny hole?

"No proposal, Miss?" A woman came up behind the innkeeper and shook her head. "What type of man doesn’t propose to the woman he rescues?"

Somehow, Rosalind managed watery eyes as she shook her head in feigned sadness. "He merely said we must marry at once!"

Both gasped.

"And you haven’t heard the worst of it."

Stefan tugged on Rosalind’s arm. "I’m sure they don’t need to hear—"

"He took advantage of me being without a chaperone, and he still hasn’t wooed me!"

"Woo?" the innkeeper said as the woman continued to shake her head.

"Yes, woo." Rosalind confirmed.

The innkeeper looked to Stefan. "Did you try flowers?"

"Or sonnets?" The woman chimed in clapping her hands.

Expletives poured out of Stefan’s mouth before he was able to say anything remotely appropriate. Unfortunately, his goal had not in fact been to appall everyone, including himself, though he succeeded admirably if the shocked expressions on everyone’s faces were any indication. Had he lost all control over himself? His horse would be doing a better job than he at this moment! Wincing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked away.

"Your Grace." The lady shook her head somberly at Rosalind as if she felt sorry for the obvious hardship she was undertaking in accepting Stefan’s proposal of marriage. "I will prepare the best of rooms for you and your brute of a husband. Now, why don’t you go over and have yourself a nice cup of tea while my husband here gives yours some pointers. Surely he needs them! To think a virgin man who demands women to marry him without any sort of romance! Well, I’m troubled by it!"

"Virgin!" Stefan roared.

"Shhh…" the lady hushed him. "All will be well. Your fear will hold you back no longer, Your Grace."

Stefan had several things at the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say, none of them appropriate. "My wife, it seems has been misleading. I’m not afraid." He choked somehow on his tongue, as it became like sand in his mouth. Why was he so blasted nervous?

"Off you go!" the woman called to Rosalind. The girl smiled triumphantly as she strutted over to a small table.

"Conniving, impetuous, manipulative—"

"Your Grace?" The innkeeper cleared his throat. "Now, I’ll have the room ready in a small bit. We need to do some—" Cough "—rearranging of our guests, so if you’d like a tankard of ale or whiskey while you wait, I can easily…" He cleared his throat again. "That is to say, I can go over a few specifics for such a night, if you—"

"I am not virgin!" Stefan shouted, drawing the attention of every eye in the room and more than likely every ear on the continent. Men and women everywhere burst out laughing.

He was going to kill her.

Slowly.

And then pleasure her until she couldn’t take it.

And promptly leave her — alone, cold and in the bed without any way to rid herself of the heightened lovemaking and the emotions that went with it.

"You’re smiling, Your Grace. I take it your fear has lessened." The innkeeper lifted an eyebrow.

"Immensely, thank you for your… talk." He shook the man’s hand and went to sit by the little chit who thought making a laughingstock out of him would keep his more carnal instincts at bay.

She was in for a rude awakening.

Or possibly just an awakening like none other, and he couldn’t wait to be the one man to bring her to her knees.