Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(25)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

His happiness at pleasuring her trumped his desire to strangle her as he made his way to where the manipulative little thing sat.

"Oh, the virgin approaches!" Rosalind lifted her cup of tea with a snicker.

Stefan opened his mouth to give her a good set down, but she interrupted.

"I find your need to control everything extremely aggravating."

Stefan slammed his ale on the counter. "Well, I find your need to embarrass a man in front of a large group of people infuriating!"

"It helped!"

"Oh, good. The insane woman thinks it helped! Well, perfect! And just how did you announcing that little tidbit to the entirety of the inn help, sweetheart?"

"You’ll see." She winked.

Stefan continued to glare at Rosalind as her dainty lips parted every so often in order to drink her tea. Scowling, he crossed his arms across his chest and tried not to think about that delectable mouth of hers. The same mouth that had the power to bring him to his knees or make him want to throttle her with one breath.

Just how long did it take to ready such a room, anyway? Just as Stefan was contemplating making a move to ask the innkeeper, Rosalind’s eyes locked onto something behind him.

He turned around.

"Your Grace?" The innkeeper’s wife approached. "Your rooms are ready if you’ll just follow me." A slight blush stained her cheeks as she led them up the stairs and down the hall to the farthest door at the end.

"’Tis our best room. Though we’ve only a small inn, we wanted to give you as much privacy as you needed." The blush deepened.

Stefan clenched his teeth and sent a seething glare to Rosalind, who merely gave him that confident shrug he found so blasted irritating.

"We are so very honored you have chosen to stay with us tonight." She unlocked the door and handed Stefan the key before rushing out of sight.

"Well…" Stefan looked to Rosalind. "May as well make the lie believable."

And with that he pulled Rosalind into his arms and carried her across the threshold, fighting with everything in him not to actually blush at the cheer that came from below the stairs.

With a grunt, he pushed the door open. And promptly dropped the very woman he was carrying onto the cold hard ground.

Rosalind squeaked as she hit the floor with a thud. Stefan smirked and reached to pull her to her feet, but she slapped him away with dainty hands.

"Mind allowing me the courtesy of knowing why in heaven’s name you would drop me?" She seethed.

Unfortunately, Rosalind’s cheeks were rosy and vibrant. Pieces of hair had all but fallen out of her coiffure and rested very slightly against her soft face. In that instant, Stefan felt himself blush. Actually experienced the feeling of all the blood rushing to his face — his need, his desire, and actual embarrassment over the shameful things he was going to do to her came barreling forward into his consciousness as he looked at the beautiful woman in front of him, and the breath-taking room they had been given.

A bath was drawn, the smell of rose water fresh in the air. A small dinner and bottle of wine sat in the corner and in all her haste the innkeeper’s wife was still able to scatter about tiny little candles everywhere, which he knew would be expensive for such a small inn. It seemed to have remnants of a romantic night full of pleasure and fantasy everywhere. The darkness of the room draped in candlelight sent chills through his body. Selfishly he wanted it to be real. All of it… and he wondered if he had already ruined everything by his careless proposals.

He truly expected Samson to burst his head through the windows covered in roses. A more magical room he had never before seen.

At least that was what he thought, until his eyes took their fill of Rosalind as she twirled around the enchanted room and laughed.

In his head, it happened like a slow aching dream. Vibrant red hair danced around her shoulders, green eyes closed in rapture. Long black eyelashes fanned against her high cheekbones, and her sultry laugh rang through the room. Absorbed, he could only continue to watch and curse himself for truly feeling like a virgin.

Biting back an oath, Stefan swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. Finally, she stopped her twirling and looked at him.

He desperately wished she would have continued, for then he wouldn’t have to see the clarity of her eyes, the bewitching beauty of her face, nor the cursed lift of her chin as she awaited his apology.

"Sorry, I was wrong. Did you want to bathe first?" The words were rushed and foreign as they flowed from his lips. Stefan’s feet took him opposite Rosalind in the room. He needed to stay away from the warmth of her body. He hadn’t meant for the words to tumble out of his mouth as fast as they did, and hoped she would be grateful that he at least admitted his wrong.

"I’m sorry, what was that?" Rosalind asked.

"An apology."

"Oh. The clarification is much appreciated; I wasn’t able to hear the full apology considering you weren’t actually looking in my direction. Weren’t you scolding me of that very thing the day before last?"

Must women remember everything? "I will admit to doing so, yes. And…" he exhaled as he turned to look at her. "I apologize, for my harshness earlier, and for my anger." As well as threatening to pleasure you then promptly leave.

"Accepted." White teeth bit across her bottom lip as she put her hands on her hips in thought. "I believe I’ll bathe first, since the spoils of war are mine, Your Grace."

Brilliant. She was the type to rub in defeat. How fortunate for him. "I’ll just be downstairs then." Turning in every direction but the door he needed to exit, Stefan was finally able to make his escape, though the echo of Rosalind’s mocking laughter from within the room was enough to cause him the desire to barge in on her bath. After all, she was to be his wife in mere days, that is, if he could get his proposals correct. And learn how to romance better than his horse.

Apparently the cards were stacked quite heavily against him. With a grunt, he kicked the side of the wall with his polished boot. It did wonders for his outlook on life. If only he could join Mary and Alfred in the stables, perhaps then his lust would cool. Yes, a toss in the hay that was exactly what he needed. Except that, when his brain thought of tossing and hay together, it conjured up images of Rosalind in the hay. Grunting, he kicked the wall again as he made his way back down for a tankard of ale. The poorly lit establishment at least offered ale that didn’t taste sour. He managed a small smile as he downed his first tankard and looked around at the rest of the patrons. Now if he could just get his lust for the woman out of his mind so he could have a peaceful night’s sleep without waking up with aching need.