Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(26)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Perhaps he would have two tankards.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I know a lady in Venice who would have walked barefoot

To Palestine for a taste of his nether lip.

~ Othello — William Shakespeare ~

Rosalind slipped out of her traveling dress with a moan. Unfortunately the moan made her think of Stefan, which was entirely improper, not that she could help it. The man was a virile god compared to those she was used to associating with. It was why, in her mind, she needed to be his intellectual equal on all planes, for when he smiled, or even touched her. All bets were off.

With a little twisting she was able to rid herself of her corset, chemise, and stockings. The hot water looked divine and inviting. With glee she lifted her leg into the water. Rosalind closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax into the hot bath. After a while, she thought it would be best to actually wash so that Stefan could return. Yawning, she reached for the soap.

A fierce pounding at the door caused her to jump with fright. "Open up, Rosalind. I’ve changed my mind." It could hardly be considered a knock for the brute was nearly taking the door down with all the force he was using. What the devil did that savage want!

"No!" she yelled, unladylike and loud enough to give him the idea that he was not welcome during her peaceful bath time.

"Yes!" Stefan roared. "We are to be husband and wife, Rosalind, and I will not stand out here like some boy wet behind the ears because I cannot at least sit in the room with a woman I’m attracted to while she bathes."

"The self control of a saint, I’m sure!" Rosalind mocked.

"You have my word, I’ll turn around, I just cannot be down with the rest of the patrons any longer."

"And why is that, Your Grace?"

A long silence ensued. "They keep referring to… it."

Rosalind grabbed the long dressing robe left by the innkeeper’s wife and wrapped it around her body. "Your Grace, I believe you’re going to need to be more specific as to what it is."

"Allow me entrance, and I will."

"This door opens when you tell me."

"Virginity," he mumbled.

Rosalind covered her mouth in laughter. "Are they teasing you, Your Grace?"

Another long drawn out silence. "Yes."

"Very well, but you must close your eyes; otherwise, I’ll bring Mary in here with her cane. No telling what she may do if she sees me in my current state of undress with you present."

"Agreed." Stefan said.

Reaching for the door, Rosalind allowed herself one more burst of laughter before she pulled it open revealing a slightly red and if appearance was any indicator, possibly foxed Stefan.

"How much ale have you consumed?" she asked.

Stefan pushed past her, not even glancing at her robe. "Not enough, Rose. Not enough." He cursed under his breath as he walked to the window then back again to the door, slamming it closed. As his hand rested across the wood, he stood, nay swayed in front of her, then turned on his heel and went to the bed and closed his eyes. "You may proceed."

Why did she get the feeling that she was a courtesan? "Close your eyes, Your Grace."

"I assure you, I have no desire to be caned, Rosalind. Take your bath, and be quick about it, my muscles ache and my pride is non-existent. I want nothing more than to drown myself in your bath water in hopes of erasing my memory of the Innkeeper showing me the proper way to kiss a lady."

The man was making it torture not to burst out laughing. Putting her hand over her mouth, Rosalind waited a minute before answering. Saints alive! The last person on God’s green earth that needed to learn how to properly kiss a woman was Stefan. If anything he was too skilled for words. The man should be teaching others how to kiss and properly make a lady a pile of wantonness. After a few minutes, she felt she was able to answer without giving him clue to her amusement. "I’m sure that was very hard on you, Stefan."

"Yes, well. Difficult and hard circumstances have been an everyday occurrence in your presence. I may just cane myself by the end of our little trip. Perhaps your godmother will do me the courtesy."

"And have Mary miss out?" Rosalind laughed. "I doubt she would be pleased." She stepped around the screen and threw off the robe. Goosebumps rose across her flesh as she took a step into the tub and slowly sank down into the warmth.

"Ahhh." She moaned aloud, completely lost in ecstasy.

"Rosalind," Stefan said hoarsely.

"Hmm?"

"If you could possibly keep yourself from moaning in ecstasy, I would be much obliged. I find my ears quite sensitive to feminine noises and my body extremely willing to join you. If you care for your own virginity, it would be best to be silent."

"Understood," she croaked, sinking lower into the bath and hoping for it to swallow her whole.

Rosalind made quick work of her bath and was attaching the dressing gown just as Stefan asked if she was finished. With a sigh she answered yes and walked to the fireplace to allow her hair to dry in the warm heat.

She felt Stefan approach and looked up at his menacing form. Broad arms were crossed against his chest. Dark eyes darted around the room to everything but her. "I won’t have you watching me."

"Your Grace, the last thing my virgin mind wants is to see a savage without his clothes. Now hurry with your bath so we can enjoy the meal before it gets cold."

He grunted, and turned towards the where the bath was laid out. Rosalind shook her head in front of the fire and leaned back on the floor to gain closer access to the fiery flames.

With a splash, she assumed Stefan had indeed found out a way to gain access into the bath without tripping in his semi-foxed state. A musical whistle invaded her thoughts. Always that whistle, always that tune.

"What is the song you whistle so often?" she asked.

The whistling stopped. "It’s called The Beast. Actually one of the earlier works of Dominique Makyslov, the man who happens to have your beloved title and lands."

"It’s sad."

Stefan was silent for a while. "But the notes are fast paced are they not?"

"It’s a sad song masquerading as a happy song," Rosalind said.

"That, it is. Very few actually understand the emotions of music, Rose."

"Very few people actually listen, Your Grace."

She closed her eyes again as he started the song anew, lost in the passion of a whistle was quite odd for her, it begged the question if Stefan was a musically gifted man who could also sing.

The fire continued to heat her skin, but suddenly it became much too hot. Curious, Rosalind opened her eyes to see the edges of her robe catching fire. With a scream she jumped up onto her feet.