Upon A Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(32)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"Brandy?" he offered.

Smiling, she nodded her head. Who wouldn’t need brandy after a day like today? If he stayed much longer in this madhouse he’d be a perpetual drunk.

He poured her a glass and handed it over.

She sniffed it before taking a large swallow.

"Rose, your mother…" How does one tell news such as this? Sorry, but your mother’s insane?

"She’s the devil." Rosalind cursed and threw back the rest of her drink. Well yes, one could always be blunt. His little Rose, always honest to a fault.

"Well, yes there is that. Stole the words right from my mouth. Granted, I had others to add in as well. Colorful words too, would you like to hear them?"

Rosalind laughed. "Maybe after another drink." She held out her glass. "I have half a mind to tell Samson to trample her."

"He’d listen to you too. The cursed horse likes you better than he likes me, though he has revulsion of getting his hooves too dirty. I imagine he would somehow convince another horse to do his dirty work, all the while eating oats in the stable."

Rosalind laughed loud and deep, causing Stefan’s blood to stir. "My groom is positively enamored of that horse. I’ll be surprised if he can even move after all the food he’s been consuming."

"Glutton." Stefan chuckled then sobered as Rosalind looked away with watery eyes.

"Rose… I spoke with the doctor."

"As did I," she admitted eyes still watery. "It appears she will stop at nothing to hurt me. I just don’t understand why she would cause such an uproar when she isn’t even ill."

"Boredom?" Stefan offered. "Or maybe she wants to cause you pain for not abiding by her wishes. Regardless, we should keep a close eye on her." Stefan’s mind went back to the odd mannerisms of the valet. "And the servants as well." The ones who were still alive that is. What a mess.

Rosalind sighed, drinking her brandy in silence. "Did the doctor say anything else?"

His opportunity could not have been better. "Actually," he set his glass down and leaned forward drawing courage from the burn of the alcohol down his throat. "I was wondering about your father."

"Oh?"

"Yes, was he drinking the night he died, Rosalind? I know it is painful to talk about, but the doctor has suspicions, and I am merely trying to ascertain the truth to prove or disprove his theories."

Rosalind nibbled on her lower lip distracting Stefan from his line of questioning. Rather than thinking about the odd happenings of the day, he found himself daydreaming about the taste of her lips and the feel of them as he slipped his tongue past her defenses.

"He was!" she blurted, stunning him out of his erotic dream.

"Drinking, you mean?" he asked.

"Yes! I know for certain because I thought he might be drunk, he was mumbling to himself when I walked into his study, but he had slowly been deteriorating. He put his glass on the ground and approached me and when he fell, well he must have knocked it over, for I don’t recall seeing it after the incident. Perhaps they cleaned it up after the doctor left."

"Yes, perhaps." Stefan didn’t think it wise to share his suspicions with Rosalind. "Where do you wish to marry?" he changed the subject as best he could. "I believe we can secure a church in this short amount of time. It will be nice to have our families present now, won’t it?"

"I suppose, though I still haven’t laid eyes on either of my sisters; one would think they were missing or something." Rosalind shrugged and offered a smile. "Are we doing the right thing, Stefan?"

Leave it to her to ask the logical question. "The right thing for our families? Yes, sweetheart, we are."

"And for us?" She quickly looked down and began swirling the remains of her brandy.

He took the glass from her hand and walked around the desk taking a stand in front of her. Stefan reached out his hand and brought her to her feet. "I can only speak for myself." He watched as she licked her lips and leaned forward. "Selfishly, I would marry you regardless of the curse, Rosalind, and that’s the truth. Though you can imagine I would make a larger spectacle of myself. The sonnets would of course be written better than Byron himself. I’d throw rocks at your bedroom window in hopes that you’d let me up. And since being slightly foxed demands brutal honesty, I’ll admit to trying to seduce you every day until the vows were said."

Green eyes widened as she gave as light sigh.

"Surprised?" he asked huskily.

"Not really." She grinned.

His control snapped. Like a hungry lion he swept in and devoured her mouth with all the force of emotion he had been keeping in throughout the night. With a moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into her embrace. It was as if a fight of desperation had broken free, for she frantically pulled at his jacket until it was off of his shoulders, and he in return tugged at her hair until it was free of pins.

Her once passive participation was suddenly aggressive, and Stefan found it hard to keep up with her enthusiasm as he was trying to think of a way to remove her clothes and happily possess her without wasting too much time. His need to protect her fought with his desire to bed her. A fierce battle for control raged within his chest. The last thing he wanted to be was reasonable as her fists grabbed a hold of his unfashionably long hair.

He cursed himself. In all these years, it would be now that he would develop a conscience and push the girl away only to spend the night in a frightful sleep of need.

"Rose." He pulled away. "Sweetheart." He grabbed at her hands still clenched within his hair and brought them to his lips. "Believe me when I say I want nothing more than to take you right here in the library without a care for who sees or how it looks." He glanced at her swollen lips. "To the devil with propriety."

She laughed, her eyes glistening with need. "Yet," he caressed her face. "I find that I would not be able to live with myself if I took what was not mine in a fit of passion brought on by heightened emotions and a trying day. Please forgive me for being strong when I so desperately wish to be weak."

"For a brute, that was quite poetic." Rosalind said as a blush crept up her cheeks. "Does this mean you’re saving your weakness for me and only me, Your Grace?"

His heart began thudding wildly. "But of course. I imagine I’ll have plenty of weakness stored up for our wedding night. The only question is, will you be up for it or expire on the spot with your own delicate sensibilities?"