Read Upon a Midnight Dream Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
Upon a Midnight Dream (10 page)
“That was not fair.”
Stefan continued grinning. “Didn’t you know Rosalind? Men, rarely play fair, or was it women? I get confused, but I do recall you repeating something similar to your good friend, Lord Rawlings.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“It seems, your desire for a fairy cake trumped your logic and good thinking, for it was the bait in which I used to secure you, therefore making it possible to woo you the rest of the way to London.” Which meant he had still but six hours to convince her to be his.
“Your Grace, if trapping a woman through sweets is another one of your ways of seduction, you are without a doubt the worst seducer to grace the country.”
“Says the trapped little bird.”
She squirmed under his brace, her bottom moving to and fro. His smile grew larger as blood roared through his veins. “My, my, how you play so deliciously into my hand.”
“What do you want?” She relented her squirming and looked sadly down at the fairy cake.
“I want to feed you your birthday cake.” He shrugged simply as if it was the most natural thing to do with a woman in a carriage.
“And if I allow it?”
“Then my wooing for the day is finished. I only ask that you endure as best you can.”
“Endure…” She looked down at the fairy cake in hand. “And you promise to stop trying to seduce and woo me. And no more lessons?”
“For the remainder of the day, yes.”
“I agree.”
“I’m sorry it appears with age my hearing as declined. What did you say, my dear?”
A muscle twitched in her cheek as she answered through clenched teeth, “Do not push it, Your Grace. I said I agree and I mean it.”
“Wonderful,” he released her arms and very carefully lifted her from his lap to the seat next to him. “Now, lets have the fairy cake, and I’ll show you the proper way to eat such a delicacy in celebration of ones birthday.”
Her shoulders slumped as she guilty handed over the fairy cake.
“Now,” he grinned and unfolded the napkin holding the cake on his lap. “The best way to enjoy cake on ones birthday is blindfolded.” Her indignant huff nearly did him in as he reached into the basket and pulled out a small napkin and motioned for her to turn so he could fasten it around her head. “Can you see anything?”
“No, but I gather that’s the idea.” She turned to face him and he found the idea that she couldn’t see him sinfully erotic as his eyes boldly took in her plump bottom lip. Perhaps just a nibble…
“Perfect.” He cleared his throat. “Now, open your mouth.”
First, she nibbled her lips then apparently the idea of having a fairy cake won out, like a little bird ready to be fed, she opened her bow lips. He found he couldn’t merely hand over the food and be done with this little experiment to get her to trust him. So, instead he dipped his finger in frosting and swiped it across her bottom lip.
Her pink tongue emerged and licked her bottom lip and he found himself once again entranced by her motions. Rosalind relaxed, just slightly, and Stefan found himself needing to see her eyes as she enjoyed the fairy cake. He pulled off the blindfold and stared in awe as her eyelashes blinked slowly at him then closed in ecstasy giving Stefan the jealous feeling that he was missing out on the exchange between the participant and the object—frosting.
Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt. Stefan bellowed a curse as the door swung open. “I just cannot take the cold any longer, Your Grace. To think that you allowed me to even step outside the carriage is quite beyond me. Really you should have more manners. Oh, fairy cakes! Don’t mind if I do!” Mary swiped the cake out of his grasp and comfortably positioned herself on the other side of the carriage.
Dumbstruck, Stefan didn’t know if it was at all proper to say out loud the obscenities he was thinking in his head considering there was a lady present. Mary didn’t count.
Rosalind smirked at him and he found himself helpless as to how to continue on without, one getting caned, and two aroused quite awkwardly as the godmother held a blunt object within her grasp.
The footman was still standing outside the door, mouth ajar, the poor bloke was probably already thinking of where to seek other employment after allowing a passenger in the dukes carriage to put a stop to their journey.
Stefan nodded his head towards the pale man and told him to get on with it. The man scrambled to shut the door and soon they were off.
“I gather you’re over your aversion to our picnic?” Stefan dusted his hands of the stolen fairy cake.
“Well, if you wouldn’t have been so belligerent with your waving of that horrid looking meat, I wouldn’t have had to step outside of the carriage, Your Grace.”
“Are you scolding me?” He felt his chest rise as his fingers clenched into the seat.
“Nonsense,” Rosalind piped up, gently touching the top of his clenched hand. “Mary was merely pointing out that we were insensitive to her…”
“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 cursed.
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 during 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.
“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.
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.
