Upon a Midnight Dream (12 page)
Read Upon a Midnight Dream Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
“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 every day 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.
“Ahhhh.” 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.
“What, what is it!” Stefan was suddenly at her side his body a blur as he hit the flames with his bare feet before turning to her and examining her face. “Are you hurt? Did you get burned?”
“No, I’m not—Oh my—“
Stefan gave her a peculiar look and then glanced at himself. All of himself. For the man was standing in front of her sans any clothing covering his gloriously sculpted body.
“I—I—uh.“ Rosalind began to speak, but found no words. Nothing, to describe the longing she felt all over her body. The fascination she found in gazing upon his. Hard muscled plans over his stomach, broad shoulders fit for a king. And skin so smooth she wanted to reach out and touch it.
Unfortunately, that was exactly what she did, and immediately regretted it as fire seemed to burst into Stefan’s eyes.
“Don’t,” he said grabbing her hand forcefully within his. The grip he had on her was strong.
Her hand shook under the pressure of his. Eyes black with desire he pulled her flush against all of him. “I mean to propose to you, to be a romantic. Not to take you and force a marriage upon you in that way.”
Rosalind could only nod and watch as his eyes took their fill of her lips. With a curse, he crushed his lips against hers, savagely, passionately pulling more and more of her until she thought she would die. Stefan’s body was still wet from the bath, warm water only seemed to ignite her skin as it soaked through her robe. His arms braced tightly around her, one hand stroked her neck then dove lower. Her robe was haphazardly thrown on and she hadn’t worn a chemise underneath. Now she was grateful for it as Stefan’s hand easily plunged into the opening, pulling it half off in the process. His mouth pressed against hers harder as he sucked and nipped, and then abruptly as it started, he ended the kiss.
“No!” He released her quickly and stomped back to the bath spilling water everywhere as he jumped in and giving her quite a glorious view of his backside as he did so.
“Leave.” Voice shaking he closed his eyes and sank back against the tub. “Rose, please, just…go downstairs and ask the innkeepers wife for some more wine. Can you do that?”
Rosalind couldn’t answer, and it wasn’t as if she was wearing a traveling dress. “I’m not dressed to—“
“—then turn around and cease from making any sort of feminine noise or sigh or moan. In fact, if you could suddenly pick up the art of not breathing for a few moments, I would be much obliged.”
“You want me to stop breathing?”
“Just….be still,” he whispered.
Rosalind quickly sat in the chair and closed her eyes. Truly, she did try to focus on keeping her breathing even but she found the more she tried the harder it became. And images of Stefan’s magnificent body seemed imprinted into her mind so vividly that she found her breathing picked up!
His bath continued, and she only knew this because she heard splashing and after several minutes, a different tune.
****
Stefan cursed in French, German, and his very own made up language—all in his head of course for he didn’t want to alarm Rosalind. No, the poor girl was probably at this moment contemplating ways to wear all her clothing in hopes to battle untoward advances from him.
What the devil did she think he would do? He was a man! When a woman screams, a man is there to protect! And Rosalind, curse the woman. She was everything to him. Protecting her was like breathing, so when he heard her scream a panic like none other enveloped him. Obviously without thinking, he ran to her aid. Only to find, too late, that he was grossly unprepared for a lust filled battle as her eyes boldly scanned his naked body.
Never had he felt a more screaming desire to take a woman to bed. To fully consume a woman. His hands ached to reach out and touch her. His body pounded with the desire. As the blood roared through his ears, as the lust blinded his sound mind making everything he was about to do justifiable. He looked into her eyes and paused.
Trust.
He had finally gained it. And was in no position to lose it. The kiss was a gut instinct, a mistake. A way to capture a taste of what he had become so addicted to over the past few days. Instead, it nearly ruined everything, and he wasn’t at all sure how to go about the night. Perhaps pretend that he wasn’t fearful of ravishing her? His semi-foxed state did nothing to help circumstances.
With a sigh, he finished his bath and donned his breeches and shirtsleeves, in hopes to cover himself up more than before. Stefan took a seat next to the small table with the food.
“You may open your eyes now, Rose.”
She opened her eyes and tentatively rose from the chair and sat opposite him.
“May I be bold, Your Grace?” Rosalind’s eyes were downcast as if she was thinking very carefully on something.
“Always,” Stefan grinned trying to lighten the passion-filled mood.
“I find a man beautiful. I find you beautiful. And I cannot imagine my eyes ever seeing something that is your equal.”
Stunned into silence, Stefan’s mouth could only drop open as Rosalind blushed profusely and poured them wine.
He reached out and touched her shaking hand. “Perhaps no equal, but a beauty far surpasses my own. You need not but look in the mirror my Rose, to see my meaning.”
They ate and drank in silence. Rosalind continued to look down. After the meal was finished she finally raised her eyes to meet his.
It was akin to getting punched in the stomach. He had to make this angel, this beautifully strong woman, his.
“Your song.” She tilted her head. “It changed tunes.”
“Ah, so you noticed.” Amused, he leaned back against the chair and crossed his arms. “Another one of Dominique’s beautiful piano fortes. Can you guess what it is about?”
“Death?” Rosalind joked.
Stefan scowled. “Try again.”
“Horses?”
“Wrong, and I don’t believe any songs have been written about Samson yet, but I wouldn’t completely cross that probability from happening.”
“Lust?” she squeaked.
“Close….” He leaned forward. “It’s about desire.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.” Stefan laughed. “Oh.” He held out his hand to her. “Tell me, Rose. What do you know of desire?”
Her eyes darted to his outstretched hand and back to his face. “Women do not desire, or at least we are told not to.”
“It will be a sad day for everyone if women listened to society’s restrictions. Don’t you think? Did you know that when I touch you, you blush. For such a strong independent woman, it pleases me immensely to see a chink in your confident attitude.”
“Have you ever thought the blush was because you were making untoward advances, Your Grace? Perhaps, I do not appreciate your touch.”
“Really?” Rising from his chair, Stefan walked over to Rosalind and knelt in front of her. “Does my touch then, cause a wanton response within you, my lady?”
“Immensely,” she said breathless.
“Does my presence make you uncomfortable?”
“Always.”
“Does my kiss cause you to weep with pain?”
“Daily.”
“Then, sweetheart, you have experienced desire.” Bestowing a kiss upon her hand, he winked, and returned to his chair. “Tell me of your mother.” He needed to change the subject, lest she became filled with panic and decide to sleep with Samson. God forbid she sleep with horse before master.
The thought alone made him outwardly shudder.
“She isn’t that evil,” Rosalind said.
“Sorry, I was wool gathering. Now about your mother. Has she treated you fairly since your father’s death?”
Rosalind looked down, her eyelashes casting a shadow across her cheeks. “If sending me away to die is any indication, than no, she has not treated me fairly.”
“Tell me Rose, what kind of mother sends her daughter away to die?”
Rosalind shrugged. “One full of fear. I imagine she thought to stow me away, just like the curse. She blames us for my father’s death. I believe it was too painful to watch me, and the sleeping spells don’t help matters.”
“Ah, yes, you’re swooning spells.”
“Fainting spells,” she corrected.
“Yes, well I’d like to believe they are swooning spells, and that I’m solely responsible for their cause, if that isn’t too hard for you to understand. Allow me this boon, after all, my pride has taken an enormous hit after this night.”
Rosalind laughed. “Fine, my swooning spells are brought on by the great Duke of Montmouth.”
“Much obliged.”
“I haven’t had them since returning to the country estate, I wonder why?”
Stefan shrugged. “Perhaps the great duke of Montmouth is the cause and the cure.”
“Your Grace!” Rosalind gasped with a smile.
“What? What is it?” Stefan looked around for a tiny rodent, or any sort of indicator for why Rosalind’s face was so lit up.
“I believe you’ve recovered it!”
“Truly?” His chest pumped up involuntarily as she praised him.
“Why, yes! It seems your pride wasn’t lost after all.”
Blast! And why the devil did he feel his face heating? “Yes well, I just needed a little push in order to obtain that sense of male pride again. Many thanks.”
She smirked. “Now that you know my sordid tale and reasons for why I despise having to return, allow me one question.”
Heaven help him, he’d give her as many as she wanted. Never had he enjoyed a woman’s company as much as he enjoyed hers. “Anything.”
“Why did you go to India?”
The familiar pang of unrequited love didn’t surface as he thought it would with such a question. Instead, relief that he was no longer the green boy he once was. The infatuation with Elaina had been exactly that, an infatuation. And one he was pleased to be over with. How could a woman such as Elaina even hope to compete when Rosalind was alive and breathing?
“I believe—” He twisted uncomfortably in his chair. “—that tale, like so many others, begins with a young man’s passion and a woman’s rejection.”
“I do love stories.” Rosalind’s excitement caught him off guard, and he found himself leaning forward to tell her the story.
“I was in love with her. I believed myself to be in love with her, but she was not for me. I left the country to escape living in hell. My father helped make arrangements and nobody was the wiser, except him. It was the coward’s way out, but at the time I saw no other option other than living in extreme agony.”
Rosalind squinted. “Leaving the country was a little extreme, was it not?”
“Love is extreme, my Rose. It causes even the sanest of the human population to wish for death. It is the stuff of poetry, war, death, and duels. Nothing is too extreme for love.”
The fire spat, jolting Stefan out of his speech. Rosalind was affected by talk of love. Like any young woman, he noticed the soft sigh that escaped her billowy lips at his speech. Why then, was he so horrible at proposals? Truly, he wanted to know. For when he was in normal conversation with her, he felt romantic enough to quote Byron. When it came to asking her the one question he needed to ask, he sounded the greatest fool.
“The night gets late.” His husky voice betrayed his thoughts.
“It is.” Rosalind bit her lip and shot to her feet. “I’ll just take the floor.”
Stefan laughed. “Rosalind, the day you sleep on the floor is the day I’m dead and unable to argue with you about such ridiculous notions. You take the bed. A woman should never sleep on hard surfaces or in the dirt. I’m appalled you would suggest it.”
Rosalind covered her yawn as her eyes smiled. Heaven help him, she was stunning, even when she was beyond exhaustion.
“Off you go.” He motioned for her to move to the bed. “I’ll turn my back while you crawl beneath the blankets.
He turned around and nearly died with unquenched desire as he heard the rustling of the blankets and squeak of the bed.
“You may turn around now, Stefan.”
Blankets covered her from chin to toe. Pity, for he would have liked to see a bit more considering she’d already seen all of him.
With a deep sigh, he ran one hand through his thick hair and approached the bed. “Sleep well, my beauty, my little Rose.” His lips lingered over her forehead as he leaned down and bestowed a kiss across her brow.
Rosalind sighed happily. “Goodnight, my barbarian…”
He laughed.
“My Norse god,” she added with a blush.
His smile was so wide it hurt. “Goodnight.”