Upon a Midnight Dream (4 page)

Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?

As You Like It—William Shakespeare

Her lips were magic as they matched his. And when Stefan slipped his tongue past their barriers and tasted the sweetness of her mouth—he groaned in ecstasy. With a little sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck giving him all the invitation he needed to pull her fully into his embrace.

It was then, with her soft body pressed so wondrously close to his that he remembered why he was here. Not, to his dismay, to kiss the girl upon their first meeting, but vie for her hand. For his father, for her father—but his brain couldn’t grasp that concept, for he was enjoying this kiss too much. The tangling of tongues, the gasping for breath, the heady smell of desire, it was absolute magic.

Just one more, he told himself when he reluctantly pulled back and looked into her eyes, but he didn’t have the chance. Samson nudged him in the back, quite hard, sending him and Lady Hartwell sailing to the ground…on top of Lady Rosalind in the most inappropriate of manners.

“My apologies, I don’t know what came over Samson,” he said, holding his body over hers.

Lady Rosalind, with a mischievous glint in her eyes bit her lip. “Ah, so the duke apologies for his horse but not his manners?”

“Manners?” he repeated, clueless.

Sighing, she pushed at Stefan’s chest. “Not that I would expect anything more from a barbarian.”

Taken back, he jumped to his feet and pulled her to a sitting position. “Barbarian? Are you addressing me as such?” What just happened? Were they not moments ago kissing and sharing an intimate embrace?

“Considering the only other living breathing things with us are our horses? Yes. You can safely assume I’m addressing you as such, Your Grace.”

Irritated, Stefan wanted nothing more than to push the girl back down to her curvaceous bottom, but the gentleman in him won out, so he held out his hand to pull her to her feet. Once she was standing, he pulled her close, his body threatening a kiss as his mouth brushed tenderly across her jaw. Warm lips moved against her skin and whispered. “I would never apologize for something I did purposefully.”

She swallowed and looked away. “What are you doing here?”

“I imagine you mean, here in this meadow, watching you?”

“Yes.” Lady Rosalind cleared her throat and stepped around him to her horse. “Are you lost, Your Grace?”

“I hope so.” He grinned. “I must admit if I am, I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to be found.”

She laughed. “You rogue. Truly, do you need assistance back to the main road?”

“Ah, but what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t escort the lady home?”

“Your Grace.” She mounted her horse. “Even I, being shut away in the country, am aware that your exploits are anything but gentlemanly.”

He pulled on Samsun’s reigns. “So you’ve inquired about me since our meeting at the ball?”

“Oh, news of your magnitude travels fast, even for a duke.”

He continued to walk Samson in silence as she slowly rode her horse next to him.

“I am sorry to hear about your father’s passing.” Her words were almost too quiet to hear.

“And your father’s. It seems a curse has fallen upon both our families, wouldn’t you agree?”

He was testing her, trying to see if she believed in the curse just as much as his mother and family. For this to work, he needed her to believe in its importance. For time was limited.

As the snow drifted down around them, she urged her horse forward, the question unanswered still hung in the air between them, making it thick with tension.

“The curse,” she said.

“I assume you know about it.”

Nodding, she stopped her horse to look at Stefan. “I am aware.”

Apparently that was all the information he was going to receive from her. They walked in silence the rest of the way to the house.

“Good day, Your Grace, and thank you for walking me home. As you can see, I haven’t once fallen asleep in your presence, nor have I come to any harm. I trust you can see yourself out. The road,” she gestured with a nod, “is just over that hill.” Turning on her heel, she lifted her skirts to walk up the stairs. The girl sure didn’t appear to be dying? Maybe his mother was mistaken; for the more primal parts of his body screamed that she was healthy—ripe for the taking. As unromantic as it sounded.

He waited and admitted to being transfixed. In all honesty, he was quite content to watch the slow sway of her hips as she ascended the stairs.

Smiling, he waited for the inevitable. At the top stairs, she paused, cleared her throat, and turned around. He waved, hoping for a reaction out of her.

“What are you still doing here?” Her voice sounded calm but did nothing to hide the tense jut of her chin.

Stefan laughed, loud and jolly. It felt good to laugh. And it seemed Lady Rosalind’s every reaction made him feel a little less sad than before. “I thought that would be obvious. I’m here to rescue you.” He made a gallant sweeping motion with his arm.

“From?” She put her hands on her hips in the most alluring way, drawing his eye to the spectacular cut of her spencer jacket.

“Dragons? The evil godmother? Yourself? Take your pick, really. Or how about the curse that seems to be picking off our family members one by one.”

She smirked and began descending the stairs.

“And how do you hope to fix this lovely spell?” Her eyes narrowed on him.

“We are to be married, of course.”

Rosalind stopped walking, her once narrowed eyes widened in horror, and her face went a little white. Suffice to say, it was not the reaction he had hoped for. In fact, it was nothing close to what he had been dreaming nights previously. He could just see Lady Rosalind running into his arms, her soft lips against his, crying with relief over him saving her family. And in the end, him saving her from the terrible curse that seemed to plague them all.

“Absolutely not.” She turned on her heel and went into the house, slamming the door behind her.

“Well, Samson, I think I could have done that better.” He hit his gloves on his thigh and cursed. The horse nudged him in response and neighed, digging his hooves into the ground.

He swallowed his pride, because if he were being honest with himself, he had quite a lot of it to swallow, he took the steps two at a time and knocked on the door. No was not an option to either of them at this point, not when other lives hung in the balance. If need be, he would drag her kicking and screaming to the altar, witnesses and all. And when it was time to consummate the marriage, she would be screaming for other reasons entirely.

Stefan would start with her hair. Yes, her hair—letting it loose around her waist like the crowning glory it was. Then he would spend hours looking at her creamy white skin, fascinated with the glow of the candlelight upon it. Then when he could not bear it anymore, he would kiss every inch of that voluptuous body until she was panting—begging for more.

He raised his hand to knock again. She would marry him. It would just take more prodding than he originally thought. After all, he was a duke! What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to not only marry a duke, but save her family in the process? To say no was ungrateful, wasn’t it?

He waited another few minutes and almost lost hope, when the door finally opened, and a short elderly woman looked at him with interest in her crystal blue eyes.

Her face was aged with wrinkles, her hair gray and pulled into a knot on her head. Though she was small, the gleam in her eye told him she could probably outsmart Samson and he both together. Regrettably, the courage given him by his own little day-dream spurred him towards more rakish behavior; he bent and kissed the woman on the hand, lingering as he did so.

Then things went horribly wrong. She kicked him in the shin because she was so blasted short. Then she cursed him for assaulting a woman in her own home. Add that to the already embarrassing state of arousal he felt after his vivid daydream about Lady Rosalind in his bed, and he was more mortified than he ever thought possible.

But things became worse when the woman, still yelping at the top of her lungs, pulled him by his jacket into the house and hit him across the thigh with her cane.

“What madness is this? Dear woman, cease your hitting at once!” He put his hands up in defense, which seemed to egg the lady on even more. Where was his good-for-nothing horse? “Samson! Help!” It was after that plea that he realized never had he been desperate enough in a fight to ask his horse to come to his aid.

Samson, however, did not come.

But Lady Rosalind did—slowly, around the corner—her eyes were twinkling with amusement. “Did you get him, Mary?

Get him? Was the girl implying he needed to be squashed like a bug beneath her boot?

“Aye, my lady, though the rascal pleaded for his horse to rescue him before I finished punishing him.”

Lady Rosalind released a spurt of laughter before she covered her mouth with her hands, cleared her throat, and took on a solemn look. “Thank you, Mary. I am forever in your debt for welcoming his grace to Raven Court.”

“It isn’t polite to propose marriage to a woman after following her home, my lady, it really is not.” Mary made a point to stare at Stefan longer than necessary, then raised her cane above her head again.

Stefan, quite alarmed let out a vivid curse, and backed away only to find that the woman was merely stretching her arms, as if the whole ordeal of attacking him had caused her muscles to be sore.

Feeling rather embarrassed, and for the first time in his life, horribly stupid, he waited for one of the mad females to say something—anything really. For he wasn’t sure how to follow such an attack. A duke wasn’t often welcomed in such a manner.

“Your Grace, dinner is served at eight o’clock sharp. If you are tardy, you will not eat, is that understood?”

When he didn’t answer, the short elderly lady banged her cane dangerously close to his boot. “Well, are you mute? Or do you understand, young man? And for goodness sake, stand straight. You’ll have a hump the size of London if you keep slouching.” She continued muttering nonsense about dukes not knowing their place in the world as she shuffled off down the hallway.

And for the second time since meeting Lady Rosalind, Stefan was stunned into silence. Was nothing about this woman normal?

The silence was stifling, and he hated to admit that his breathing was anything but normal. But the woman had accosted him! With a cane! What man would be breathing normally?

“You’re all mad!” he said, finally breaking the silence. “It’s worse than I thought. The curse has reached the lot of you!”

“The curse? Oh no, Your Grace. That wasn’t that dreadful spell. Just my godmother Mary, though I wouldn’t take the chance of calling her cursed, lest she try to whoop on you again, and considering your horse is safely put away in our stables, You won’t have anyone to call out to but me.”

Irritated, he let out a bark of cynical laughter and gave her one his most rakish grins. “Are you saying you would not come to my rescue?”

Lady Rosalind mindlessly teased a piece of her hair that had fallen across her cheek. “Curious, and I thought I was the one in need of rescuing? Porter, please show his grace to his rooms. Apparently, he is to be staying with us a while.” Lady Rosalind smiled and again left him alone.

Nostrils flaring, Stefan called after her, “Does this mean you accept my proposal?”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. He watched as her entire body stiffened. Stefan waited for her to yell or at least respond in anger. Instead he noticed her body instantly relax as she called back to him without as much as a glance, “If that was a proposal, my heart bleeds for your idea of romance.”