Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(12)

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.”





Chapter Four


Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

—A Midsummer Night’s Dream





Rosalind kept her posture perfectly straight as she swept from the room into the kitchen. Clenching her teeth, she managed to hold in her scream until she calmly closed the kitchen door, turned to face the cook and stomped her boot into the ground, by then only letting out a tiny squeal.

Cook ignored her little episode as servants were taught to ignore all oddities of the gentry.

The absolute nerve of the man! To think that he could swoop in and propose to her without a care for her feelings! Curse or no curse, it would be a cold day in Hades before she made this little visit easy on him.

What was he thinking? That all he needed to do was smile and wink? Was that all ladies in London needed before they launched themselves into his very muscular arms?

She was no longer a debutante, and things had never been that easy. She would not stand idly by and pretend that all she needed was fake and pretty words from him in order to swoon as she did before. Not that she had actually swooned, rather she had fallen asleep in his presence, but he probably still thought it was the sudden sight of his beauty that set her off. When instead, it was her dreadful disease.

Her stomach grumbled. It was three hours until dinner, and her dancing and singing had her half-starved. Well, that and the kiss she had wantonly received in the heat of the moment.

A mistake she would not repeat. Ever. At least not today—tomorrow perhaps.

“Rosalind! Get a hold of yourself!” She chanted as she hit her fist against the wooden table in front of her. “You are a grown woman. You can handle a flirtation.”

“But you don’t have to make it easy on him—curse or no curse, my lady.” Mary had entered the room, still carrying her cane. Not that she needed it, for she was a spry old thing.

“No.” Rosalind smirked, gathering her strength for the onslaught of male beauty in the rooms above her. “I do not.”



****



“We shall marry at once,” the duke announced over dinner. It seemed he was not only lacking in romance but manners as well. They had sat in relative silence over the serving of the first course. Until, the unfortunate object of her disdain opened his mouth and announced their impending nuptials, in what had to be the second worst proposal ever to be heard. The first worst proposal had occurred only three hours prior, when the man had haughtily announced that exact same thing.