Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(13)

“Must women teach men everything?” She sent him a scalding look then lifted her napkin as if to instruct him how to use it. His barbaric face was clean-shaven, but covered in such a smug looking grin that she wanted to smack him.

Scowling, he wiped his face with his sleeve and continued to eat ravenously, much to Rosalind’s dismay.

“Pardon my lack of etiquette, but before riding out to your estates, there was business I had to take care of. I took the liberty of obtaining a special license. As I said, we can be married at once. Forgive my haste in eating, it seems I was so overtaken with the thought of marrying you that I forwent my afternoon meal.” He smirked, and with a wink, lifted more soup to his lips.

Closing her eyes, Rosalind tried to calm herself. She heard the barbarian curse as something hit the floor—her calming technique was not working. What type of women in London swooned over this man? Tales of his escapades had been the stuff of legends! The scandal sheets positively adored him! Even the most scandalous sheet of all, Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers, regaled him as a Nordic god come to save the women of London from pale and sickly English lords.

On cue, the barbarian dropped his spoon and let out another ear splitting curse, before looking up at her and winking. Yes, because apparently winking would cover a multitude of sins.

“Thirty seconds,” she said, folding her hands into her lap.

“Pardon?”

Smiling, she answered ever so sweetly. “The time it takes to pick a flower for the woman you are courting.”

“You assume too much! I know exactly how to court a wo—”

“Two minutes!” she interrupted. “The amount of time it should take for you to come up with a logical and romantic thought, beautiful enough to be made into a poem you can write for me.”

He grimaced.

“My apologies,” she added, cutting her meat. “It seems a brute like you may need far more time. Make that three minutes.”

“Now see here—”

“Fifteen minutes!” Could she help that her voice was carrying from one end of the large dining hall to the other?

“Oh, I think I know what can be done in fifteen minutes.” He winked again, ever so wickedly.

Pausing, she tilted her head, patronizing him just a bit. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I doubt even your barbaric virility could last all of fifteen minutes. And I was alluding to the time it would take to accompany me on walk.”

“Why walk when you can ride?” He offered her a juvenile grin before blowing her a kiss.

“Not what I meant, and please keep your crude humor to yourself. I’m afraid it falls on deaf ears when you share it aloud. Not to mention, I cannot take you seriously when you have split pea soup dripping from your chin.”

Brooding, Stefan swore under his breath and threw his napkin onto his plate. He leaned back, crossing his large arms across his broad chest. “Are you sure you want to make this so difficult?”

Difficult? More like aggravating, irritating, and impossible. At her silence he added, “Rose….dear sweet, Rose. I can guarantee that you will be on the losing end of this little battle. Just imagine, within days not only will we be legally wed, but I’ll be having my way with you every night. I find that my carnal tastes are even more awakened when I gaze upon that glorious red hair, imagining it pooling by your waist, covering your breasts in a most scandalous manner. Alas, that is only the imaginings of a man. I can only assume the real thing is even better. Shall we take a look?”

“Barbarian,” Rosalind snapped, though inwardly she couldn’t help her treacherous body as it warmed to the idea. Liquid desire pooled in her belly as she thought about his large hands touching her bare skin, that sensual mouth bringing her to the brink of pleasure. Doing things she had only heard about but never experienced. “What makes you believe I’ll even agree to this marriage? Your powers of persuasion are lacking, Your Grace. Why saddle myself to you when, according to your eloquent speech, I’m the stuff of dreams?”

The duke leaned forward, and candlelight bounced off of his high cheekbones. His eyes appeared black as he tilted his head to one side. “You will be my wife, Rose.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“The curse.”

“That’s it? That is your reason? No I love you, Rose—You’re beautiful, Rose? Not even a I’m so glad it’s you the curse requires I marry, for my heart couldn’t bear to be without you?”

“You do realize you read too much, right?” At her grumbling response, he continued, “Love, is that your demand then? That I love you before I marry you?”

Rosalind looked away. How was she to answer that? Her heart screamed, “YES!” But, it was silly. How was he to fall in love with her in only a few weeks, and how could she tell him she would surely die early on in their marriage? But didn’t she deserve, at least once, to be courted? To be wooed? Never had she had a chance. Not with all her betrothals. Sadly, her first kiss had been from the man sitting across from her. The same man who had soup on his chin and started proposals with, “We shall marry at once.”

“Love.” She heard her strong voice echo off the walls. “It is my only demand. You have to try, Your Grace. I am a woman. I wish to be pursued.”

“And you think I have the ability to pursue you in the way you desire, Rose?”