Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(14)

Her eye scanned the man across from her. Every plane of his face. The shadows that danced in the evening candlelight. The strong arms placed on either side of the table. His broad chest and easy manner. Not to mention his entire god-like presence. It also didn’t hurt that every time she looked at his mouth all she could think about was his knee buckling kisses.

“Yes,” she said more certain than previously. “I think you up to the task. We have until the new year before the curse takes us all, correct?”

At his nod, she continued.

“I believe that will give you enough time.”

“To woo?” His eyebrow rose.

“To woo and to make me believe that this will be the best idea for everyone involved. You have exactly twenty days before the new year, Your Grace. On the twentieth day, we will marry. If, and only if, you can prove yourself to be something other than the arrogant, spoiled, ill-mannered man sitting across from me now.”

The duke leaned back in his chair. His body seemed too big for his seat. Suddenly nervous, she swallowed the fear in her throat.

“Shall we seal it with a kiss?” His loud chair scraped against the floor as he pushed it back and rose.

Rosalind felt her breath quicken as the sound of sure footsteps reached her ears.

“Your Grace, I—”

“Stefan. My name is Stefan.” He stopped in front of her, but she was still facing the table; he was to her side. Maybe if she stood still enough he wouldn’t make her do anything but be immobile.

“Rose?” He held out his large hand. An invitation, and not one of force or brute strength, but that of tenderness. Slowly, her gaze lifted to meet his. Stefan looked back at her through hooded eyes and smiled that devastating smile she had heard so much about. Deep inset dimples added a blindingly irritating sensuality to his smile. Straight white teeth glared against his still-tan skin. Oh my, what have I gotten myself into this time?

Rosalind pushed her chair away careful not to appear too eager to launch herself into his arms. Even as she rose to her full height, her chin still did not come up to his face, rather she received quite a view of his broad chest. The man was a giant, towering over her and everyone else he spoke to. Two of her could fit in his shadow.

“One kiss,” he whispered, leaning towards her face. By the saints, the man was dangerous! At this distance, she could almost hear her own heart thudding in her chest. His soft lips inhaled and exhaled in such a slow erotic manner that she wondered for just an instant if he was using some sort of Hindu trance on her.

Stefan’s breath was hot on her neck, and she hated herself for wanting to feel his lips again.

Eyes closed, she waited.

Stefan grabbed her hand. Her eyes flashed open, and she stared as he quirked a smile and bestowed a warm kiss on her hand, his tongue darting out ever so slightly to touch her flesh. The devil!

“I bid my lady, goodnight.” He turned on his heel and sauntered out of the hall. Rosalind, continued to stand, and then swayed towards the table, bracing both of her hands in front of her. Legs like lead, she was suddenly fearful she was having another spell, but the feeling quickly dissipated, and in its place a funny feeling in her stomach. A fluttering of sorts. She closed her eyes and relived the almost kiss.

Curse the man for making her want him! Well, one thing was for certain. She wasn’t going to make this easy. If he wanted a marriage, he better understand just what he was getting himself into. Rosalind had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t crumble at the feet of any man. And she didn’t plan on starting now, even if the curse was real, which she suspected it was, considering she had seen her father fall to his death with her own eyes. Something good had to come out of all the darkness that surrounded her. She just wasn’t sure that the something she referred to was named Stefan. Maybe her curse was to be pursued by a man she could never truly have.

With one final glance around her, she sighed, trimmed the candles, and made her way to her bedroom. Tomorrow Stefan would begin his courting. She wondered if he even knew the meaning of the word. For although he had been home from India for months now, he still had the manners of a savage.





Chapter Five


How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

—Elizabeth Browning



Stefan marched down the long poorly lit hallway to his room and pulled open the door with more force than necessary. The girl wanted wooing? He smirked as he took a seat next to the roaring fire. Stefan rubbed his eyes with his hand and bit his lip in thought. It wasn’t the idea, more the principal of the matter. Why spend time wooing when in the end they had to marry regardless of circumstances?

He sat in silence, as the options lay before him. He could either one, force her hand; or two, woo and hope she would come to her senses. What did he know about wooing anyway? It had never been necessary, and since his return from India, he had more trouble hiding from women then trying to pursue them. The trouble, it seemed, had begun when he made a complete spectacle of himself at the Season’s last ball. Only to be glorified in the society papers the very next day by Mrs. Peabody—whoever she was, she obviously held him in high regard, for every single article mentioned him in some way or another.

His favorite meal always included boiled potatoes, which made every woman within his vicinity strike up a conversation about the stupid vegetable . He preferred a certain bay over every other horse which always led to women trying to talk with him about horseflesh, never a good idea when the women hadn’t a clue as to what they were talking about. At one point a woman confused a Grey with the actual color and then proceeded to ask him why he preferred such a bland color instead of yellow or pink. Needless to say, he walked away quite frustrated. But the worst of Mrs. Peabody’s crimes also happened to be a personal favorite. What his choice hair color would be on a woman. That very piece of information seemed harmless at the time, that is until he went to a small dinner gathering and noticed quite a few of women trying to powder their hair in order to gain the blonde hair color he so obviously adored. Never mind that women had stopped wearing hair powder years prior. Apparently it was to make a come back. Not only did he sneeze each time a woman came near him that night, but one of the young ladies had an unfortunate accident leading to her hair being set on fire.