Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(19)

Laughing, he cradled her chin in his warm hand. “Must you always cheat? You never play fair, sweetheart.”

“At least I’m playing, Your Grace.”

Stunned into silence again. Wonderful. He stepped back from her as he tried to regain the upper hand. “Regardless of your feelings, my lady, we must be on our way first thing in the morning...”

Rosalind placed her hands on her hips and turned her head back towards the house letting out a puff of air. “Don’t worry that ducal head of yours, Your Grace. I’ll make sure I’m ready.”

“Lovely. Then I take it you’re still set on not getting married and taking the sorry excuse of a godmother with us?”

Rosalind reached out and touched his chest very lightly with her finger. He felt it all the way down to his...well, suffice to say he was quite wound up.

“You wouldn’t be afraid of a little old lady, would you?”

“Course not, she’s just irritating…and violent. You can’t say she isn’t violent. She did try caning me yesterday.”

“She thought you were an intruder.”

Stefan looked down at his expensive tailored clothing. “My apologies. I do look exactly like a ruffian.”

Rosalind eyed him up and down. “Yes, you do. I am so thankful I am able to invite her to attend to me, for I can’t imagine being stuck in a carriage with such a savage. Considering I have no weapons, her cane will be most welcome.”

“Savage,” Stefan repeated, lifting his lips into a tight smile. “Keep teasing me, my lady, and we’ll see how much of the savage is still alive and well. Now, hurry on your way before, I forget my good manners and give you reason to need a weapon.”

She poked him in the chest. “That may be a chance I’m willing to take…” she paused, inclining her head towards him.

Stefan’s blood roared. He leaned forward, fully expecting to meet her lips. He closed his eyes, but felt nothing save her finger against his lips. “Perhaps another time, Your Grace. According to you, I have to pack. Alas, it seems our little tryst will have to wait.”

Rosalind hopped off, leaving Stefan restless, wanting, and ready to bellow at the top of his lungs.

Samson neighed and shook his head. Always encouraging to be mocked by one’s horse.

Stefan briefly contemplated shooting him, or at the very least, threatening to take away his entire storage of oats.

Instead he glared at his hairy mutinous friend and put his hands on his hips.

The horse was obviously not the least bit threatened and continued to neigh. Stefan huffed and stomped off.





Chapter Six


To sleep perchance to dream.

—Hamlet, William Shakespeare



Rosalind lifted a shaky hand to her face. Truthfully, she was alarmed. Her mother hadn’t been sick once that she could even remember. Whatever was wrong, it must be urgent for her to send for her. At any rate, it would be one of the longest journeys of her life considering she had to sit in such close proximity with that beast of a man.

She had Abigail pack what she needed and informed her godmother they would be making the trek back into the city the following morning. Mary didn’t seem at all put out. Instead, she looked excited. So much for having a birthday celebration. With all her preparations for travel, it seemed her birthday would again be forgotten.

It was the same way last year. Rosalind hated that her little girl fantasies were still so present. Though she was old enough not to care about birthdays, it still made her heart drop to her feet whenever they were uneventful. Her father often told her that magic took place on birthdays—one just had to believe.

She believed, but the minute she opened her eyes for a miracle, Stefan showed up. He was not her knight in shining armor. Unless the knight was supposed to be egotistical and irritating, albeit handsome. The only thing that fit was the white horse, but that seemed too cliché.

Perhaps, the reason she enjoyed Stefan’s kisses, or at least allowed herself to entertain them was because she knew her time was limited, and it was inevitable that she would die of this dreadful disease though she hadn’t had a spell since retiring to the country, or at least that she could remember. Wasn’t that a good sign? If she couldn’t remember her last spell, perhaps it meant the disease was going away? Or maybe Stefan’s kisses were just muddling her memory.

She should not have allowed him such liberties, but she seemed unable to control her more physical urges whenever he was around. It was as if his mere presence drew her into a spell that she was unable to fight.

“Cursed man,” she muttered, taking one last look around her room. It was time to leave. Maybe in London she would be able to see Stefan in a different light. It raised Rosalind’s hopes that somehow the arrogant man would grow or develop a romantic notion and pursue her like a man ought to.

A girl could hope. And it seemed hope was all she had to hang on to. That and the curse.

****



Stefan made his way back into the house slowly, taking in the expanse of the property. The vision in front of him was nothing short of extraordinary. Snow-filled forests swept out from behind the Tudor styled mansion framing the sight in such a picturesque view it nearly took his breath away. Such a shame that he wasn’t to be staying longer. The adventurer in him wanted to see what else the lands beheld.