Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(22)

“Very good!” Mary stomped her cane and walked off. Rosalind allowed herself a brief smile. She would like to think that every time Mary came into the room Stefan was a trifle fearful of the cane she carried.

“But—“ Stefan opened his mouth to say more, but Rosalind took advantage of his being tired from hours of work.

“No buts, Your Grace. You said you’d help in any capacity, it seems we are to help with dinner tonight. That is, if you don’t mind getting your ducal hands a bit dirty.”

Stefan leaned in pinning her against the wall and his rock hard body. “I think we both know I don’t mind a bit of dirt.” His eyes locked on her lips, and instinctively she leaned in.

Alfred coughed.

With a shaky hand, Rosalind pushed Stefan back, so what if that same hand stayed longer than necessary across the flat planes of his godlike stomach? He was solid, hard, and so foreign, yet her hand remained, until Stefan cleared his throat. Pulling back as if burned, she snapped a retort, “I’ll see you after you clean up a bit, Your Grace.”

On wobbly legs, she made her exit and prayed the entire way that God would grant her momentary blindness so she wouldn’t fall into the wicked temptation pooling in her mind.





Chapter Eight


Smiles form the channels of a future tear-Lord Byron



The large kitchen was a sight to behold, even for Rosalind. Alfred was in the corner learning the proper practice in making bread. Mary was working at the stove stirring the stew, and to Rosalind’s amusement, Stefan was to cut vegetables for the dinner.

Not that anyone would point it out, but the duke wasn’t exactly skilled in the kitchen. The stew hadn’t been the first choice, but after nearly setting his valet as well as the rest of the kitchen on fire, it was decided that his certain talents would make an excellent stew. So he sat, in the corner, much like a punished young boy and peeled carrots and potatoes.

“Missed one.” Rosalind couldn’t help it. With a little push, she put the potato in front of the duke. Probably not her smartest moment considering the knife he held was quite menacing. It had a large serrated blade, and in his more than capable hands, it looked more like a sword.

Stefan glared at the missed potato, but instead of snapping at her, he smiled a sinfully sweet smile and peeled the potato without complaining, whistling that same blasted tune he’d been whistling upon their first meeting.

It was difficult not to tease the man. His presence alone filled up half the kitchen, then to see the tiny vegetables in his hands; it was too much to take in. Rosalind had to continuously cough in order to hide her laugh. Serves him right for not listening to her earlier that day when she asked how long the trip would be.

Instead of answering, he had given her one of those wicked smiles and looked at the bed as if he meant to take her right then and there. It wasn’t at all shocking that he had missed her simple question. So what if she tricked him into thinking he had agreed to help around the manor? They did need help as short staffed as they were.

Rosalind just wasn’t counting on Stefan being such a big help, nor her estate manager, tears in his eyes, offering to erect a statue in his honor. Wouldn’t surprise her one bit if he already wrote a song about the Duke.

“Ah, smells good! Oh, looky at all ya fancy folk in here workin’ in the heat. Dear me. Well, I’m back now, so off with you!” Cook shooed them out of the kitchen quicker than a hound on the hunt.

Alfred, Mary, Stefan, and Rosalind watched as the doors closed behind them. They still had a few hours before the night time meal. With a thump, Mary’s cane came crushing down onto the floor.

“Well it’s back to work for me. Want to make that birthday special for ya, since this one burnt the first pie. I’ll just think of something else then.” Mary pointed at Stefan and pushed back into the kitchen.

“Sorry I burnt the pie.” Stefan hung his head. “In my defense, I was so concerned about the flying cane in the kitchen that I wasn’t concentrating on anything that witch said.”

“Flying canes are indeed dangerous, Your Grace.” Alfred nodded his head somberly. Rosalind covered her laughter with the back of her hand.

“Anything else, Rose?” Stefan turned his full body towards her, again pinning her against the wall and blocking her only escape route.

Alfred cleared his throat. “With your permission, sir I’ll just—“

“—go away Alfred.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Rosalind glared after his retreating form. The traitor should at least chaperone his brute of a master.

“He’s not coming back.” Stefan read her thoughts as he leaned in closer, she could smell the sweat right off his skin. “Nobody to guard your virtue anymore, eh Rose?”

Rosalind scoffed. “Guard my virtue? I wasn’t at all concerned, Your Grace.”

Stefan’s smile curled upwards towards his eyes. Tiny crinkles paraded around his piercing gaze as he leaned even closer. Shudders of excitement traveled down Rosalind’s body as his look went from hungry to ravenous. Lifting his hand he traced the line of her jaw with his finger using only the slightest of pressure. Trembling under his touch, Rosalind could only close her eyes against the god-like man standing in front of her.

“No, Rose, you may not close your eyes. You may not escape me. Not after putting me through such a toil-filled day. I imagine you meant to punish me or to at least intimidate me. Perhaps scare me off?”