Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(25)

****



Stefan swore good and hard, and then pushed a chair. He tried roaring a bit but didn’t want to frighten cook or Mary who were just in the next room enjoying their food. Nor was he inclined for Mary to think he was some sort of beast tearing apart the tapestries, making her feel the need to run in with cane raised high above her head like a savage.

What in the blazes had he been thinking? Torture her and then leave himself with such aroused need that he was ready to run around in the snow without clothes just to alleviate the pain.

“Well, that was brilliant,” he mumbled to himself.

“What was that, Your Grace?” Alfred entered the room.

Ah, perfect, a friend to play with in Hades. “Nothing, Alfred. We leave tomorrow.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Alfred bowed to take his leave.

“Alfred?” Stefan asked without turning around.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“What do women like for their birthday?”

Alfred cleared his throat. “I overheard cook talking about the ladies delight for fairy cakes, Your Grace.”

“That will be all, Alfred.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Perfect. The one desert he could imagine bringing to the bedroom and licking off of her. Would his torture know no end? His body screaming at him demanding that he go possess the girl, he made his way slowly up the stairs. Oh, she would get fairy cakes, and a lot more if he had something to say about it.





Chapter Nine


All days are nights to see till I see thee,

And night’s bright days when dreams do show me thee

—Shakespeare, Sonnet 43



Rosalind decided it would be best to sit opposite Stefan and use Mary as a buffer. She needed a reason to stop his advances and could think of no one else up for the job but Mary, who indeed thought it best to bring her weapon along. Smiling to herself as Stefan looked at the arrangements, she gave him a little nod as he lifted himself up into the carriage. His body seemed to fill the entire side. And Rosalind immediately realized her mistake, for even across from him, his legs could easily brush against hers when outstretched. She found herself looking around for way to make herself smaller so she wouldn’t somehow find herself touching him. Eyes darting around, she finally gave up and squished herself into the corner. She didn’t need any more lessons from him.

Mary was perfectly happy sitting next to her if her smug grin was any indicator of her inner thoughts. The carriage slowly rocked forward and Rosalind found herself sighing in relief. The sooner they left, the sooner they got there and she could be away from Stefan’s brooding glare and all too excitable kisses.

The groom was only too happy to ride Samson as Stefan relinquished his hold on the horse and decided to ride in the carriage. Rosalind knew it was to vex her. It had to be.

The carriage hit a bump and her hands scrambled to grab the seat so she wouldn’t go sailing into his arms. Stefan smiled as if waiting for the opportune moment to pull her into his arms regardless of Mary’s presence. She snuggled closer to the corner and laid her head against the glass window.

“Sulking?” Stefan asked in his silky deep voice.

Rosalind didn’t answer.

“Ah, so you’re ignoring me. Very mature, Rosalind, but why do I care if you wish to spend the entire journey cuddled into a corner when I’ve brought our picnic with us. I don’t believe we had time to enjoy one on the day of your real birthday as promised. Though if memory serves, we did enjoy other activities.”

At the mention of food her head snapped up involuntarily. She felt suddenly ravenous; leave it to Stefan to hint towards any sort of inappropriate behavior within the same sentence.

They hadn’t even had her birthday picnic and drat if she didn’t feel her eyes well with tears that he would remember! But she didn’t need to look as pleased as she felt, especially when her face felt so heated. For food was the last thing on her mind when that man’s beautiful lips said the word activities.

“We wouldn’t want the food to spoil,” she said in a small voice.

“Ah, she speaks.”

“Well?” Rosalind ignored his remark. “Where is our picnic?”

He flashed her a brilliant grin. “Sweetheart, you must be so very hungry. Unfortunately, and I assure you it humbles me to no end to admit this to you, but that look in your eyes is for food and not my lessons.” He sighed, and then moved his legs. On the floor next to his large outstretched feet lay a lumpy blanket. He pulled the blanket off revealing quite a nice little meal.

“Oh, my dear, oh dear, this simply will not do!” Mary put her knitting down and fanned in front of her face. “I cannot be in this carriage. Stop! Stop I say!”

“Is she having an apoplexy?” Stefan asked, then flinched when Mary’s cane went flying wildly inside their tiny space.

“Oh, stop, stop, stop!” Mary yelled. If anything, the woman had just proved to everyone within a square mile that she had a healthy set of lungs at such an old age.

The carriage stopped, she hopped out, and Stefan watched as she climbed up top to where the footman was sitting. After bundling herself in a blanket she nodded her head and the carriage took off.

Rosalind sat motionless and angry. Mary and her reaction to any sort of food that carried even a hint of the color pink, was truly too much.