Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(33)

“If you could possibly keep yourself from moaning in ecstasy, I would be much obliged. I find my ears quite sensitive to feminine noises and my body extremely willing to join you. If you care for your own virginity, it would be best to be silent.”

“Understood,” she croaked, sinking lower into the bath and hoping for it to swallow her whole.

Rosalind made quick work of her bath and was attaching the dressing gown just as Stefan asked if she was finished. With a sigh she answered yes and walked to the fireplace to allow her hair to dry in the warm heat.

She felt Stefan approach and looked up at his menacing form. Broad arms were crossed against his chest. Dark eyes darted around the room to everything but her. “I won’t have you watching me.”

“Your Grace, the last thing my virgin mind wants is to see a savage without his clothes. Now hurry with your bath so we can enjoy the meal before it gets cold.”

He grunted, and turned towards the where the bath was laid out. Rosalind shook her head in front of the fire and leaned back on the floor to gain closer access to the fiery flames.

With a splash, she assumed Stefan had indeed found out a way to gain access into the bath without tripping in his semi-foxed state. A musical whistle invaded her thoughts. Always that whistle, always that tune.

“What is the song you whistle so often?” she asked.

The whistling stopped. “It’s called The Beast. Actually one of the earlier works of Dominique Makyslov, the man who happens to have your beloved title and lands.”

“It’s sad.”

Stefan was silent for a while. “But the notes are fast paced are they not?”

“It’s a sad song masquerading as a happy song,” Rosalind said.

“That, it is. Very few actually understand the emotions of music, Rose.”

“Very few people actually listen, Your Grace.”

She closed her eyes again as he started the song anew, lost in the passion of a whistle was quite odd for her, it begged the question if Stefan was a musically gifted man who could also sing.

The fire continued to heat her skin, but suddenly it became much too hot. Curious, Rosalind opened her eyes to see the edges of her robe catching fire. With a scream she jumped up onto her feet.

“What, what is it!” Stefan was suddenly at her side his body a blur as he hit the flames with his bare feet before turning to her and examining her face. “Are you hurt? Did you get burned?”

“No, I’m not—Oh my—“

Stefan gave her a peculiar look and then glanced at himself. All of himself. For the man was standing in front of her sans any clothing covering his gloriously sculpted body.

“I—I—uh.“ Rosalind began to speak, but found no words. Nothing, to describe the longing she felt all over her body. The fascination she found in gazing upon his. Hard muscled plans over his stomach, broad shoulders fit for a king. And skin so smooth she wanted to reach out and touch it.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what she did, and immediately regretted it as fire seemed to burst into Stefan’s eyes.

“Don’t,” he said grabbing her hand forcefully within his. The grip he had on her was strong.

Her hand shook under the pressure of his. Eyes black with desire he pulled her flush against all of him. “I mean to propose to you, to be a romantic. Not to take you and force a marriage upon you in that way.”

Rosalind could only nod and watch as his eyes took their fill of her lips. With a curse, he crushed his lips against hers, savagely, passionately pulling more and more of her until she thought she would die. Stefan’s body was still wet from the bath, warm water only seemed to ignite her skin as it soaked through her robe. His arms braced tightly around her, one hand stroked her neck then dove lower. Her robe was haphazardly thrown on and she hadn’t worn a chemise underneath. Now she was grateful for it as Stefan’s hand easily plunged into the opening, pulling it half off in the process. His mouth pressed against hers harder as he sucked and nipped, and then abruptly as it started, he ended the kiss.

“No!” He released her quickly and stomped back to the bath spilling water everywhere as he jumped in and giving her quite a glorious view of his backside as he did so.

“Leave.” Voice shaking he closed his eyes and sank back against the tub. “Rose, please, just…go downstairs and ask the innkeepers wife for some more wine. Can you do that?”

Rosalind couldn’t answer, and it wasn’t as if she was wearing a traveling dress. “I’m not dressed to—“

“—then turn around and cease from making any sort of feminine noise or sigh or moan. In fact, if you could suddenly pick up the art of not breathing for a few moments, I would be much obliged.”

“You want me to stop breathing?”

“Just….be still,” he whispered.

Rosalind quickly sat in the chair and closed her eyes. Truly, she did try to focus on keeping her breathing even but she found the more she tried the harder it became. And images of Stefan’s magnificent body seemed imprinted into her mind so vividly that she found her breathing picked up!

His bath continued, and she only knew this because she heard splashing and after several minutes, a different tune.

****



Stefan cursed in French, German, and his very own made up language—all in his head of course for he didn’t want to alarm Rosalind. No, the poor girl was probably at this moment contemplating ways to wear all her clothing in hopes to battle untoward advances from him.