Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(34)

What the devil did she think he would do? He was a man! When a woman screams, a man is there to protect! And Rosalind, curse the woman. She was everything to him. Protecting her was like breathing, so when he heard her scream a panic like none other enveloped him. Obviously without thinking, he ran to her aid. Only to find, too late, that he was grossly unprepared for a lust filled battle as her eyes boldly scanned his naked body.

Never had he felt a more screaming desire to take a woman to bed. To fully consume a woman. His hands ached to reach out and touch her. His body pounded with the desire. As the blood roared through his ears, as the lust blinded his sound mind making everything he was about to do justifiable. He looked into her eyes and paused.

Trust.

He had finally gained it. And was in no position to lose it. The kiss was a gut instinct, a mistake. A way to capture a taste of what he had become so addicted to over the past few days. Instead, it nearly ruined everything, and he wasn’t at all sure how to go about the night. Perhaps pretend that he wasn’t fearful of ravishing her? His semi-foxed state did nothing to help circumstances.

With a sigh, he finished his bath and donned his breeches and shirtsleeves, in hopes to cover himself up more than before. Stefan took a seat next to the small table with the food.

“You may open your eyes now, Rose.”

She opened her eyes and tentatively rose from the chair and sat opposite him.

“May I be bold, Your Grace?” Rosalind’s eyes were downcast as if she was thinking very carefully on something.

“Always,” Stefan grinned trying to lighten the passion-filled mood.

“I find a man beautiful. I find you beautiful. And I cannot imagine my eyes ever seeing something that is your equal.”

Stunned into silence, Stefan’s mouth could only drop open as Rosalind blushed profusely and poured them wine.

He reached out and touched her shaking hand. “Perhaps no equal, but a beauty far surpasses my own. You need not but look in the mirror my Rose, to see my meaning.”

They ate and drank in silence. Rosalind continued to look down. After the meal was finished she finally raised her eyes to meet his.

It was akin to getting punched in the stomach. He had to make this angel, this beautifully strong woman, his.

“Your song.” She tilted her head. “It changed tunes.”

“Ah, so you noticed.” Amused, he leaned back against the chair and crossed his arms. “Another one of Dominique’s beautiful piano fortes. Can you guess what it is about?”

“Death?” Rosalind joked.

Stefan scowled. “Try again.”

“Horses?”

“Wrong, and I don’t believe any songs have been written about Samson yet, but I wouldn’t completely cross that probability from happening.”

“Lust?” she squeaked.

“Close….” He leaned forward. “It’s about desire.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Stefan laughed. “Oh.” He held out his hand to her. “Tell me, Rose. What do you know of desire?”

Her eyes darted to his outstretched hand and back to his face. “Women do not desire, or at least we are told not to.”

“It will be a sad day for everyone if women listened to society’s restrictions. Don’t you think? Did you know that when I touch you, you blush. For such a strong independent woman, it pleases me immensely to see a chink in your confident attitude.”

“Have you ever thought the blush was because you were making untoward advances, Your Grace? Perhaps, I do not appreciate your touch.”

“Really?” Rising from his chair, Stefan walked over to Rosalind and knelt in front of her. “Does my touch then, cause a wanton response within you, my lady?”

“Immensely,” she said breathless.

“Does my presence make you uncomfortable?”

“Always.”

“Does my kiss cause you to weep with pain?”

“Daily.”

“Then, sweetheart, you have experienced desire.” Bestowing a kiss upon her hand, he winked, and returned to his chair. “Tell me of your mother.” He needed to change the subject, lest she became filled with panic and decide to sleep with Samson. God forbid she sleep with horse before master.

The thought alone made him outwardly shudder.

“She isn’t that evil,” Rosalind said.

“Sorry, I was wool gathering. Now about your mother. Has she treated you fairly since your father’s death?”

Rosalind looked down, her eyelashes casting a shadow across her cheeks. “If sending me away to die is any indication, than no, she has not treated me fairly.”

“Tell me Rose, what kind of mother sends her daughter away to die?”

Rosalind shrugged. “One full of fear. I imagine she thought to stow me away, just like the curse. She blames us for my father’s death. I believe it was too painful to watch me, and the sleeping spells don’t help matters.”

“Ah, yes, you’re swooning spells.”

“Fainting spells,” she corrected.

“Yes, well I’d like to believe they are swooning spells, and that I’m solely responsible for their cause, if that isn’t too hard for you to understand. Allow me this boon, after all, my pride has taken an enormous hit after this night.”