Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(36)

He’d never woke so physically wound with desire. It made matters much more difficult than he could imagine now that he realized his heart was very much involved. Unable to decipher between his lust and suspicions of love for the woman, he found himself incapable of making sound decisions. So he rode the carriage in silence, all the while watching Rosalind for any indication that she was thinking of him too. Instead, she stared out the window as if the cursed horizon was the most interesting thing she’d ever set eyes on.

Out of curiosity he looked, but saw nothing save the snow and dreary country side.

Was he not better to look at? Curse his pride that continued to go missing on such occasions!

Finally, as a last resort, he reached across the carriage and grasped Rosalind’s hand, much to Mary’s disgust. He hadn’t time to even enjoy the feeling of her feminine hand because he was too blasted busy watching Mary while she continued to thump her cane. Sweating profusely by the time they reached the townhome, he was never more thankful to be done with a carriage ride in his life.

****



Rosalind’s hand continued to tingle long after Stefan released it to help her out of the carriage. Odd, her mind was more focused on the simple object of his hand more so than her mother’s sickness. But to be quite honest she hadn’t been focused on her mother at all. Not now, and not last night when she was alone with the very man she had been turning down for the past three days.

Sighing, she looked to Mary for strength, but she was already on her way into the house, Stefan’s valet close behind. Odd, Alfred appeared to have straw in his coat?

Rosalind shook her head and continued her journey up the stairs into her home; she hadn’t been back in London since her father’s death. The house looked the same, a large white mansion in the stylish part of Grosvenor square. Though the grounds appeared to look gloomier than before, and made Rosalind wonder just how destitute the new Earl had left her family.

Straightening her dress, she readied herself to take a step then felt Stefan’s hand on the small of her back, urging her forward. She shot him a nervous glance. He winked and increased the pressure, forcing her to take the few steps into her old home.

Why was she trembling? As the butler opened the door, her senses were overwhelmed with the familiar smell of dusty books, from her father’s expansive library and the overwhelming scent of beeswax.

To his credit, Stefan didn’t say a word at the scarcity of the house though Rosalind knew he was probably curious. How could he not be? For upon their entry no servants greeted them. The residual feeling of her father was still present as though no one wanted to admit he was gone. Shaking, she walked to her father’s old study and opened the door. Dust gave her a warm welcome. In her grief, her mother must have sanctioned the room off.

“Come,” Stefan called behind her. “We should see to your mother. Do you think you can lead me to her rooms?”

Rosalind wasn’t sure she wanted to see her mother. The very same mother that blamed her for her father’s death even though she had done nothing to cause it.

She looked to the sofa where she had sat months before cradling her dads head as he breathed his last breath. His hand cupping her cheek, a tear running down his weathered face. By the time the doctor had arrived, her mother had escorted her to her rooms and informed her that if she didn’t marry the curse would surely take them all. Rosalind left the very next day and never looked back. It was also the same day her doctor had said that he could do nothing for her sleeping episodes other than wait for it to kill her. His thoughts were that anything that caused one to fall asleep at odd times would surely progress until one day she didn’t wake up.

Weakening, she reached for something to lean onto as the pain of that day washed over her.

“Rosalind, we can see to your mother later. Do you need a minute?” Stefan’s warm breath fanned at her face. As the smell of lye and cinnamon drifted off him, Rosalind couldn’t help herself as she turned into his arms and wept. Stefan didn’t stiffen, nor did he move away or tell her to compose herself. He simply wrapped his large arms around her and caressed her hair.

When she was finally able to stop sniffling, embarrassment washed over her. She tensed, but he didn’t allow her to pull away instead his lips tickled her ear in a whisper. “Embarrassment is not necessary when one grieves the loss of a parent dear to them, Rosalind. Death is a natural part of life, but a terrible beast when it suddenly knocks on ones door. Never harden your heart to the God-given emotions that help us heal most, sweetheart.”

Stefan’s lips brushed her forehead in a chaste kiss. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his waist and nodded, unable to get out words.

Minutes later, she pulled back and looked into his concerned eyes. “I believe I’m ready.”

Nodding, he moved away from her and allowed her to lead them out of the study and up the marble staircase to the second floor.

Rosalind was still shocked to see no servants scurrying about. As she came to her mother’s door she knocked and then opened it.

Her mother was sitting on her bed fully clothed reading with a glass of sherry in hand. “Gwendolyn, if that’s you then I’ve told you already I don’t need any more blankets, I’m just fine the way I am. It is merely the sniffles!”

Rosalind gasped unable to hide her excitement that her mother was in fact the picture of health. “Oh, I am so relieved!”