Upon a Midnight Dream (London Fairy Tales #1)(60)

But he must never know.

Stubbornly, Rosalind pasted a smile on her face. “We will, of course, get our marriage annulled. No one will be the wiser that we spent the evening together, and if there is a child….Well, we will cross that bridge if it happens.”

“Rose—” Stefan choked. “What are you saying?” Stefan began to pace around the room. “How can you say such things? I…I…” He cursed himself for not being able to say the words, but she was discarding him so quickly, so effectively. Had she no feelings for him at all? “I care for you deeply.”

A tear ran down her cheek. “And I you. After all, you’ve been so good to me and my sisters.”

“That’s it? That’s all you are going to say?” Stefan was incredulous and more pained than he ever thought possible. Silence answered him. “Is this what you truly want, Rosalind? To be rid of me?”

“It is what is right.”

Stefan cursed. “Devil take it! I don’t give a wit for what is right, Rosalind. Do you not want to be married?”

His eyes betrayed him, the wound cut deep. But Rosalind couldn’t find in herself to do anything except nod the affirmative. How could she saddle the great Duke of Montmouth to herself? How selfish could a person be? For it would only be for her own benefit; he would be shunned by society for not only marrying a bastard, but going against both their dying fathers’ last wishes.

“Yes,” she mouthed weakly.

Stifling an oath, he stormed off, slamming the door behind him.





Chapter Twenty-four


Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.

—Lord Byron



Rosalind’s lips quivered as the wet frigid air blasted against her face. The temperature hadn’t caused her quivering; no it was because she was hurting deeper than she ever thought possible, and all because she was following her father’s final wish.

Stefan looked past her, closing his eyes as he said the words that started everything. “I release you.”

Rosalind found that she couldn’t stop the sad smile from spreading across her face. “Am I an animal then, Your Grace? That begs to be released?” She closed her eyes against the burning intrusion of tears.

“No,” he choked. “You would never beg to be released from anything, not my Rose. Not unless you asked, and I know you better than you believe. You need no reminder of the pain I have caused you, nor the nightmare of being with a man who is more brute than gentleman.”

“And if I want the brute?” she asked in a small voice.

“The brute wants you…will always want you.”

Tears streamed down Rosalind’s face, the salty invaders rolled down her lips. “I lo—”

“It’s time my lady,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “Up you go! We’ll get you back to the country estate, make it right as rain, we will.”

“Be happy, Rose.”

Words would not come…tears, however, streamed of their own accord as the vision of her husband disappeared down the road. He said he would protect her at all costs. She hadn’t realized the cost would be that of her heart.

****



Within a few hours, Stefan was so drunk he wasn’t able to see straight. The whiskey wasn’t doing its job, at least he didn’t feel it was, for he could still remember the sad smile spread across Rosalind’s face. He wanted her. He loved her. But, if she truly loved him, would she not have asked him to fight for her? To stay with her forever and always? Was he merely talking romantic nonsensical things because his heart was so heavily involved.

In an effort to make his mood worse, he stumbled to the room where Rosalind had been staying and laid across the bed, taking in her scent. The tea cup was still full. The girl hadn’t touched it.

Obsessively, he held it to is lips thinking that if she had touched it, he wanted to feel her lips against his, imagine it once again.

A strong odor greeted him, so foul his stomach churned. What the devil had they put in her tea? Suspicion pooled in his belly. On a whim, most likely because he was foxed and depressed, he called for the maid.

“Yes?” She gave a low curtsy never lifting her eyes to his face.

“Who brought the tea?”

“Mr. Fitzgerald, sir, he says it has healing properties.”

“It’s foul,” he remarked absentmindedly.

She let out a giggle. “Yes, I think the rats agree with you, for some of this concoction took a spill earlier tonight, and they died instantly, most likely from that awful smell.”

“What did you say?”

“The putrid smell, sir?” she answered.

“Before that?”

“The rats?”

“Yes.” He rose from the bed and walked to her. “They died? All of them?”

“Well yes, but they could have gotten into some poison too, sir…”

Stefan’s memory flashed ahead of him. The tea, always the tea. Hadn’t he suspected as much before? Mr. Fitzgerald was bringing his family tea, when they were ill. Even Rosalind’s mother, and the night of Rosalind’s spell...

“Oh, God…” Stefan prayed as he stumbled out of the room and called for his horse. “Oh, God, oh, God, please let her be alive.”