Read Upon a Midnight Dream Online
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
Stefan waved off his valet’s excuse. “No, it isn’t about the godmother, though I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes when she raised that blasted cane for the third time. I am inquiring so I may…” He lifted his eyes heavenward and took a deep breath to finish his sentence. “…Woo the girl,” he finished quietly.
“You want to do what with the girl, sir?”
“Woo her,” he said again.
Alfred stared at him long and hard. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Did you say you wish to woo her?”
“That is what I said.” Though by the look of shock in his valet’s eyes, he desperately wished he could take it back and forget the whole conversation ever took place.
“Woo.” Alfred repeated.
“Yes, woo,” Stefan confirmed, tiring of his valet’s obvious amusement. He knew Alfred well enough to speak plainly to him, but he didn’t expect him to find the whole situation so amusing.
“I believe ladies enjoy flowers, Your Grace.” Alfred began helping Stefan undress. “There is also a rumor floating around in polite society that they enjoy amusing conversation and compliments.”
“Stop mocking me, Alfred.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Alfred continued helping him undress until he was ready for bed. The silence was deafening.
Muttering an oath, Stefan looked back at Alfred. “Flowers, you say?” He scratched his head in thought. Whatever happened to women who were easily seduced by lust-filled looks and hasty advances? Oh yes, they were all back in London while he was trapped here in an ancient castle with nothing, save a spinster and Lady Rosalind to keep him company. He refused to count the servants, mainly because Alfred was putting him in a devilish bad mood.
“Would you like me to acquire some flowers for you, Your Grace? I believe I heard talk of a rose garden on the estate. Though in winter, I doubt any of them are in bloom. An orangery perhaps?”
Stefan thought on it. The last thing he needed was to propose with a bouquet of dead flowers in hand. Surely Rosalind would not find the irony at all funny. “No, Alfred. It is the lady’s desire that I sweat and toil for her. Therefore, I will pick the flowers, sing the sonnets, go down on one knee and pour out my bleeding heart.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Alfred smiled and bowed. “Will that be all?”
“Yes, by all means, leave me to my devices, so I can plan my seduction.”
“Woo, sir.”
Stefan paused. “What was that?”
“Woo,” Alfred repeated. “To seduce implies you mean to cheat. To woo implies fair play where both parties are involved.”
“
Goodnight,
Alfred.” Stefan grumbled. He needed sleep if he was to start this little adventure on the morrow. The trouble was, he had never courted a lady before and hadn’t a clue how to go about it. Flowers and compliments seemed to be forced. And with Rosalind’s father dead, he hadn’t a man to ask permission to court. It seemed he truly was left to his own devices, and he wasn’t entirely certain that was a wise course of action. After all, he had only been back in London for six months, and during that time hadn’t once pursued a woman. The last woman he had even thought about had been Elaina. But that was before the bitterness of her husband’s illness and the loneliness of her bed changed her.
His father would not have been pleased by the turn of the events. It seemed the man knew what he was doing when he sent Stefan away, though he was the heir and titled son.
The idea jolted his memory. Lady Rosalind and her mother were obviously still living in their residences. Just whom had the title passed down to upon the late earl’s death? He lay down and told himself to remember to ask Alfred in the morning.
****
Rosalind woke early the next morning after a fitful night of sleep. The only thing that sounded even minutely relaxing was a cup of hot tea in her father’s old study.
It didn’t help that it was her birthday today and nothing had changed. The snow still fell lightly over the estate, and the house seemed as glum as ever. She could only hope that the weather would let up enough for her to take another afternoon stroll. How depressing that the only entertainments to look forward to were walks in the cold dead snow. It could be worse, she scolded herself.
A loud knock came on the door, scaring her out of her wits. Before she had time to answer, it was forced open, revealing Stefan dressed and ready for battle. Or so it seemed, if the all too alert look in his eyes was any indication.
Swallowing the sudden nervousness at his presence, she rose from the desk and patted down her simple brown muslin dress and inclined her head to the side in question.
“Good morning, Rose. I trust you slept well.” Stefan filled the large doorway, imposing his maleness into the dim room. The man had more confidence than the entirety of the ton combined.
Rosalind fought the onslaught of nerves and managed a small smile. “Thank you for asking, and yes I did. Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?”
His only answer was the wolfish smile as he took a seat in one of the leather chairs. “Now that you mention it, I believe there are several things you can do for me, Rose.” His eyes boldly scanned her from head to toe. “But more of that later. Alas, I must ask important questions first. To my deep regret, of course.”
Rosalind did not like the sound of that, nor did she appreciate his obvious interest in her morning dress. She took a seat opposite him and forced herself to wear a bland expression despite the swell of nervousness she felt.
She leaned back against the chair as he leaned forward resting his forearms against his muscular legs. “I find myself curious as to who inherited the title after your father’s passing? You have no brothers, so the only logical answer would be an uncle or perhaps a cousin?”
If only it were a cousin or uncle rather than the horrid stranger who not only held the title but the family wealth as well. She cleared her throat. “I believe the name he goes by is Dominique Maksylov, now the Earl of Hariss.”
Stefan merely stared at her with a blank expression. “The Beast of Russia? The Russian royal, Dominique Maksylov?”
“So you know him.” Rosalind winced against her better judgment. Clearing her throat, she managed to change the subject. The sooner Stefan left her room the better. “Is that all then, Your Grace?”
He didn’t take the hint. “How in the blazes did that dirty Russian obtain an English title? The monster eats small children to break his fast!”
Rosalind lifted a brow. “In his defense, he is part English. His late father was a cousin to Alexander the first. I won’t make the assumption that you know anything of history. He was the Czar. But I’m sure your education provided you at least that much knowledge. We are related to him through his English mother. Both his parents are deceased, leaving only Dominique. Considering my father had no brothers and the only male cousin now resides in America, the title then fell to our second cousin, the man I just named.”
“Fascinating.” Stefan leaned back in his chair. “You know he’s known as the beast to every single person he meets in polite society? Can’t imagine why the man would live in that foreign country with nothing but that blasted piano as his mistress. I’m sure he eats the souls of his tenants as well. Hats off, it seems you truly are cursed,” Stefan said quite cheerfully, irritating her all the more with his presence.
Rosalind shifted uncomfortably; she was all too aware of the horrid stories about the man, and didn’t need this savage to confirm her fears, least of all on her birthday! “I’m aware. Now if that is all you need, Your Grace, I do have some important things to attend to.”
His lips curled into a smile. “My apologies, my lady. I hadn’t any idea that you would be so busy with correspondence on your birthday.”
Rosalind froze. How on earth did he know it was her birthday? Curse her enthusiasm that he actually paid attention to such details.
Stefan rose from his seat. “And here I was under the impression you should like to take a stroll through the snow and possibly partake in an indoor picnic with me. Pardon the intrusion.”
He strode to the door.
“Wait!” she heard herself call. “Perhaps a walk would be agreeable.” The last thing she wanted was to be cooped up pretending to write to family members whose only response of late had been to inquire if she had indeed broken the curse and married the brute opposite her.
“Agreeable or exciting?” he asked, not turning around. Her eyes greedily took in the vast expanse of his back. Strong, sinful shoulders filled out his jacket in a way that made her stomach flop. His hair was so unfashionably long! Leave it to him to make something unfashionable look so rakish and cunning. The temperature in the room took a considerable leap.
Grinding her teeth, she refused to answer, but merely folded her arms and waited for him to either relent or laugh.
He turned and looked directly in to her eyes. “Dress warm. The snow has let up, but it won’t do for my future wife to catch a chill before our wedding.”
Chill—she felt a chill all right. It started at her neck and slithered down to her toes at lightning speed. The man was too charming by half.
By the time she reached her bedroom to change, she had already talked herself out of the walk at least four times. Resigning herself to fate, she slipped on her walking boots and grabbed a warm cloak. Surely it couldn’t be any colder than the day before.
Rosalind took her time making her way back down the stairs to a waiting Stefan. Things would be a lot easier if he were unfortunate to look at. Instead, his warm fur-lined jacket had him looking much like a royal prince.
He held out his hand but she walked right past him. She wasn’t frail; she didn’t need to be escorted through her own home, or even outside for that matter! Throwing open the door to the back garden, she took a step out and gasped. What once was only crisp harmless snow had melted and refroze into something quite treacherous. She tried to regain her footing, but felt her arms flailing about her.
And then strong male arms came around her, pulling her frantic body into a large muscular frame. “Maybe you should have accepted my help, hmm, princess?”
She couldn’t very well jerk away from him unless she favored a bruised bum on her birthday. Tensing underneath his brace, she waited for him to release her. But he did nothing of the sort. Instead he continued to hold her against him as he guided her towards the safety of the plush snow.
“There,” he said, releasing her.
“The orangery is j-just around the corner,” she stuttered. And she somehow managed to walk in the correct direction and waited for him to fall in behind.
****
Stefan grinned as the girl marched through the snow as if nothing had happened. But she felt it, he knew, because he had felt it as well. The way her body felt against his was sinful and exhilarating. Like fire and ice. He obliged her and that insipid temper of hers and felt the welcoming heat from the orangery as she let them both in.
The flowers were beautiful, all exotic in their colors and sorts. He found himself more entranced than he originally expected. But considering his only thoughts had been of Rosalind’s proximity, it wasn’t altogether shocking. Several lemon-colored flowers and small orange trees were lined against the furthest wall. Walking in the only direction that the rock path would take him, he furthered his investigation of Rosalind’s favorite spot.
The heady smell of flowers and fruit penetrated his senses. The alluring scent failed to alleviate the nerves he felt at the task at hand. How in tarnation was he to woo a woman who seemed to jerk every blasted time he touched her?
A brilliant plan began to form in his mind, and he plucked a flower, hoping he wouldn’t be scolded, and then went in search of Rosalind, for she had suddenly disappeared ahead of him.
At the east end of the wall, Rosalind was leaning over a small plant. He stood behind her and slowly lifted the red flower and put it in her hair. She froze. He sent up a prayer that she was still breathing as his fingers fastened the flower behind her ear.
Her breathing turned ragged as his fingers brushed across her cheek. And then, he stepped back.
“Perfect,” Stefan said, assessing his handiwork.
“Yes, well...” Rosalind touched the flower.
“Less than one minute, I believe.” Stefan murmured.
Rosalind narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “It seems you were wrong, Rose. It took me less than a minute to locate the perfect flower to enhance your beauty. Shall we see how many minutes it takes me to compose a sonnet?”
“No, truly, that’s fine. I—”
“The red of the rose is a lovers hue, yet my eyes are besotted when I look at you. With skin so tender,” he reached out and cupped her chin, “and lips red as your namesake,” his thumb traced her bottom lip, “I only ask that when you have it, my heart you will not break. Eyes of green, a tongue tipped with honey. Oh fair, fair maiden, in your arms I would stay, if only to gaze upon your face for a day.”
Stefan’s chest was heaving as he pulled her into his arms, laying claim to her lips. His need was great, but his desire to prove to her that he was more than a brute or savage was greater. Reluctantly, he pulled back and looked into her clear green eyes. “I believe I broke the time record on that one as well.”
“Amazing,” she said, quirking her brow.
“It was a good sonnet.”
“Not the sonnet.” She pushed past him. “Your ability to bring everything back to yourself. Mayhap the next time you write something so beautiful, it should be to a mirror that you recite it rather than a woman?”
With that she marched out of the orangery, leaving him again confused. Why the devil was she so angry?
Just as he was ready to swear aloud, she re-entered with a smile on her face. “And, Stefan?”
“Yes?” He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t jump in his chest at the look on her face.
“That, was
not
a sonnet.”
Biting back a string of expletives, his mouth dropped open as he watched her again leave him alone to his devices. Why the devil couldn’t the girl be least bit encouraging?
Stefan trounced out of the orangery after her, purposefully making his steps loud and angry, quite like a young child who had just been scolded, but she had disappeared. He grumbled on his way to the stables to see how Samson was faring, slaying Rose the entire way.
At the stables, Samson was enjoying a handful of oats when Stefan strolled in. It was beyond Stefan how his horse managed to woo everyone within his vicinity. One time a patron of a store gave him apples merely because he thought the horse smiled at him.
Of all the ridiculous notions. Samson neighed and kicked his hooves.
“Alright, old boy, alright.” Stefan laid his hands on either side of Samson’s face and looked him in the eye. It was peculiar how well the horse seemed to read others.
“Blast, I’m going crazy!” Stefan muttered to himself as he grabbed another handful of oats and held them out to the horse who had become more of a friend than a mere pet.
“She hates me, Samson! Everything about me! I wrote a blasted sonnet, and she walked away! I guess maybe it could be that I keep kissing her…” Stefan began pacing in front of the horse’s stall. “And maybe if I wasn’t so pushy, she might actually wish to talk to me. But I can’t help that every time I look at her I can think of nothing else except kissing her.”
A branch cracked in the distance, putting an abrupt end to his blubbering idiocy. Frozen in place, he looked slightly from right to left before exhaling in relief.
The trouble with saying things out loud was someone might hear him. He glanced around the empty stable, then stepped back towards Samson and whispered, “And it’s not that she hates it, Samson. Quite the opposite, in fact, if you get my meaning.”
Samson looked at him without blinking as if to say,
“You do know that I’m a horse?”
And then a thought occurred. It was an unfortunate truth, but a truth, nonetheless. The horse, it seemed, was better at courting than the master. How often had he been approached in Hyde Park? How often had women complimented his horseflesh? Women, who in his mind, wouldn’t know how to purchase a good horse any more than they knew how to purchase Hessians.
“How do you do it, old boy?” Stefan ran his hand along the horse’s glistening fur. “What are your secrets, hmm? A little neigh in the right direction and the ladies flock, isn’t that right?” Stefan elbowed him, and let out a teasing laugh.
“Well, I must say this is another first, Stefan. Asking for seduction tips from your horse now are you? My, my, how the mighty have fallen.” Rosalind quirked a smile as she approached Samson and nuzzled his neck. “At least you sought out a wise teacher. I’m sure he could teach you a few things, couldn’t you, boy?”
Samson, the traitor, neighed in response, kicked his heel and smiled, yes it appeared that horses did in fact know how to smile, though Stefan could have sworn he was mocking him. Wanting to kick something, he managed to keep his voice even.
“Rosalind, were you wanting to go for a ride then?”
“No,” her delicate hand rubbed the horse’s shiny coat. “I came to relay a message to you. It seems you’re needed in London.”
“Reading my correspondence now, sweetheart?” Stefan swiped the letter from her hand and ripped it open.
“No, simply lying in wait for you to get summoned away.”
Stefan grumbled a few French words under his breath as he ripped into the piece of paper. His eyes scanned the written words, but it was hard to believe that this piece of paper would be addressed to him instead of Rosalind, for it didn’t concern him as much as it did her.
“It appears we are to be married today,” he announced, handing the paper back to her.
“You jest. Enough with the horrid proposals. Are you truly leaving?”
Stefan reached out and cupped her chin. “Not without you, sweetheart. Your mother is ill and requires our presence immediately. And you are aware you cannot travel on your own without being ruined.”
Rosalind’s eyes widened. “I’ll bring my godmother.”
“Brilliant. She can sit between us and bring her cane.” Stefan swore again. “We simply cannot bring your entire household!”
“We’re not!” Rosalind clenched her fists and stood her ground. “I refuse to travel alone with you. We’re bringing Mary, and that’s final! I won’t be leg shackled to you against my will. Not now—not ever!”
“I did write you a sonnet…,” Stefan said leaning in to kiss the fierceness from her face.
Rosalind licked her lips and turned away. “Sonnets are longer.”
“Maybe I left out a few parts to keep you in suspense,” he whispered against the back of her neck as he made quick movement to bring her back into his arms. He chuckled against her hair as he flipped her around to see him. His breath was inches from her lips.
She laughed. “Or maybe your brain couldn’t handle so much information at once, and you ended it because you had no other option?” Rosalind’s chest was rising and falling with great effort.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“You wouldn’t da—”
His lips devastated hers before she could finish her sentence. It was the type of kiss Stefan had always wanted to give, but never understood why, until this moment. It was aggressive, like all his kisses had been. But it seemed what he could not communicate with his words, he still wanted to communicate with his lips, in the most primal way he knew how. His tongue invaded her mouth, slowly at first, trying to taste what she lay so tempting before him. Rosalind’s breath hitched as his hands reached around her, pulling her body flush against his. Her mouth was so sweet, so warm, it wasn’t like anything he had ever tasted. It was fresh, invigorating, and it seemed the more he deepened the kiss, the more he felt he would never quench the thirst she had started within him.
Stefan desired to kiss her until she forgot her name, to arouse her until she was screaming for him to stop, and to make even his horse blush and turn away. Her lips pushed back against his, but it only spurred him on more—that is, until she bit his bottom lip. Yes, at first it was erotic, but when she did it again, and this time pushed against his chest, he relented. It was quite honestly one of the biggest regrets of his life, having to stop what felt so good to begin.
Laughing, he cradled her chin in his warm hand. “Must you always cheat? You never play fair, sweetheart.”
“At least I’m playing, Your Grace.”
Stunned into silence again. Wonderful. He stepped back from her as he tried to regain the upper hand. “Regardless of your feelings, my lady, we must be on our way first thing in the morning...”
Rosalind placed her hands on her hips and turned her head back towards the house letting out a puff of air. “Don’t worry that ducal head of yours, Your Grace. I’ll make sure I’m ready.”
“Lovely. Then I take it you’re still set on not getting married and taking the sorry excuse of a godmother with us?”
Rosalind reached out and touched his chest very lightly with her finger. He felt it all the way down to his...well, suffice to say he was quite wound up.
“You wouldn’t be afraid of a little old lady, would you?”
“Course not, she’s just irritating…and violent. You can’t say she isn’t violent. She did try caning me yesterday.”
“She thought you were an intruder.”
Stefan looked down at his expensive tailored clothing. “My apologies. I do look exactly like a ruffian.”
Rosalind eyed him up and down. “Yes, you do. I am so thankful I am able to invite her to attend to me, for I can’t imagine being stuck in a carriage with such a savage. Considering I have no weapons, her cane will be most welcome.”
“Savage,” Stefan repeated, lifting his lips into a tight smile. “Keep teasing me, my lady, and we’ll see how much of the savage is still alive and well. Now, hurry on your way before, I forget my good manners and give you reason to need a weapon.”
She poked him in the chest. “That may be a chance I’m willing to take…” she paused, inclining her head towards him.
Stefan’s blood roared. He leaned forward, fully expecting to meet her lips. He closed his eyes, but felt nothing save her finger against his lips. “Perhaps another time, Your Grace. According to you, I have to pack. Alas, it seems our little tryst will have to wait.”
Rosalind hopped off, leaving Stefan restless, wanting, and ready to bellow at the top of his lungs.
Samson neighed and shook his head. Always encouraging to be mocked by one’s horse.
Stefan briefly contemplated shooting him, or at the very least, threatening to take away his entire storage of oats.
Instead he glared at his hairy mutinous friend and put his hands on his hips.
The horse was obviously not the least bit threatened and continued to neigh. Stefan huffed and stomped off.