Upon A Midnight Dream

by Rachel Van Dyken

  "Oh yes, yes, he is, isn't he?" She clapped her hands together as if excited by the idea. "Now, we must ready you for your wedding! Yes, we must get ready for the ceremony." With a gleeful laugh, she left.

  Gwen and Rose shared a look of pure horror before Rosalind rushed to the door and locked it.

  "She's mad!" Rosalind lifted a shaking hand to her temple.

  "She is…" Gwen licked her lips. "And I'd die before I'd let her ruin this for you Rose, I swear it." Her sister walked over to ring for her maid.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm calling for the valet. He has some sort of tea that he's been giving mother to subdue her. I'm going to ask him to double the dosage."

  "Is it dangerous?" Rosalind asked putting her hand over her sisters.

  Gwen shrugged. "He says it's a mild sedative. Mother and father used to put it in our tea when we were young to help us sleep. I'm sure it will be fine."

  Rosalind nodded, but in the back of her mind a memory flared to life. The tea she was forced to drink every night when she was young and how her body would feel sluggish in the morning. She had stopped for a few years until her first debut into society when she had trouble sleeping again; her mother began putting it in her tea saying it would ease her nerves.

  The maid entered, and Gwen gave instructions, but Rosalind's mind continued to wander.

  "Shall we begin with your hair?" Gwen asked reaching her hands into the silky locks flowing down Rosalind's back.

  Rosalind looked at her reflection in the mirror and fought the urge to cry. What was the matter with her? In all her haste, she had agreed to marry a man who botched every marriage proposal given, and to be quite frank he had been given many chances to be romantic. Did he love her? Was it merely to break the curse? Or get her in bed?

  If she was to be introspective about her own feelings she would admit that yes, she was marrying to break the curse. It had to be. Perhaps if they had more time, to court, and to woo as she has originally asked, but now it seemed they were out of time, if her mother's strange murmurings were any indication.

  Tonight she would be the Duchess of Montmouth. Why, she wondered as Gwen began brushing her hair, did it leave her sick in the stomach?

  "Ready?" Stefan asked as his hand reached for Rosalind's.

  Her heart thumped in her chest, she was shaking so much she was sure Stefan could feel the nervousness. "Ready."

  Both turned towards the front of the small church where only their respective families lay in wait.

  Forgoing tradition, Stefan had wanted to hold Rosalind's hand as he walked her down the aisle, for she hadn't a father to escort her, and he had no father to offer her. It was as if two sad orphans made their way to the final destiny laid out before them.

  He squeezed her hand and stole a glance at her beautifully adorned dress. In that moment, Stefan hated himself, for in the end he took full blame for the deaths of their families and the weight settled over his shoulders as he watched his soon to be wife, shaking next to him. Rosalind, the woman was perfect, untouchable, pure, and she above all women deserved to be worshipped by the ton, deserved to have her father kiss her hand and demand that Stefan be a good husband.

  I swear it, Stefan thought to himself as they reached the front of the church. I swear on my life that I will make you proud, deceased parents of ours. That your blood line will be strong, that I will spend every waking moment of my life making hers better, and every dream filled sleep holding her in my arms.

  The ceremony was short and to the point. The vows were read, and Rosalind wore a sad smile as she looked to her mother, who still looked as mad as ever. The church was near empty, and Stefan felt indignation rise in his chest, along with failure. And Stefan cursed the curse, if that were possible, all over again. She deserved flowers, a woman with such red hair and beautiful nature — well it wasn't right that she didn't have the wedding she deserved surrounded by all her sisters, friends, family…

  Stefan shook the thought away. No sense worrying over what he could not fix, then again he did have a surprise in store for her tonight. Yes, tonight had been hard for him to arrange considering both of their houses were filled with the mad and sick because of the curse.

  Like a nervous school-boy, he helped Rosalind into the carriage. It came to his large home but instead of stopping up front, it went around to the back of the house.

  "Where are we going? The servants' entrance?" Rosalind winked and Stefan nearly lost his nerve.

  "You'll see." He patted her hand and watched in fascination as his bride's eyes took in the scene around him. Daylight had given way to twilight. The sky was starting to scatter with stars, and he could not help but smile to himself. He wasn't the most romantic man in the world, and he knew Rosalind's only view of him was a barbaric, but he wasn't the selfish sort of lover that most men were. No, he wanted to take his time with Rosalind. If he failed to woo her during their courtship, he would damn well woo her during their lovemaking, until she was marked as his.

  The carriage pulled to a stop, he could have sworn his hands were sweating in his gloves as he held out his hand for Rosalind. With a curious smile, she followed him through the back of the property.

  "A cottage?" Rosalind's eyes widened, and selfishly he hoped it was in pure shock at the expanse of décor.

  The cottage was covered in snow, but the trail leading up was scattered with red rose petals.

  "For my Briar Rose, the fairest of the fair…" he whispered in her ear. "Shall we?"

  Rosalind's laughter echoed off the enchanted path, "Briar Rose hmm? Am I then a thorn within the rose?"

  Stefan stopped in his tracks and pulled her body flush against his. "No, my duchess. I would gladly prick my finger on your thorn if the result would be merely to gaze upon your face for the remainder of my days."

  Her eyes pooled with unshed tears, but she turned and followed the rose drizzled path until they reached the door, not once responding to his speech.

  "It's beautiful." Tears freely fell down Rosalind's porcelain skin as her eyes settled on the open door. A roaring fire and a picnic of fairy cakes lay in wait on the table. The massive bed in the middle of the room had its fair share of rose petals. The smell was intoxicating. Stefan had said to spare no expense when he gave instructions to Rosalind's mother. A moment of weakness or a moment of kindness — he wasn't certain which, but her mother had asked if she could prepare something special for the couple, and he had allowed it. On one condition. She must do it on his terms.

  He wanted it to be perfect. And it was.

  "Rose?"

  Turning towards him, the new duchess smiled, igniting the passion Stefan had been carefully keeping at bay for the past few days. "I was wrong."

  Stefan laughed, unable to help the jolly sound resounding from his belly. "Oh, those words sound so beautiful from your lips m'dear. Care to explain?" His hands fell to her soft skin on their own accord as he brought her lips closer to his own.

  Rosalind leaned in and kissed him lightly on the mouth. Oh madness, take him now! He was so on fire for her; surely his body would burn up before he was able to take her the way he wanted.

  "You," she said again drawing his attention back to conversation. "Are able to be romantic."

  "Yes well," Stefan stuttered unable to focus on anything but her lips. "I did write a sonnet just in case the roses didn't work."

  "Oh, did you now?" Rosalind laughed.

  "Yes, and I must admit I had Samson waiting in the back tied to a tree in case you needed more convincing. He can, at times, be very persuasive."

  "Not unlike his master." Rosalind's eyes glanced at his lips and back into his eyes.

  "Not at all like his master, Rosalind. Not at all…" His lips crushed hers forcefully and with a hunger he'd never experienced until that night. With a growl, he had her in his arms pressed against the same door they had just entered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Love will find a way through paths where wolves fea
r to prey.

  ~ Lord Byron ~

  Rosalind couldn't remember a time when she had felt so many emotions at once. As Stefan's body pressed tighter against her, his arousal and passion evident. She could do nothing to stop the surge of joy that escaped her lips, nor the brazen ideas her body had.

  Her mind told her she was doing this for the curse, that she merely needed to consummate the marriage and be done with the whole ordeal.

  Her heart, however, was having a hard time believing that sound logic. It cried out for Stefan's heart and soul in a way more dangerous than she ever thought possible. For she knew the moment this fairy tale was over, the ending would be nothing but heartache. For every happy ending in existence spoke of love — not curses.

  Soft yet powerful lips nibbled her neck. Strong masculine hands tangled in her hair. Dizzy with excitement, she didn't even realize Stefan had stopped kissing her until the warmth of his body left her.

  Opening her eyes, she scanned the room. He was on the other side pouring a glass of wine.

  "I promised I would woo you, and I will if it nearly kills me." Stefan said.

  "But," Rosalind looked around the room. "We're already married, the wooing is done." She fought to keep her mind from focusing on such a tragic thought.

  With a laugh, Stefan brought the cup to his lips, but did not drink, instead he placed his goblet next to the bed. "I have much to teach you, my dear. For the wooing has just begun. I pity the man that believes a courtship must die with marriage."

  Chills ran up and down Rosalind's body as her shaky hand reached out to grab the wine he held out for her. "So tonight…" She couldn't finish the sentence.

  "Tonight…" Stefan raised his glass in a toast. "Is just the beginning."

  Forgoing her wine, Rosalind reached out and skimmed her fingers lightly over Stefan's broad chest. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he hastily threw the wine glass to the floor, shattering it before his arms reached out and grabbed Rosalind by the elbows, pulling her into his frame. Trapped by his embrace, Rosalind was unable to move away as he closed his eyes.

  His breath fanned across her lips as he leaned down and merely breathed in her scent. Allowed his lips to roam down her neck, no kissing, no nibbling, almost as if he wanted his mouth to memorize the way her skin felt merely pressed against them.

  Stefan's warm hands slowly moved from her elbows up to her shoulders and slowly, delicately pulled down the loose sleeved dress, causing her shoulders to be bare. A chill ran up and down her spine as she watched in fascination as Stefan's hands continued their torturous exploration and caress of her smooth skin. The temptation to moan was so extreme, she didn't know if she could stay silent. Yet, the man was only touching her. Nothing more; nothing less. The very thought that he had so much control and power over her left her feeling vulnerable. Deciding to take things into her own hands, she smoothly put her hands across his and slid them up his arms noticing his muscles flex beneath the curve of her fingers. Fear numbed her fingers making it difficult for her to do much else but touch him.

  His wicked smile widened. "What are you doing?"

  Voice trembling, she answered, "You've been teaching me lessons, have you not? What kind of student would I be if I didn't learn from my teacher? I'm merely mirroring your actions." Her hands moved to his jacket, but they betrayed her, shaking as she helped him out of it, softly pressing her palm to his chest feeling the warmth through his shirtsleeves and trying with all her might not to tremble with desire as his eyes turned black. His teasing gaze was all but gone, and in its place something far fiercer. Fear fought with excitement as Stefan grabbed her hands and thrust them above her head, tumbling her onto the bed with little effort. His hands still held hers. Breathing ragged, she noticed how her breath seemed to come out in shorts gasps as he gazed upon her face then lower and lower until she knew she had to be bright red. Never had she been more nervous. Not knowing what to say, she merely stared at his muscular form as he hovered over her.

  "Tonight, I am still the teacher, and you, my sweet Rose, will be the pupil. Have you any complaints with that?"

  Rosalind shook her head as Stefan's head closed in around hers, his lips caressing hers as he spoke.

  "Good, because I have a lot to teach you and apparently a lot to prove. After all, my sonnets are stupid, my manners horrendous, my proposals ridiculous, and my romance in dire need of improvement. It appears I have only this one night, this one chance to prove to you that I can truly be the prince who rescues the princess. The one to make you scream out with pleasure — first seeking yours then my own… yes, this will be the night that you, my beauty, will sleep a deep sleep of satisfaction, for I lay myself — all of me — at your very feet."

  Would it be terribly rude for her to tell him to stop talking? For at that moment she was ready for anything he wanted to give to her. And his talking, his romancing, was driving her mad. Possession and desire overwhelmed her.

  Moved to tears, Rosalind closed her eyes. If she could not see him, then perhaps her heart would not become more engaged. And then he kissed her, very softly across her lips. A more reverent kiss she had never experienced, for it spoke of promises, of love, and devotion. It was the way she had always wanted to be kissed, and when she opened her eyes, a single tear fell. For Stefan, the brute of a duke was looking at her the way she had always wanted to be looked at.

  With adoration. So instead of closing her eyes again, or fighting his onslaught of passion. She lifted, very slightly, her head towards his and returned his soft kiss, allowing her tongue to run across his bottom lip. Scared out of her wits, she finally decided, she would give him all — everything she had — and hope it would be enough.

  Stefan watched the torment of emotions play across Rosalind's face. A decision had been made, and he could tell the very second it happened. For Rosalind arched, reached towards him and kissed him. A more innocent and beautiful kiss Stefan had never encountered. Her velvet tongue ran across his lips and then slowly, agonizingly she opened her mouth to him. Everything seemed new and alive. The smell of roses drifted around him dancing across the room. The fire roared and spat in the distance, the snow fell lightly across the ground when he glanced out the window. And his wife, his beautiful treasure, was irresistible. Her large green eyes and soft porcelain skin caused him to ache to touch her forever, to never let his hands leave her body. He would never get tired of the way her silky skin felt beneath his rough hands. Or the way her hair appeared to be on fire.

  He reached out and grabbed handful of hair thrusting his hands deeper into the mass of red perfection and let out a groan as he lifted it and at the same time lifted Rosalind to a sitting position on the bed. With little effort, he had her leaning against the large wooden bed. Like a perfect doll, she sat. With a mischievous grin, that he couldn't have helped even if he wanted to, he stripped himself of his shirt. Rosalind's eyes widened. A smile quirked at her lips. The minx, he had forgotten she had already seen him in all his glory. And now he wondered, would the thrill still be present?

  Her hand reached out and caressed his muscled stomach. He let out a short gasp as her nails dug into his flesh as she reached around and pulled him down to her.

  "Has the lesson then commenced?"

  With a smug grin, he shook his head. "Not even close, my love, not even close."

  Laughing, he pulled at her dress. Scandalized, she was not. With a joint effort, he stripped her until all that was left was her corset and chemise. He could see the outline of her body through the moonlight and firelight. And wondered if a man could truly die when he gazed upon such beauty. Soft curves framed her tall form and he found his mouth run completely dry as his eyes took in the glorious picture in front of him.

  "Stefan?" she asked, slightly covering herself. Cursing himself for openly gawking at her, he made quick work of her corset, all the while hoping she wouldn't lose her nerve, not now.

  "You are—" he said untying the first of her several laces "—by far—" another
was loosened "—the most tantalizing woman I have ever seen."

  She let out a gasp as he roughly pulled another lace. Fingers numbly went about loosening the rest of her laces. For a half moment, he wondered if Rosalind would be terribly upset if he decided upon cutting up her corset rather than unlacing her. Surely he could have saved time.

  As his brain was getting used to the idea, he noticed a shiver run through Rosalind. It was quick, her head was bowed, and the thought hit him. Could she possibly be afraid? Perhaps fearful of him? Laying a hand on her shoulder, he allowed his other hand to untie the last of the laces. A rapid heartbeat pulsed through the heat of his hand.

  Feeling slightly guilty for being so rough with her before, and tossing her on the bed like some Cyprian, Stefan took a deep breath and braced her shoulders, turning her towards him as her corset slipped to the floor, leaving the beauty in nothing save her chemise and silk stockings.

  As he gazed upon the woman who had so captured his heart, he realized he must truly humble himself before her. Not in a proposal, not even because he was trying to be romantic, but because his heart demanded he give fully to her what was hers.

  So, on his knees he went, taking a bow as he pressed a kiss to her palm and then her wrist. At a slow pace, Stefan took hold of the chemise and lifted it higher and higher until his eyes rested on the most beautiful expanse of creamy white leg, he had ever seen in his existence. Bestowing a kiss upon her thigh, he continued to lift, until he was face to face with his wife and the chemise was tossed away from her body.

  A war raged within Rosalind's eyes. Any virgin would want to cover herself up, turn red, or possibly scream, but Rosalind's eyes never left his as she boldly stood before him, offering him everything.

  He seized her hand and brought it to his lips, all the while leading her slowly back to the bed and laying her down before him. Tension radiated through her body as he reached for her stockings and with a smile pulled both off and threw them in the general direction of the discarded clothes.

  One kiss, two kisses, three kisses up her leg until he reached the curve of her hips. Four kisses, five, and then six, it took him to arrive at her delicate shoulder. Seven kisses, eight, and finally nine as he bestowed a kiss across her lips, he knew being in Rosalind's arms was where he belonged.