Upon A Midnight Dream

by Rachel Van Dyken

  "To what do we owe the honor, my lord?" Stefan asked in smooth tones.

  "Why, Your Grace, you of all people should be privy to the reasons of my visit, that is unless—"

  The man stopped with a cold gleam in his eye, flashing his teeth in a wickedly handsome smile and held up his hands. "My apologies, by the look on your face I can see you were not made aware of my visit. Very peculiar."

  His voice was smooth with only a slight accent giving way to his foreign heritage. The new earl looked at Isabelle longer than Rosalind thought appropriate, his eyes intense and methodical, as they seemed to stroke across her ever curve, until Stefan cleared his throat.

  "Apologies again, Your Grace. I do believe we will be seeing each other soon. Enjoy your evening, ladies." With a fluid bow he left. Rosalind gave an involuntary shiver before standing closer to Stefan.

  "Well, he wasn't so bad." Isabelle finally broke the silence.

  "Not so bad?" Rosalind wanted to shake her sister as she watched the man's disappearing form with more than curiosity. "Isabelle, listen to me. You are never to allow that man near you, do you understand?"

  "Of course, Rose." Isabelle smiled and walked in the opposite direction away from her and Stefan.

  "I feel a headache coming on." Rosalind said once alone with Stefan near the dancing.

  He offered his arm and escorted her out of the crush. "Well, sweetheart, we only have to stay long enough to give the gossips something to talk about for tea during afternoon calls."

  Rosalind clenched her teeth. The last thing she wanted was to be the object of gossip again. If anything it seemed the curse on their family wasn't death but to be perpetual gossip for the ton to sink their fangs into.

  Leaning against Stefan as much as she could without thumbing her nose at propriety, she suddenly felt a tingling sensation in her legs. Her breathing slowed at a rapid rate. It was torture keeping her head up, if she just closed her eyes once, just one time.

  "Rose," Stefan whispered near her head. "Rose?" His voice more urgent, she wanted to shake her head to tell him she was fine and that the spell would pass as it always did, instead she felt worse than previous times. If she could, she would be sucking in air faster than she currently was. Her lungs would not work, and her legs and arms were unable to move. Warm hands were suddenly on her, and she was lifted into the air as the black took over.

  Stefan felt a sense of history repeating itself as Rosalind again fainted or fell asleep into his arms. Only this time, he was fortunate to be hidden away from the crush of people, which made it easier for him to escort her down the hall. Panic at her wellbeing overwhelmed the need he felt rush through his body at having her in his arms again. Clenching his teeth, he slowly made his way back towards the hallway near the far side of the room.

  Finally reaching the darkened escape route, one arm held her while the other tried the doors. The first few were locked, finally nearing the end of the hallway and perspiring with the task at hand, the door finally gave. He rushed her in through the darkness, shuffling across the hard floor until his foot hit a stool.

  Biting back an oath he continued towards the only light in the room, coming straight from the open curtains, the full moon.

  The room was dead silent; he pulled Rosalind into his lap as he sat on the bench in the window.

  "Rose?" He caressed her face, cursing his hands for shaking as they pushed back hair that had fallen across her cheekbone. God above, she was breathtaking. Her skin so soft that he could no more stop touching her than stop breathing. Her lips parted and let out a shallow breath of air.

  Curious, he looked closer, tilted her towards the moonlight and noticed the shade of light blue across it.

  This spell was not like the others.

  "Propriety be damned," he said, turning her on his knee as he pulled at her dress, first unfastening the buttons with rapid speed, and then loosening her stays until he knew she could breathe. Once the dress was loose on her form he waited for color to return to her face. Cursing, he leaned in only to see the blue still across her lips.

  What the devil was wrong with her?

  He could do nothing save hold her and wait. Never had fear gripped his heart as strong as in that moment.

  Finally, after an eternity, she stirred in his arms. "Rose!"

  She coughed and moaned. Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to speak through pale lips.

  "Rose?" He slowly patted her face, willing her eyes to open.

  Her eyes fluttered open, like tiny pin points she kept opening and closing them as if trying to focus. "Stefan?"

  "Yes, love. Careful. I, uh…" Blast. How was he to explain this predicament? I unfastened your corset in your sleep?

  He groaned and changed the subject. "You couldn't breathe. Do you remember anything?"

  She choked on a sob and threw her arms around his neck. "It's never been like that before! I'm dying! Stefan, I know it. I should have told you. I hadn't a spell since the first ball we met at! I must be dying!"

  He wasn't sure what alarmed him more, Rosalind unable to breathe or Rosalind giving into fear untypical of her normal strength.

  "Love, look at me."

  Shaking, she pulled back, he silently thanked God that her lips were returning to their cherry hue. "You are not dying."

  "You don't know… I have these spells, and you don't know!"

  "Rosalind, you are not dying. I won't allow it. And we've discussed this in detail. The spells were not affecting you when in the country side. There must be a simple explanation. I refuse to believe the curse has anything to do with it."

  At that she laughed. "Oh, and how do you plan to stop my sleeping spells or my disease, Stefan? Merely order the angel of death to stay put?"

  "If I have to." He chuckled. "Rose, other than your spells, you are a healthy, stubborn woman. We'll simply trust in that for now. And, I doubt your spells have been anything like this, have they?"

  Slowly, she shook her head. "No, I've always been able to breathe. This time I felt as if the world was suffocating me. Everything was constricting and then my dress—"

  She glanced down at the loose fabric and to Stefan's irritation it was at that exact moment that he heard someone try the door to the room.

  Quickly, he pulled the curtains around them and lifted Rosalind further into the corner and onto his lap, the curtains easily covered them as long as the intruder didn't fancy a look at the moonlight.

  He motioned for her to be still and quiet. She nodded, and if he wasn't so concerned about her health, his family, getting married, or the fact that something was causing everyone to die, he would be enjoying this moment. The smell of her skin trapped inside their alcove, her hair rubbing his chin and her supple body fitting snuggly into his, as if made for one another.

  "Cheroot?" The voice sounded familiar, though it was hushed, as if the man was trying to disguise himself. Stefan couldn't quite pinpoint it, and he wasn't about to expose them by making a move to peek through the curtain.

  "I did not travel all this way to share a smoke and brandy with you as you are well aware."

  "Ah, yes, well. It was polite of me to ask, don't you think?" The man laughed nervously.

  "Forgive me, but nothing about you seems polite." The other man said sternly. And then it hit Stefan, the one man was Dominique; his voice held that calculated smoothness. As if he needed to talk slow and concise lest his accent make a sudden appearance.

  "You owe me," Dominique said plainly.

  "It was a misunderstanding, my lord nothing more." The man coughed, his voice scratchy.

  Dominique let out a beastly laugh. "A misunderstanding you say? How was it to be a misunderstanding when I discovered you tried to rob my own fortune away from me? Or are you referring to the misunderstanding when you set about murdering my valet?"

  The room was dead silent.

  "Or," Dominique chuckled. "Are you referring to the misunderstanding of blackmail, when you threatened to kill me once I exposed who fa
thered the youngest girl."

  "That is quite enough, my lord!" The man yelled as best he could with his voice still seemingly hoarse.

  "Ah, a misunderstanding perhaps?" Dominique offered.

  "Name your price."

  "Money, as you well know, is no object. Yet I am wise enough to see that you have none to offer me, so it seems we are at an impasse, are we not?"

  The man cursed. "I haven't any money, and you know it!"

  "Ah, but what of value are you in possession of my good man? Therein lies the question. What are you willing to give that I do not already have?"

  "Heartless beast! That's what you are!"

  Dominique chuckled. "I've been called worse. Now, what are you willing to sacrifice for my silence at your indiscretions or as you put them misunderstandings?"

  The silence in the room was deafening. Stefan could feel Rosalind's heart beating wildly in her chest.

  Stefan wasn't sure how this would end, but it couldn't be good. Was not money the only currency in which men spoke?

  "My daughter." The broke his silence. "If I give you my daughter, the youngest. Will that suffice?"

  "That falls to you. How much would you say your daughter means to you?" Dominique asked.

  "She's all I have, all I was allowed to have of her mother. When her mother married another… well, you can imagine." The man's voice trailed off.

  "And if I accept. I will be the one making the terms of this contract, yes?"

  "Yes." The man's voice was hoarse.

  "Splendid. And considering it seems you are in desperate need of money. I shall strike a bargain with you."

  "I'm listening." The man's voice perked up, sudden interest evident.

  "You are to never visit her. Ever. When I take your daughter, I will destroy her faith in men every day that I am with her. I will poison her against you. I will glory in your weakness as I expose to her the devil you really are. And if you die, she will not attend your funeral. I hope she laughs on that day, that the tears are from joy that her once beloved father is dead. If you can promise me all these rights, I will allot you the sum of one hundred thousand pounds."

  "One hundred thousand pounds! That's a devil's fortune!"

  "It seems your offer is too sweet for me to deny. Think of it as payment. You have sold your daughter to me. A gentleman's arrangement. Shall we shake on it?" Dominique asked his voice getting louder and sounding more irritated by the minute.

  "Y-yes, my lord. When will you send for her?" the man asked.

  Dominique let out a bark of laughter. "I assumed you understood. I will not be sending for her. I will be returning with her. Make the preparations. I shall send over the contract in the morning when my man picks her up."

  "But!" the man yelled.

  "A deal is a deal…" Dominique clipped.

  The door clicked open and shut again.

  The man was still lingering, and all Stefan could hear was weeping and words that were so horrible to his ears he couldn't bear it. "It will be worth it. It will all be worth it. My love, you will pay for your sins."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Conscience doth make cowards of us all.

  ~ Hamlet ~

  Rosalind felt Stefan's arms stiffen around her at the man's horrendous words. How could selling your own flesh and blood be worth anything but heartache? After the door clicked shut and they were sure both men had cleared the room, she slowly pushed away from Stefan.

  "Did you recognize the voices?"

  Stefan looked away. "Well, obviously one was Dominique, but the other… I wasn't able to decipher. Although I'll admit familiarity."

  Rosalind bit her lip. "I kept thinking they would discover us, but they seemed…"

  Stefan outwardly shuddered. "They seemed too intent on buying and selling, did they not?"

  "We have to do something." Rosalind felt pity for the girl who was going to be sold into the man's dirty clutches! The same man who admitted no shame in abusing the woman he was to marry. She wasn't sure which was worse. The father knowingly selling his daughter for money or the man purchasing.

  "Rose, as much as I would like to help. There is nothing we can do now. I'll try to find Dominique in the ball, if he's still here. Mayhap he'll listen to reason, if not, then… well we can at least try that much." He lifted her chin with his hand and brushed a kiss across her lips.

  "Trust me?" he asked.

  "Not that I was ever given a choice…" She smiled. "But yes, Stefan. I trust you."

  "Can you manage?" His gaze traveled down her body marked with concern rather than passion.

  "I'm fine, I assure you. Must have been another spell, like I said." With that she rose to her feet and let out a curse as her dress nearly fell to her ankles.

  "Stefan!" Grabbing the material that was now cascading at a rapid pace, she covered herself as best as possible as her face heated. "I'm sure you were waiting until the appropriate time to tell me that my dress has magically come loose in my sleep?"

  Stefan forced his hands into his pockets and cursed. "It was choking you! What would you have me do! Let you die!"

  Biting back laughter, Rosalind looked at him. "So what you're saying is, by removing my dress, you've also saved my life, is that it, Your Grace?"

  "Naturally." He shrugged, the devil's gleam in his eye as he tilted his head and looked at her form. "I believe I'm your savior, yet again."

  "Are you now?" She lifted a brow.

  "Absolutely. Don't saviors of damsels in distress normally receive… some sort of reward?"

  With a wicked laugh, she fingered the loose corset strings, noting the hungry look in Stefan's eyes. Men, leave it to them to be distracted by a woman even in the face of danger. "A reward is what you seek?"

  "'Tis only fair, my lady." Stefan's eye darkened as he closed the distance between them.

  "And what type of woman would I be, if I was not fair, Your Grace?"

  "My thoughts exactly," he murmured leaning down.

  "Well then," Rosalind stepped back. "I'll be sure to reward you tomorrow. After all, we are being missed at the ball." Stefan's face was incredulous as his eyes flashed with unsated lust.

  "Uh, that is to say… of course. I'll wait with baited breath." He kissed her hand and turned on his heel.

  "Stefan?"

  "Rosalind?"

  "My dress, if you please." She turned her back and waited for his warm hands to torture her as he tightened her dress and set her to rights. He lifted her hair and made slow work of tightening her stays.

  If the fires of Hades erupted in that very room, Rosalind would have merely shrugged — unfulfilled desire shot through her as Stefan slowly tightened her stays. Each tug sent a shiver down her arms and legs; would wicked behavior be so horrible? Her treacherous hands demanded she push down her dress and let him have his way with her.

  But they were to be married so soon and although she knew him to be a good protector, he hadn't yet said the words she so desperately needed to hear. Love, it seemed, was never in the stars for Rosalind, but she could still hope that before she died he would utter those sacred words and just maybe look at her the way she so ached for.

  "All done." His hands left her, causing an ache to stir in her heart.

  "Lovely." She swallowed and managed to walk by the giant man without falling prostrate, begging him to kiss her as he had before. Really, she felt quite fit for Bedlam at that moment. Her thoughts were just that, madness in its purest form.

  There was nothing that could be done with her hair, to put it in the original arrangement would be near impossible. So she settled for a simple chignon and hoped nobody would notice it had changed. Exhaling, she reached for the door. Awareness of Stefan's nearness still trickled down her body. How was it that by just being near the man, she was ready to ask him to take her dress off again?

  She has bewitched me. Stefan followed Rosalind's retreating form and swore He had nobody to confide in, not a single one. It seemed the only women he trusted e
nough to speak to just so happened to be the one that was driving him irrevocably insane. On cue, the object of his lust filled fantasy's turned towards the Dowager of Barlowe, making him instantly uncomfortable. The last thing he needed was for his grandmother to see him in his current state. Both women lifted a curious brow in his direction, and he suddenly felt like some recalcitrant schoolboy. Should he shuffle his feet and avert his eyes and add to the effect? Or approach the women in hopes that they were talking of the weather. Right, his grandmother talking of weather. He would laugh the day weather would replace gossip.

  "Ladies," he said as he approached.

  "Stefan my boy, why haven't you danced with the lady yet? She tells me she hasn't danced a single dance with her betrothed all evening! I expected more from my grandson." The Dowager continued to stare daggers through Stefan.

  The air stole from his lungs when Rosalind bit her lip in expectation of his question. "Would you care to dance?"

  She took his gloved hand, and he led her to the middle of the dance floor. They hadn't danced together since the time in the meadow. Maybe it was the candlelight, or possibly inanity from the curse, but holding Rosalind in his arms felt special — right.

  "So you can dance eloquently once indoors…" Rosalind turned in his arms. Devil take it, she felt good.

  "Yes well, I prefer the snow and woodland creatures to the gossip of the ton any day."

  "Don't forget Samson, though I imagine he was more jealous than entertained by our little dance."

  Stefan quirked a smile at her mention of his horse. "You never told me what you were doing out dancing in the snow in the first place, nor the identity of your invisible dance partner, Rosalind."

  She blushed to the roots of her hair. "I was dancing with a man from my dreams."

  "Do you often dream of men?" He lifted a brow, suddenly interested in all of her mad fantasies, never mind that he wanted to kill any man real or made up that touched her, including the married ones.

  As he pulled her closer, his hands glided down the curve of her dress. He had never discovered a more perfect fit for his hand, and in that moment wondered if there ever would be anything that belonged so rightfully in his arms.

  Rosalind cleared her throat. "I don't often dream of men. Just one."

  "One? So he's real? Where is he? I'll destroy him! You are mine, Rosalind. Never forget who you belong to. It is I who crave the taste of your lips. I who desire you in my bed from now until forever… and it is I who will slay your dragons and storm the castle to win your love." His grip tightened as he pulled her body as close as he could during the dance. "And it is I who will make slow agonizing love to you until your body is sated…" The dance ended, he had yet to release her. "Nobody else…" His voice was gruff filled with lust, grief, and jealousy. Why the devil was he shaking?