Free Upon a Midnight Dream by Rachel van Dyken

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.

 
Chapter Six
     
    To sleep perchance to dream.
    —Hamlet, William Shakespeare
     
    Rosalind lifted a shaky hand to her face. Truthfully, she was alarmed. Her mother hadn’t been sick once that she could even remember. Whatever was wrong, it must be urgent for her to send for her. At any rate, it would be one of the longest