Heaven help him, he'd give her as many as she wanted. Never had he enjoyed a woman's company as much as he enjoyed hers. "Anything."
"Why did you go to India?"
The familiar pang of unrequited love didn't surface as he thought it would with such a question. Instead, relief that he was no longer the green boy he once was. The infatuation with Elaina had been exactly that, an infatuation. And one he was pleased to be over with. How could a woman such as Elaina even hope to compete when Rosalind was alive and breathing?
"I believe—" He twisted uncomfortably in his chair. "—that tale, like so many others, begins with a young man's passion and a woman's rejection."
"I do love stories." Rosalind's excitement caught him off guard, and he found himself leaning forward to tell her the story.
"I was in love with her. I believed myself to be in love with her, but she was not for me. I left the country to escape living in hell. My father helped make arrangements and nobody was the wiser, except him. It was the coward's way out, but at the time I saw no other option other than living in extreme agony."
Rosalind squinted. "Leaving the country was a little extreme, was it not?"
"Love is extreme, my Rose. It causes even the sanest of the human population to wish for death. It is the stuff of poetry, war, death, and duels. Nothing is too extreme for love."
The fire spat, jolting Stefan out of his speech. Rosalind was affected by talk of love. Like any young woman, he noticed the soft sigh that escaped her billowy lips at his speech. Why then, was he so horrible at proposals? Truly, he wanted to know. For when he was in normal conversation with her, he felt romantic enough to quote Byron. When it came to asking her the one question he needed to ask, he sounded the greatest fool.
"The night gets late." His husky voice betrayed his thoughts.
"It is." Rosalind bit her lip and shot to her feet. "I'll just take the floor."
Stefan laughed. "Rosalind, the day you sleep on the floor is the day I'm dead and unable to argue with you about such ridiculous notions. You take the bed. A woman should never sleep on hard surfaces or in the dirt. I'm appalled you would suggest it."
Rosalind covered her yawn as her eyes smiled. Heaven help him, she was stunning, even when she was beyond exhaustion.
"Off you go." He motioned for her to move to the bed. "I'll turn my back while you crawl beneath the blankets.
He turned around and nearly died with unquenched desire as he heard the rustling of the blankets and squeak of the bed.
"You may turn around now, Stefan."
Blankets covered her from chin to toe. Pity, for he would have liked to see a bit more considering she'd already seen all of him.
With a deep sigh, he ran one hand through his thick hair and approached the bed. "Sleep well, my beauty, my little Rose." His lips lingered over her forehead as he leaned down and bestowed a kiss across her brow.
Rosalind sighed happily. "Goodnight, my barbarian…"
He laughed.
"My Norse god," she added with a blush.
His smile was so wide it hurt. "Goodnight."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.
~ Macbeth — William Shakespeare ~
Stefan awoke with a crick in his back and an all around horrid premonition that today would not be a good day. For one thing, when he went to see to Samson, he discovered his horse had been busy all night eating. And was now moving slower than normal.
Rosalind had awoken looking fresher than a spring flower. He had every intention of asking her to marry him. Of waking her with flowers and sonnets, things she deserved. That he wanted to give her. But, after he saddled Samson, it was discovered that both Alfred and Mary were missing.
Imagine his surprise when he caught them both leaving the stables at the same time. Mary with straw in her hair, and dare he say Alfred with more pomp in his step than he had seen in all his years.
His mind didn't allow him to think about what had been transpiring between the two, though he had a notion to scold them for being so… careless. Then again, that could have been jealousy talking.
He'd never woke so physically wound with desire. It made matters much more difficult than he could imagine now that he realized his heart was very much involved. Unable to decipher between his lust and suspicions of love for the woman, he found himself incapable of making sound decisions. So he rode the carriage in silence, all the while watching Rosalind for any indication that she was thinking of him too. Instead, she stared out the window as if the bloody horizon was the most interesting thing she'd ever set eyes on.
Out of curiosity he looked, but saw nothing save the snow and dreary country side.
Was he not better to look at? Curse his pride that continued to go missing on such occasions!
Finally, as a last resort, he reached across the carriage and grasped Rosalind's hand, much to Mary's disgust. He hadn't time to even enjoy the feeling of her feminine hand because he was too blasted busy watching Mary while she continued to thump her cane. Sweating profusely by the time they reached the townhome, he was never more thankful to be done with a carriage ride in his life.
Rosalind's hand continued to tingle long after Stefan released it to help her out of the carriage. Odd, her mind was more focused on the simple object of his hand more so than her mother's sickness. But to be quite honest she hadn't been focused on her mother at all. Not now, and not last night when she was alone with the very man she had been turning down for the past three days.
Sighing, she looked to Mary for strength, but she was already on her way into the house, Stefan's valet close behind. Odd, Alfred appeared to have straw in his coat?
Rosalind shook her head and continued her journey up the stairs into her home; she hadn't been back in London since her father's death. The house looked the same, a large white mansion in the stylish part of Grosvenor square. Though the grounds appeared to look gloomier than before, and made Rosalind wonder just how destitute the new earl had left her family.
Straightening her dress, she readied herself to take a step then felt Stefan's hand on the small of her back, urging her forward. She shot him a nervous glance. He winked and increased the pressure, forcing her to take the few steps into her old home.
Why was she trembling? As the butler opened the door, her senses were overwhelmed with the familiar smell of dusty books, from her father's expansive library and the overwhelming scent of beeswax.
To his credit, Stefan didn't say a word at the scarcity of the house though Rosalind knew he was probably curious. How could he not be? For upon their entry no servants greeted them. The residual feeling of her father was still present as though no one wanted to admit he was gone. Shaking, she walked to her father's old study and opened the door. Dust gave her a warm welcome. In her grief, her mother must have sanctioned the room off.
"Come," Stefan called behind her. "We should see to your mother. Do you think you can lead me to her rooms?"
Rosalind wasn't sure she wanted to see her mother. The very same mother that blamed her for her father's death even though she had done nothing to cause it.
She looked to the sofa where she had sat months before cradling her dad's head as he breathed his last breath. His hand cupping her cheek, a tear running down his weathered face. By the time the doctor had arrived, her mother had escorted her to her rooms and informed her that if she didn't marry the curse would surely take them all. Rosalind left the very next day and never looked back. It was also the same day her doctor had said that he could do nothing for her sleeping episodes other than wait for it to kill her. His thoughts were that anything that caused one to fall asleep at odd times would surely progress until one day she didn't wake up.
Weakening, she reached for something to lean onto as the pain of that day washed
over her.
"Rosalind, we can see to your mother later. Do you need a minute?" Stefan's warm breath fanned at her face. As the smell of lye and cinnamon drifted off him, Rosalind couldn't help herself as she turned into his arms and wept. Stefan didn't stiffen, nor did he move away or tell her to compose herself. He simply wrapped his large arms around her and caressed her hair.
When she was finally able to stop sniffling, embarrassment washed over her. She tensed, but he didn't allow her to pull away instead his lips tickled her ear in a whisper. "Embarrassment is not necessary when one grieves the loss of a parent dear to them, Rosalind. Death is a natural part of life, but a terrible beast when it suddenly knocks on ones door. Never harden your heart to the God-given emotions that help us heal most, sweetheart."
Stefan's lips brushed her forehead in a chaste kiss. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his waist and nodded, unable to get out words.
Minutes later, she pulled back and looked into his concerned eyes. "I believe I'm ready."
Nodding, he moved away from her and allowed her to lead them out of the study and up the marble staircase to the second floor.
Rosalind was still shocked to see no servants scurrying about. As she came to her mother's door she knocked and then opened it.
Her mother was sitting on her bed fully clothed reading with a glass of sherry in hand. "Gwendolyn, if that's you then I've told you already I don't need any more blankets, I'm just fine the way I am. It is merely the sniffles!"
Rosalind gasped unable to hide her excitement that her mother was in fact the picture of health. "Oh, I am so relieved!"
The countess looked up and paled. "Rosalind? Oh, um. You came so soon my dear! I did not expect you until tomorrow at least!"
Her mother looked around her as if she wasn't at all excited to see her eldest daughter. Disappointment clouded her features as she looked from her to Stefan and then her nostrils flared. "I take it you are both married? Considering, it simply isn't done to travel alone on such short notice and I will not have my daughter ruined by your reckless ways, Your Grace."
"Married?" Rosalind swallowed the guilty lump in her throat. "Mama, we didn't need to marry. I had Mary travel along with us."
"Mary? Your godmother, Mary?" Her mother spat venomously. "She has been under strict orders to stay at the estate in Sussex until I call upon her to return!" Her mother folded her hands across her chest, clearly reeling.
"Are you well, Mother?"
"Of course I'm not well! My daughter hasn't lifted the curse, I have no servants to speak of considering we are only left with a pittance from the new earl and you brought him into our house!"
Rosalind flinched as the word him flew out of her mother's mouth like an expletive. Stefan didn't move, nor did he curse. He merely took a step closer to Rosalind and placed his hands on her shoulders. Pulling strength from his presence — my how she had been doing a lot of that lately — she looked into her mother's cold eyes.
"It isn't up to you when we marry mother. Besides, he hasn't yet asked." She lied hoping Stefan would go along with it. She felt his hands clench her shoulders, was he trembling? The cad was trying not to laugh!
"Yes, well." Stefan's silky voice said behind her. "My apologies, madam. It seems I simply haven't been able to get the words right. Each time I begin my proposal it's as if it isn't good enough and I must try again. I must admit to being a coward when it comes to redheads."
Her mother glared even more looking between the two of them as if she was missing something. "Yes, well." She put down her book and sighed. "The curse will take us all if neither of you are quick about this business."
"You have a cold, mother. I hardly think that is the work of the some sort of ancient spell." Rosalind said as kind as she could without smiling.
"You think this funny, my gel? Have you no respect for the dead!" The room went silent. "If you cannot marry to save me or your sister, at least marry to honor your father's last wish, or did he mean nothing to you?"
"Watch yourself, my lady." Stefan tensed behind Rosalind. She willed him to back down, hoping he would not make things more difficult.
A man cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence after Stefan's announcement.
Rosalind looked to the door and smiled. "Willard! It is so good to see you after such a long time!" Her father's old valet had apparently stayed on staff. The familiar look of his old face made Rosalind want to weep all over again. The man nodded at her and then looked to Stefan with a calculating glare.
"I see that congratulations are in order," he said, not taking his eyes from Stefan's.
"Well actually, we did not have need to marry just yet Willard."
The valet's mouth pursed into a thin hard line. "So you are not married yet, my lady? Well, this changes things, now doesn't it? I imagine the rest of your family will continue to die, as well as the servants." He backed out of the room, but stopped when Stefan's voice boomed after him.
"What do you mean the rest of the servants?"
Willard looked to Rosalind's mother for permission. At her nod, he looked back to Stefan. "Two of the young chamber maids have been ill. Both have symptoms of a sleeping disease. It takes them at inopportune times during the day, making it difficult for them to complete tasks. We've seen doctors. It is inexplicable. We imagine death will take them as it took my master."
Rosalind's heart stopped beating. The girls had her sickness? Did that mean it was contagious? Then the doctor was correct. She would surely die. Was it because of the curse? Or was it merely a coincidence?
"Daughter, you look quite ill. Are you well?" Her mother gave a cruel smile in her direction. "You must be tired. Why don't you take a nap? Willard has some lovely tea he can give you. You remember the type? You used to drink it daily as a child."
Rosalind's feet were glued to the floor. Unable to do anything except look into her mother's cruel eyes. A face filled with pain and bitterness. How had her family come to this?
"Where's Isabelle?" Rosalind's voice was weak.
"Around. The girl is such a disappointment, crying in her room daily because of her father's death, while I'm sitting here lamenting the selfish daughter I raised who refuses to do this one thing! But of course, I'm sure Isabelle would love to hear your important reasons for not marrying, my dear."
"Excuse me." Rosalind swept out of the room; blindly she walked down the hall not knowing in which direction to go. Warm salty tears streamed down her face. Strong arms pulled her out of the hallway.
"Tsk, tsk, Rose. We can't have you crying anymore. You don't want me thinking I can use your sadness to my advantage by seducing you out of the doldrums."
Even as Stefan spoke the words, his hands were gentle as he pushed fallen hair from her face and tilted her chin upwards with his warm hand.
"A moment of weakness." Rosalind managed a smile. "She seems to be getting more horrid with age."
"Your mother?"
She nodded.
"Yes well, I thought she was lovely. Only twice did I contemplate choking that neck of hers, and I had half a mind to pat myself on the back for my restraint."
Rosalind laughed, covering her mouth with her hands at Stefan's obvious attempt to pull her out of the melancholy she was in.
"What?" he asked, looking offended. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking the exact same thing, little minx. Now, let us straighten you up." His thumbs wiped the tears from her eyes. "There we go, now you look like the same redhead that told me my sonnet was stupid and my proposals lacking."
Rosalind bit her lip against the hammering of her heart.
Stefan's hand reached up. Taking her by surprise he pulled at the back of her head and kissed her so hard she thought she may expire on the spot. His tongue dove into her mouth without restraint. Large hands twisted into her hair and tugged her entire body forward.
He pulled back with a smug grin. "Aw, there's that fire I'm so used to. Glad to see you set to rights again. Shall we?" He opened the door a
nd offered his arm.
Insufferable man! She didn't know whether to pull him back into the room and beg of him to kiss her again or slap him for his advances. In fact, she wasn't even sure how her wobbly legs managed to move in a straight line. The man was an emotional complexity! How was it that he was able to offer her sound advice in the same breath he used to kiss her senseless?
Cursing the man for his seduction abilities that she earlier mocked, she made her way with Stefan in tow towards her younger sister's room.
"Aghhhhh!" A scream erupted from her mother's rooms.
Panicking, Rosalind turned on her heel and ran. Stefan was ahead of her and in the room before she was able.
"What the devil happened here?" he roared.
Rosalind gasped when she came into the room. Her mother was lying on her side motionless and pale.
"Is she…" Rosalind shuddered.
Willard was next to her side, his face contorted with rage. "She seems to have developed similar symptoms to the other maids. She said she was in pain so I brought her some tea, then she complained of stomach cramps and fell into a deep sleep it seems."
"Call for the doctor immediately," Stefan ordered.
Willard merely stood there motionless before adding. "Your Grace, pardon my outspokenness, but we've been dealing with this cursed disease for the past few weeks. A doctor will not help. She will slowly go mad. I'm sure of it."
"I said…" Stefan clenched his fists. "Call for the doctor."
"Your Grace." Willard gave a curt bow and exited the room.
"Well, it appears my family has gone mad." Rosalind looked at her mother's motionless form.
"Rose, I hate to say this now, and I know my proposals haven't been the stuff of legends, but…"
A heavy weight of guilt descended onto her shoulders. Maybe they were right, she was being selfish. How morose of a thought — to know that she would surely die married to a man she was starting to care for. The thought that she was actually developing feelings for Stefan didn't aid her confusion. It caused her heart great pain. Even worse than his botched proposals was the fact that she was hiding the seriousness of her health issues from his very astute eyes. He knew nothing of the constant fear that plagued her. The horrible premonition that one day, she would simply fall asleep and never wake up.