"Then by all means," Stefan ground out, waiting until the perfect time before he strangled the man and sent him to his eternal punishment.
"She fell in love with him. It was slow — she tried to hide it from me. So I killed him. She was unable to get over the death, so I began to give her tea. I began to poison her mind with lies. Truly, it was so easy to confuse the woman it hardly seemed fair, so lost was she in her pain. I even convinced her that she helped kill her husband. It was too easy to allow her to nearly kill Rosalind. You see, if the mother was crazy, the fingers would not be pointed in my direction."
"And now?" Stefan asked.
"Now," Mr. Fitzgerald laughed. "Now I'm rich. All of my daughters are gone or will be the minute I drive my dagger into Rosalind's heart. For I hate her the most of them all. She looks like her father the most, and she held his heart in her hand. She had his love. I never got to experience love from my daughters because the countess refused to tell anyone."
"Jealousy is a sad excuse for murder."
"Murder," Mr. Fitzgerald said, "is never an excuse. It's an ending. A finale. And it's the only way to keep everyone silent. Unfortunately, Rosalind's sleeping spells were happening less often, she became too accustomed to the tea. I imagine only her body sleeps now when she is exposed to it. In her sleep, she hears all. But she is paralyzed. Do you know how frightening it must be for a woman to hear about her death, yet be unable to do a thing about it? Though I don't claim to be a botanist, I've read that the body can almost become frozen in this state."
Mr. Fitzgerald pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Stefan as he slowly walked to Rosalind's side.
"I killed your father, my sweet. I sold your sister, and provoked the other to run away. I destroyed everything, and now I will kill the man you love."
Stefan ducked just before the pistol went off.
Mr. Fitzgerald swore as Stefan's body rammed into his. The dagger came slashing about Stefan's face. With love driving him, Stefan grasped the blade of the dagger, letting it dig into his skin as blood trickled down his wrist, and slowly twisted it towards Mr. Fitzgerald's throat.
Shaking, he slowly pushed it in until no life was left in the man's cold eyes. With an oath he pushed away and ripped some of his clothing to cover the deep cuts.
"Rose," he whispered as he sat across the bed. "Rose, come back to me. Awake, my sleeping beauty."
His lips brushed across hers as a single tear slid down her cheek.
"I love you," he choked. "I love you so much."
Blue eyes flashed at him, and the beauty mouthed. "I love you, too."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed;
She is woman, and therefore to be won.
~ Henry VI, Part I — Shakespeare ~
Rosalind had never been so terrified, as when she overheard all the horrendous actions Mr. Fitzgerald had taken against her family and his own flesh and blood. She still shivered when she thought upon it.
Rest was the last thing she wanted, especially now that she knew she wasn't dying and that her sleeping spells had been caused by nightshade in her tea. A botanist, Mr. Fitzgerald, or Edward was not, for he hadn't realized a person could become used to the stuff in small doses. His greatest mistake was in trying to trick Rosalind into thinking she was dying, when really the plant was only dangerous in large doses and only if injected.
A chill ran down her spine when she thought of the other plants found in his possession. Monkshood being one of them. She would have surely died had he given her something more potent, and she was suddenly thankful that he had been thinking he was harming her with nightshade instead of the more poisonous plant.
The orangery smelled delightful, she let herself in and closed her eyes. A male voice began to hum. Surely that wasn't Stefan, that would be too romantic, it would be—
"—Have I found you? The one who makes me sing? Once upon a midnight dream…" Rosalind followed the voice as it became louder. "As I lay me down to sleep, my midnight dream I know will keep. The stars in your eyes tell me what your heart is afraid to say. That while I wait for my prince, he will one day say…"
She turned the corner and smiled. Stefan was down on one knee, roses in hand. He stopped singing and cleared his throat.
"My love…"
"Oh, good start," Rosalind commented, laughing.
"Yes, I thought so, too." Stefan smiled. "My love." He winked. "With lips as red as a rose, eyes as blue as the sea, I find I cannot keep myself from wanting thee."
"And it rhymes! How very poetic," Rosalind couldn't help saying.
"Yes well, I've worked on it all day. Now, may I continue?"
She nodded.
"Where was I? Oh yes, I find I cannot keep myself from wanting thee. When I close my eyes, all my mind conjures up is pictures of you. My perfect Rose. My love, you are my little dove."
"Little dove?"
Stefan squirmed. "Yes, well, it rhymed with love."
Rosalind's heart burst with joy. How she loved this man! "Pray, continue."
"Yes." He cleared his throat again and looked at the paper, then cursed and threw it to the ground. In two steps he was in front of her, pulling her roughly against his chest as his mouth slanted possessively across hers. "I cannot exist without you."
He kissed her until she felt her knees would buckle, his tongue teased hers in a game of domination and devotion. "I cannot breathe without you."
His hands reached savagely into her hair, pulling it out of its pins as he moaned against her lips. "I am lost without you."
"Stefan," she gasped as his hands dipped into her bodice.
"Yes?" He sounded distracted as he pulled away her dress and corset.
"It seems you've discovered how to woo."
With a laugh, he stripped her upper torso of any clothing. "All I needed was some inspiration."
Rosalind let out a laugh as his lips claimed her throat.
"We must marry at once," he joked.
With a burst of laughter, Rosalind pulled at his jacket. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"
"Come here." He plundered her mouth as his hands roamed across her silky skin. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"And I love you," Rosalind choked out as a tear ran down her face.
"No more talking," Stefan ordered as he dragged her to the nearest table and pushed the plants onto the floor, making the pots shatter. With little effort the lifted her onto the table and used slow languid movements to show her exactly what he'd rather be doing.