The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard (London Paranormal 03) (13 page)

He took her rejection with good nature. "Then have a nice morning, my love. Oh, and by the way, my first name really is Adam."

Eve's mouth fell open and she gaped. Surely the Fates weren't so capricious. It couldn't be so; the lecherous louse had to be lying.

"Be careful," her husband warned. "You might catch a fly. Or is Mr. Pryce still in bed?" He grinned.

Eve closed her mouth with a snap, her eyes shooting sparks. She hated both the fictitious fiend and her finagling father.

"It
must
be fate," Adam called over his shoulder. "The world is conspiring against you." Then he exited the breakfast room, just in time to avoid a flying cup. Life with Eve meant he needed to be well-off, he decided; it appeared he would be replacing a great deal of porcelain.

Outside the door, he shook his head, irritated. His new wife had quite a mouth and arm on her. Her father had been right when he'd warned that when his daughter wanted something, nothing stopped her. And Eve definitely wanted him gone. But then, Eve Bluebeard had never run up against the likes of him. She wasn't aware of it yet, but the little admiral had just met her Waterloo. He wasn't going anywhere for a long, long time.

The words he had spoken about respectability and responsibility were true; a long time ago he'd had both. A long time ago Adam's heritage had included a title: Baron Hawkmore. But betrayal had ended all that, along with the lives of his parents and younger brother. That tragedy and treachery had killed something soft and good within him—or at least, he thought it had until last night.

Once he had been a man to appreciate the beauty of a sunset on a windswept moor, or the purity of voices lifted in crystalline beauty in a church choir on a foggy Sunday morning. He had enjoyed the bonny sight of a mother strolling with her young sons in the early morning dew, and the laughter of a pretty lass dancing in the thick of a merry crowd. But that man had died a dozen deaths with the passage of time. Adam had learned to trust precious few, and that honor was ofttimes the only thing a man could call his own.

Yes, he had been brought up to believe in duty and honor, home and hearth. That giving love was as important as receiving it. Yet, somewhere along the way this had gotten lost. Perhaps he had taken a wrong turn in the icy winters of despair. Maybe he'd been traveling down hill when he should have been quickly climbing the peaks. He would probably never really know all his wrong turns and missteps, but his path had led him away from what he'd wanted to who he was now. And he wasn't sure who that was anymore.

He had a sense that Eve was a beacon calling him home to his lost self, because, for the first time in over a decade, Adam Pierce Hawkmore had looked in the mirror that morning and welcomed home a stranger.

Although she was frantic to confront her father, Eve put aside her anger as she walked into her study. She had to concentrate on her patient, Lady Jane Asher, Countess of Wolverton. Lady Jane had an abnormal fear not only of blood, but of dirt, spiders, crypts, and other things that went bump in the night. Born a Van Helsing and the only female in the clan of infamous vampire slayers, she had found her fears to be a hard cross to bear.

Happily, Lady Jane had escaped her vampire-staking and -stalking duties by marrying a noble Nosferatu. The Romeo and Juliet of the vampire world had fallen madly in love regardless of odds to the contrary. Unfortunately, Jane had been unable to overcome her fears enough for her husband to make her an immortal. And unless Lady Jane could overcome her phobia of blood, it would be ashes to ashes and dust to dust for her after enough time passed.

Her patient smiled cheerfully at Eve as she seated herself on the rose brocade chair. After treating Lady Jane for the past five months, Eve recognized the steel core within the woman, which would help in her cure. She also held great affection for and devotion to her vampire husband. Motivation, Eve had learned, was the key factor in overcoming one's problems.

Eve returned Jane's smile, recalling again the gossip she had heard when she first came to town: dire predictions about a master vampire and a vampire slayer being forced together in wedlock till death did they part. Pessimists had proclaimed that the Earl of Wolverton would be staked before the month was out. Vampire lovers had predicted that Lady Jane would meet a toothsome demise. But their marriage had set the supernatural world on its head, causing vampires to roll over in their graves and vampire hunters everywhere to shake their heads, along with their garlic cloves. In spite of these gossips and manuremongers, the couple had fallen in love and walked happily into the crypt before sunrise, proving all skeptics wrong.

"How is work at the hospital proceeding?" Eve asked encouragingly. She had recommended that the blood-shy countess volunteer her time at a hospital on a thrice-weekly basis for several hours a day. Lady Jane had flinched when the words
surgical ward
were mentioned, but had agreed. Eve felt that if Lady Jane were repeatedly exposed to blood, her phobia would decrease.

Lady Jane smiled. "I enjoy helping with the patients most of the time. So many need a cheerful face or some genial conversation to help ease their pain. Imagine how dull it would be to be stuck in bed for days on end! And I haven't gotten ill at the sight of blood for weeks now, thanks to you."

"No, no. You should congratulate yourself, Jane," Eve said. "You've worked very hard."

She felt like shouting with triumph. When Jane had first started treatment five months ago, she couldn't even stay in the same room with a bloodied patient without casting up her accounts. This new report made Eve cheerfully optimistic. So many of her patients seemed almost hopeless cases. Too often months could turn into years before you saw progress, and from her studies she knew those years could easily slide into decades. If only the brain's problems were like a toothache and you could just pull out offending memories or fears, she mused. But at least for now Jane's nausea had subsided, and the countess was getting better. It was all Eve could do not to dance a pirate's jig.

"How about the fainting episodes?" she asked.

"Well, I am doing quite well with a little bit of blood… but when it comes in great amounts, I do still tend to faint," Jane confessed. "But at least I no longer become queasy. Asher is very proud of me—with the exception of the spider incident last month in the family crypt. Actually, he found it hysterically funny until I locked him out of our bedroom for his hilarity."

Eve half smiled. "I'm glad to hear it's going well."

"Yes, although I must admit that the hospital does need more thorough maids. You should have seen the dust bunnies under some of the cabinets," Lady Jane remarked. "I have spoken to the hospital administrator about it."

Eve nodded encouragingly. She knew her patient's disdain for dirt. When she had first met with Asher about his wife's phobia, she'd had several suggestions for after the Lady Jane finally made the transformation from mortal to vampire. The family crypt should be cleaned thoroughly on a daily basis. Asher should be Jane's blood donor, and it was recommended that his native soil—which vampires were required to keep nearby—should be placed in lacy little bags filled also with lavender. And all frolicking in the graveyard would be strictly forbidden, unless he wanted himself and his wife to have a complete dustup.

"I'm sure the hospital administrator appreciated your suggestion," she said. Eve's newest patient—one Mrs. Monkfort, who also hated dirt—would not have merely suggested it, but put her words to action and had the entire ward cleaned. Of course, Mrs. Monkfort was extremely obsessive—to the point of mania—while Lady Jane was only a trifle overwrought.

"I'm not so sure. Ever since the time I fainted at his feet, the poor man tries to avoid me."

"Shockingly poor manners, I'm sure," Eve consoled Jane, adding to her notes.

Patient is particularly sensitive to the slights of others, having lived with an overbearing, autocratic father who found fault with everything she did or does, from badly sharpening stakes to marrying a monster.

Eve knew that in most situations, a mere major would be overjoyed that his daughter had risen so high above her pedigree, but Major Van Helsing had been vehemently disgruntled that his only daughter was sleeping with the enemy. He did not like the idea of a Van Helsing rising out of a coffin to drink rather than stake at sunset.

"How
is
the situation with your father?" Eve questioned, jotting down notations on her patient's chart.

She felt sure some of the woman's fears came from traumatic events in her early life, and with Major Van Helsing as Jane's father, it was no wonder. So far Eve had been unable to uncover any particular event, but that didn't mean there wasn't one. Often life's major events were so horrific that the mind buried them so deep that they lay beneath layers and layers of the subconscious, like a sunken ship slowly being buried by sands at the bottom of the sea. This resulted in the ship's eventually becoming completely invisible to the naked eye over time—just like lost memories.

"If I were still at home, I would be polishing the Van Helsing silver daily. The major was
not
happy when he discovered Asher is a vampire, but since we destroyed the evil Dracul at the time, some of the bite was taken out of him. For a year or so, my father wasn't really overbearing about my husband and me and the whole vampire-and-slayer relationship."

Eve nodded, thinking that Asher and Jane seemed like they had an excellent marriage, and both still acted very much in love.

Lady Jane continued: "But in the past seven months or so he has become quite contrary, as if he fears I'll go over to the dark side. Ridiculous, since Asher isn't even dark. And this whole problem with my being sickened by blood means that I shan't be turned into a vampiress anytime in the near future! Yet still the major blusters and gives me dark looks."

"Much as when you lived with him?" Eve wanted to majorly wallop Major Van Helsing. He was like her own father in many ways, a blustery autocrat who thought he knew best, and who hounded anyone not falling in with his plans. The major had expected Jane to carry on the family name, happily staking her way through life. Captain Bluebeard wanted grandkids and for Eve to sail her life away, pirating and looting. But as mad as her father made her, Eve at least felt he loved her. From Lady Jane's comments, Eve wasn't sure the major even held his daughter in affection.

"Yes. Although Asher is now included in these looks. Do you know my father still believes that the only good vampire is a dead vampire? Thank heavens the rest of my family no longer believes that nonsense! Asher, being Asher, could care less about the glares, but he does feel a bit guilty at the major's disapproving stares directed at me."

"Regretfully, Major Van Helsing is who he is, and has his own fears to live with," Eve said. She sighed. "I doubt your father will ever truly change his opinions. You know the old cliché, that you can't teach an old dog new tricks? Well, I rather doubt you can teach an old vampire slayer, either. He will always judge a vampire by his coffin, and not what lies in his heart. I highly recommend that you ignore any feelings of guilt you suffer for disappointing your father, and not let the man's feelings affect you at all." Eve was reminded again of her father's devious interference. She could hardly wait to track the old reprobate down, and to tell him exactly what she thought of his rotten plan.

She grimaced and continued with her advice: "No, we cannot remake ourselves to suit someone else's image. We must always be true to who we are and what we are, with all our faults and all our remarkable capabilities for forgiveness and talents for whatever," Eve counseled. Her thoughts grim, she made another notation, this time for herself:

Lock Bluebeard in a sea chest and throw away the key
.

Lady Jane nodded, an intense expression on her face. Growing up under her father's rule had made her want to please everyone, most especially the major. The major, a man not to be satisfied with anything, had never lavished a single word of praise upon her, making her feel like a failure. That continual feeling had severely crushed her spirit, and if not for her beloved ostrich; her dog, Spot; her dearest friend, Clare Frankenstein; and her brother, Brandon, she likely would have faded away while polishing the family silver.

"You're quite fortunate, you know," Eve reminded her. "You're married to a handsome earl who loves you, and the rest of your family admires him."

"I know. I am quite pleased at how my uncle, Jakob Van Helsing, my cousins, and brother have all taken Asher into their confidence. Why, my brother can hardly wait at times for Asher to come popping out of his coffin to talk to him about things," Jane said. "Although the first few times it happened, Asher said his nerves were in quite a state. A vampire usually gets staked when he wakes to find a Van Helsing standing over his coffin. He doesn't get asked what gift to buy an angry mistress."

Eve laughed. "Yes, I can imagine. Having a renowned vampire hunter perched by your coffin could be quite unsettling."

Jane blushed becomingly. "My husband never minds rising to the occasion when I wake him up."

Eve made a notation on her pad:

True love is a wonder to behold.

She smiled and commented, "Dreams do come true."
For some people
, she thought wryly.

Jane nodded happily. "Yes, I am fortunate. A series of misfortunes and my fears ended in a marriage made in hell but a honeymoon made in heaven."

"Oftentimes good can come from mishaps and mayhem," Eve agreed. Although in her case, it was quite different, she thought fretfully. Just look what trying to avoid being married had cost her! Her fake marriage was now being shoved down her throat, along with a tasty yet tasteless blackguard pretending to be her husband.

Glancing over at the clock upon the fireplace mantel, she realized that time had passed swiftly. She reached inside a desk drawer and pulled out several different pictures with black smeared upon them: her art treatment therapy. She handed one to Jane, determined to get to the root of the woman's phobias.