The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard (London Paranormal 03) (26 page)

Startled, Eve managed to partially lift herself so that she could see through the carriage window. Despite the darkness of the night, there was enough of a moon to illuminate a horse and rider. The rider was perhaps four feet behind the carriage, and there were two men following him at a small distance.

Her expression filled with steely determination. "Bloody hell! That's Major Gallant playing highwayman! Where's his bloody keeper?"

Glancing over Eve's head, Adam retorted, "I do believe that's him 'galloping' up. He's as slow a top as that nag of his." He reached out a long arm and knocked on the carriage roof. "Don't stop, James. We'll haul in the loonies later. Much later—maybe never." The last was said with heartfelt disgust.

Glancing back outside, he noted that the third rider was sitting sidesaddle, without a stitch of clothing on—although the nude cuckoo was wearing his Hessians. "Oh, dear. I believe I see Jack the Rip riding along as well. What's next—Lady Godiva?"

"Is Jack dressed?"

"Is the moon pink?" Adam replied, lowering his head from the window and leaning it back against the seat. He shut his eyes tightly, his mouth a slash.

Taking one look at his agitated expression and general disarray, Eve glanced down at herself. The picture she presented was not a dignified one. Half sprawled across the crimson seat like the veriest wanton, she noted that her gown was bunched around her waist. She had one shoe off, and Adam's huge erection was bobbing at her like a Frenchman's salute. She shook her head in disbelief. A week ago she would never have been caught dead in such a compromising position, but here she was. Her giggles turned into heartfelt laughter, her husky voice filling the carriage with her mirth.

Adam's eyes popped open. Eve's eyes were dancing on his erection. "Well, this is a new experience. Women have swooned when I've revealed the family jewels. Some have dropped to their knees in adoration. But I don't recall a single one being struck with hilarity."

Eve couldn't help herself; his words made her laugh harder. Major Gallant's antics had drawn her back to her senses just in time, keeping her and Adam's Bonaparte. She pulled up her gown and began to fix the bodice. She knew better than to make love to Adam. She wasn't married to him, even if she felt as though she were.

Another shout outside the carriage door drew Adam's attention. In a black mood, he stuck his head out and yelled, "Get the bloody hell away from this coach, or I swear I'll stop and tear you up with my bare hands."

All shouting stopped, along with the sound of horses in hot pursuit. Eve continued to chuckle, half sitting and half reclining, her back shoved into the corner of the carriage.

Adam moved swiftly, placing both his hands on either side and trapping her between them. Growling low in his throat, he lowered his head to kiss her again—which she gently but firmly rebuffed. Placing her hands on his chest she shook her head, her curls bouncing.

"I don't think it would behoove me to take this lying down—or sitting up. Most especially since we are but a mile from the Towers."

Knowing the game was lost, Adam sighed. He would accept defeat for now, though not for long. Growling, he fervently wished that he could clip Jack's prickers and rip that would-be Napoleon a new Trafalgar. What infernally lousy timing! But then, the real Bonaparte had been known to spike a cannon or two himself.

The moment was fraught with sexual tension and unrequited desire, and he inhaled audibly, deciding humor in this instance would get him farther than petulance. Reluctantly he pushed himself back and plopped down on the opposite seat. "If your sensibilities are too proper to try it in a carriage, perhaps we could adjourn to your bed—or that nice Persian rug before the fireplace in your study?"

She still had a grin on her face, but said, "Don't think to end on top of this situation. I've come to my senses." Yes, she longed to broaden her horizons, but she didn't want her waist broadening with an illegitimate child. He had introduced to her the spicy taste of passion—a taste she would not forget anytime soon—but a full meal was a long way off.

"Come to your senses? Oh, no, my dear, you've surely lost them," he replied, wincing as he shifted and sat back against the seat. His trousers were definitely too tight. "Do you know, I believe I will shoot Major Gallant when we get back to the nuthouse. I've always disliked the French, and you can't trust a man who hides his hand. I mean, where's he been sticking it? And what can I say about Jack? He'd better be nimble; he'd better be quick—or else he'll get a nasty stick. Right up the backside," he added ineloquently.

Running a hand through his hair, he gazed at his wife with focused intent while she righted her clothing. His heart rate was beginning to slow, and his erection was now at half-mast. "Do you know, Eve, I have a reputation to consider. I don't like this one bit. If we don't relieve this sexual tension between us, soon I'll be howling like a mad dog. They'll think I'm one of your patients! Perhaps I'll join the major and Jack and take to the highways."

Eve swallowed another laugh, even though the weepy place between her thighs was still sensitive and felt hollow. Strange, but she had never noticed it much before his arrival. "We always seem to be at cross-purposes," she remarked. Buttoning her gown, she felt remarkably strong and regrettably stupid. Still, when all was said and done, she couldn't allow this to happen. Could she?

"Truer words were never spoken. I try to make love to you, and find myself constantly interrupted by your demented patients. I'm not teasing, my little pearl; if I don't have you soon, you'll have to lock me away. By the by, if you have to take that drastic step, I do hope you'll let Dr. Sigmund visit me. After all, he understands this thwarted-libido stuff."

Eve's mirth spilled forth again, filling the carriage, which pulled up to the Towers, the horse's hooves ringing on the cobblestones. In the background she heard Sir Loring say, "Stay away from my coffin! I'll have no Englishmen and mad dogs disturb my eternal resting place. Do you hear that, Totter? Don't let Mrs. Monkfort touch my soil!"

Adam shook his head balefully. "Spring cleaning… in the fall."

Eve's eyes narrowed. "They may be loud, they may be mad, and some may even be a bit perverted, but these are
my
raving lunatics. I happen to be quite fond of them."

Adam shook his head in mock disgust. "But not as fond as you are of me. No need to deny it, Eve. You're falling in love with me, and I couldn't be happier."

Her eyes assessed him with a sharp gleam. She hated to admit that his words held any truth, but they did. She was fond of him, although she certainly wasn't in love with him. She would never be that stupid. Adam whatever-his-name-was was too wild, too witty, and much too mischievous. Furthermore, there was another damning fact: her Adam had accepted gold to care for her. Even if he really loved her, such a disgraceful beginning couldn't have a happy ending. So without another word she pushed past him out the carriage door, and hurried up the stone steps to the front door.

Behind her, she heard Adam mutter, "A chest, a chest—my kingdom for Eve's chest."

It was the days of autumn rain. Outside her bedchamber, Eve could hear the splash of raindrops and tree branches scratching against the windowpanes. She barely glanced at herself in the oval mirror as she put on her pearl necklace. Nor did she note the tiny frown lines around her mouth. Instead, her mind was consumed with Adam, just like in her dreams and daytime fantasies. Ever since Adam had helped Frederick come to terms with his social gaffe, all lingering anger she felt at his deception had slowly bled away, leaving her longing to be with him.

Yet, four days had passed since the aborted assault on her virginity. Days in which she'd considered and reconsidered her choice. Anticipation and angst had been Eve's daily companions, for her husband had been the perfect gentleman. To say that was surprising was an understatement, Eve thought disgustedly. And she should be hopping up and down with joy. Instead, here she was, staring into her mirror, seeing nothing but Adam's face, and wondering when he would make a move to seduce her again. His lips were so soft and hot, making her tremble with need. Placing several drops of perfume beneath her breasts and finishing the last of her toilette, she stared at her reflection. She was in fine form tonight. Her gown was fitted tightly at the waist, and it showcased her figure. The décolletage was lower than she usually wore, revealing the curve of her breasts. Adam would notice those—breasts that had begun to ache at night from wanting his mouth fastened to them.

Eve frowned, questioning her sanity. She couldn't really want to bed the man, could she? Just because he was devastatingly handsome was no reason to lose all sense. And why had he stopped tempting her and trying to get her alone? She knew he wasn't the kind of man to be stopped by repeated failures. He was too strong for that, and too virile.

"Of course," she said to herself, "if I were being absolutely fair, I must admit we've been busy here." With the full moon only a night away, the lunatics had been a rowdy bunch. They had kept both her and Adam busy soothing anxious nerves and calming turbulent water beds.

Giving one last look in the mirror, she nodded. "Let him ignore me
tonight
," she dared. And with those words she left her room to descend the stairs, her mind finding explanations for Adam's disinterest in her boudoir.

"Three nights ago," she said thoughtfully, "we had to track Mr. Carlen through the London stews. That certainly wasn't a picnic." Mr. Carlen had reverted to gargoyle form and flown the coop. Out of necessity, she and her husband had become a team, afraid that if the gargoyle went into a catatonic state he would be discovered. Humans would just not understand a gargoyle in the flesh. Therefore, Adam and Eve had tramped around until near dawn, when they had luckily spotted him. He was perched on the roof of the Birds of Paradise club, which Adam had seemed to think was a good sign. The flying monster was clearly looking for a feathered mate—or at least an evening with a soiled dove.

"And last night our patients and staff played cards," she mumbled as she crossed to the dining room. It surprisingly had been an enjoyable evening that Eve would long remember. Adam had patiently explained several games to a few of the patients and staff, while Mr. Pryce had explained the finer points of gin rummy to Mrs. Monkfort. Even Sir Loring, who had been hiding in the draperies and playing dead, had finally joined in the fun and games, and he'd won more than a few hands after having a cup of his native soil delivered under his chair. For good luck, the lanky vampire had explained.

Adam entered the dining room and greeted his wife cordially, his hazel eyes twinkling as he took in her dress. How he managed to act nonplussed, he didn't know. Tonight she was dressed in a rich royal blue, the color of the icy Atlantic. Her bodice was rounded and revealed her ample charms. And no doubt, he thought lecherously, underneath was her Freudian slip. The gown was cut lower than she usually wore, and he would bet all of Fester's gold that she had worn it to show him just what he was missing. The little corsair was adorable, but he would not play into her hands.

Before Eve could fully evaluate her husband's reaction, Pavlov claimed her attention with a compliment. Dinner then proceeded, and Eve scrutinized Adam then, although in a secretive manner. Just because she was becoming besotted with her spouse was no reason to let him know it. Why weren't those fingers stroking her at night? She took a sip of her soup, smiling slightly, watching as Adam dangled his wineglass from elegant fingers as he spoke with Pavlov.

"Tell me about the time you found yourself locked in a wine cellar with a thirsty vampiress,
n'est-ce pas
?" Pavlov cajoled, requesting one of Adam's more lurid adventures.

Eve tilted her head, listening vaguely to Adam's story while secretly pondering their problem. Adam was excellent. Despite her initial protests, she knew when to give praise. Adam visited with all the patients now, listening with the air of one really interested. His remarks were well thought out, almost as if he could see deep into the hearts of their darkness. The patients listened to his advice with wide smiles, and appeared to feel better after talking to him. Adam had told Eve that he preferred to call his sessions chats, rather than Verbal Intercourse, since he was saving that for her alone. Once she would have been incensed, but this time she found him amusing.

Actually, the past four days had seen many revelations for her, giving her new insight into Adam the man. Yesterday Mrs. Monkfort had even gone so far as to drink a glass of water without washing it first. She said Adam had convinced her that the water in the deep well behind the asylum was clean. And Jack the Rip had honored his wager to Adam after losing a game of piquet last night; this afternoon when Eve was called out to halt Jack from flashing her roses, his trousers had been off but his undergarments were firmly in place.

And the staff adored Adam, she mused. It was obvious. Collins—a sometimes footman and sometimes member of the serving staff—had noticed that her husband had finished his sautéed mushrooms, and he quickly dished out another serving. Of course, the trollish fellow managed to appropriate a few for himself, but Eve didn't begrudge them, since those with troll blood were notoriously fond of truffles.

Taking a bite of braised rabbit, Eve listened to Adam's response to one of Pavlov's remarks. Eve's lips twitched into a smile as she noted that even her assistant seemed impressed.

Pavlov began laughing at something Adam said. He did have a dry, wicked wit, she admitted, and he obviously relished playing doctor. She just wished he'd play it on her.

Watching his handsome face break into an engaging grin, Eve realized that she was more than fond of him. Until this dashing rogue had burst into her life like a Nosferatu springing from a coffin, Eve had preferred her heart just where it was. Life had been much simpler then, but it was so much more fulfilled now. Was this love, this awakening of the senses whenever he was near? When he was gone, she felt a hollowness inside. At times like that, she found that she had to actually resist the temptation to go running to find him.