The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard (London Paranormal 03) (5 page)

Dismayed, Eve straightened her back and thrust her chin forward. "I told you before that this is the way I choose to live my life. I will not be bound by the pirates' code."

The Captain glared at her. "A plank! A plank! My kingdom for a plank. It's mutiny, surely it is, for a daughter to speak so to her doting old da."

Eve smiled coldly. A lesser woman might have given in to her father's constant harassment, but not she. "Yes, it is."

"Argh," he sputtered, his face red. "Blast it to smithereens! I can't believe me own flesh and blood is so cold-blooded, so unfeeling of her poor da's feelings. Ashamed of me, ye are."

Eve's icy smile faltered, and she hurried over and patted his arm. Was he serious? "I'm not ashamed of you, Da, just of what you do to earn your living. I love you, you know, in spite of the fact that you're a rogue of the first order, and a rapscallion to boot."

The Captain patted her back, the redness leaving his thickly bearded face. "Well, then, if I can't get ye to leave this here mausoleum, then at least give me my second wish. Give me grandkids to dandle on my knee and to sail the China Sea with."

Eve raised a brow. Grandchildren were the last item on her agenda, especially with her husband—or rather, without him. She said, "You know that's impossible for the time being."

"You're speaking of your marriage, are ye not? This mysterious marriage ye contrived in Vienna? This havey-cavey marriage that I was not contacted about, to a man I never met and have still seen neither hide nor hair of?"

Nodding warily, she agreed. Her marriage of convenience was convenient indeed. For her. "Adam is very busy. You know full well that I have explained over and over about him. It's a marriage of convenience." Her father was up to something; she could tell. But what was it this time?

"A connivance is more like it. How's it convenient when the man ain't here to bed ye? Why, it ain't natural! Why on earth would ye go and marry some nobody who nobody ever gets to see?"

Eve hid her wince, his comment cutting too close to home. She turned away and nervously began to twist the pearl necklace around her throat. "You of all men shouldn't contest the fact that he's not titled. I don't care if Adam
is
a nobody. My husband is a paragon among men. I fancy that there is not a male like Adam Griffin in the whole world." And truer words were never spoken.

Bluebeard scowled, repeating with an assurance Eve found quite disturbing, along with a hard glint of determination in his eyes, "He's a
nobody
. It appears you've married a ghost, a nothing, a will-o'-the-wisp."

"You can't say that. You don't know him. He's really quite something," Eve defended staunchly, trying to quell her misgivings about the Captain's comments. He was giving her no quarter, and she really could have used the two bits. "He's perfect—and perfect for me. The perfect man."

Her father threw back his head and laughed. "You wish. Let me tell ye a secret, lassie. There is no perfect man. It's an invention by bored, silly, love-struck ladies." As he said the last, the laughter faded from his voice and his eyes fixed harshly on Eve's countenance. "Or of lassies who think they are better than they are. Daughters who should be giving up fairy tales before pirate stories."

"Your imagination is as unbridled as your tongue. I haven't the faintest idea what you're speaking of. Would you care for a glass of brandy?" Eve asked, pointing to a decanter atop the china cabinet, hoping the old ploy would work.

It failed, and her father shook his head. "I don't be needing any spirits to deal with a spoiled child."

"Oh, fiddle-faddle and fifteen men on a dead man's chest," Eve grumbled. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

Undeterred by bribery, Bluebeard pursued his course. "You need a flesh-and-blood man, lass, one who'll love and cherish ye. One who'll stick with ye during shipwrecks as well as windfalls." He fixed his fierce blue gaze upon her. "You're ripe for the bedding, Evie. You're twenty-eight come this March. Don't you think it's time to end this farce of a marriage and find yourself a real man? Why, I know Captain Ben Hook is still interested in you. And he said he'd pay me the dowry price. Though he ain't of the Penzance line like we be, the pirates of the Caribbean are not a bad lot. He wants to take to you wife, bad."

More like
bed
, Eve thought grimly, but she kept her rebellious thoughts to herself. Captain Ben Silvers—later dubbed Captain Hook—was a tall, thin man with a dark brown eye and a slightly rakish air. He had an eye patch, and a solid gold hook where his right hand used to be. He was also ruthless and cunning. Ever since she'd turned fourteen, Hook had attached himself to her. When she'd become eighteen, he'd begun to try to win her affections, to bind her securely to him. It had taken all Eve's cunning to elude the crafty rat. She had barely escaped his clutches and a seduction attempt, fleeing to Vienna to go to school.

Perhaps she should have told her father about Hook's less than honorable schemes. At the time she had been afraid her father would either challenge Hook to a duel or clap his hands in joy at the idea of her getting married. She'd wanted to risk neither event, so she had remained silent.

"You would tie to me to a pirating marauder whose motto is, Any port in a storm or a calm sea?" she asked.

"He's a lusty man who will fill yer belly with fortune."

Eve grimaced. "You make me sound like some Chinese cookie. Besides, I wouldn't want his fortune. I have never been interested in Captain Ben Hook, and well you know it. That rat-faced moron must be the unluckiest person I know."

"Why, that's blasphemy. Ben Hook is a wily pirate. He's got a hoard tucked away in his treasure chests, and his ship, the Tiger
Lily
, is fine, fast in the water and has good, strong lines. He's also got wererat blood in him. 'Tis true he's not a full-blood, but at least he's got some shape-shifting ability."

"I was speaking of his unfortunate habit of losing body parts," Eve remarked. And a rat was a rat, as far as she was concerned, even if he didn't turn completely furry during the full moon.

"Why, Evie, Hook's loss could have happened to any ol' sea dog. It's not his fault that ogre took exception to him trying to steal his gold fillings."

"And his eye?" Eve asked, arching a brow.

"A mere accident in Persia. Could have happened to anyone," her father replied lightly, staring up at the ceiling in an expression of pure innocence.

"Yes. I imagine he won't be peeking through keyholes into any harems anymore."

"That he won't," Bluebeard promised solemnly. "The sultan's threatened to hack off his… well, less fortunate parts, should he even show his face there again."

"A wise ruler and a fine judge of character, this Sultan. And you would have me leg-shackled to that!"

"Now, lass, I know Captain Hook is a bit rough around the edges—"

Eve interrupted. "Listen to what I'm saying, Da! I am not interested in this one-eyed pirate. He has more mistresses at one time than you have had wives, and that is saying quite a lot. Besides, this conversation is irrelevant.
I am already married
." She waved her wedding ring in his face and looked away.

"You can just as easily be widowed," the Captain remarked. "I know Hook will oblige me. You're too lovely a lass never to know a husband's touch, and I'm much too impatient not to have a grandchild or two to spoil in me dotage. Now, lass, no more Barbary tales about this absentee husband of yours. Produce him, reproduce with him, or forget about him."

Eve growled. "May I remind you that my husband is dedicated to treating illnesses of the supernatural mind? He is still with one of the Dracul vampires in Transylvania, where he is trying to help the count overcome a rather overzealous bloodlust."

"Yes, yes, you've said that. But surely three years is long enough to cure whatever ails this fruit bat."

"Not when you're of the Dracul line of Nosferatu. Adam may be doctoring him for decades."

"Yeah, he might. Or again, he might not. Fate is a fickle mistress," Bluebeard replied. He tweaked his stubborn daughter's cheek. "As is Father Time. And as you know, fathers know best."

"Indeed," she replied, not daring to speculate what that meant.

"You know it's not nice to try to fool a father," Bluebeard continued. "Trying to pull the wool over me tired ol' eyes… You should remember that you have to sail pretty close to the rocky shoal to put one over on yer ol' da."

"So you say," Eve remarked.

"So I
know
."

Eve narrowed her eyes. Yes, the cunning scoundrel was definitely up to no good. But what?

"I see you've kept Plato," he remained, seeing her drumming her fingers on the skull of Henry Morgan.

Nodding fondly, she remembered the day her father given it to her. There were times she missed her years of piracy. The adventure, the cheers of the crew… "Always."

"Well…" Glancing at the grandfather clock upon the mantel, Bluebeard remarked, "I should be taking me leave soon, since I know you're having that fine dinner party tonight."

"How did you know that?" She stared at him, suspicious.

"I have me ways. Friends in a high place or two."

"Oh," Eve said. More like friends in very low places, where the rum flowed cheap and plentiful.

Before she could question him further, bells began pealing, loudly clashing and clanging.

Bluebeard jumped, startled. "Bloody hell, what's all that noise? You haven't taken to making your poor demented patients go to church, have you? Going and kneeling for hours on end?" There was something akin to horror upon the Captain's weather-beaten face.

"No church, Da. That's just a cranky, bell-ringing dwarf."

The door crashed open with an ominous bang, and her father reached for his cutlass. It was just Teeter, though, who asked, "You rang, Dr. Eve?"

Sliding his cutlass back into his belt, Bluebeard remarked, "That was close. I felt it was me for whom the bells were tolling."

Glancing over at her butler, Eve sighed.

Around the bell tower, the leaves were falling, but the ill wind named Hugo had been dealt with. Walking down the spiraling steps of the tower, Eve watched as several of her staff efficiently escorted the ranting dwarf back to his room. The victorious Hugo had been in particularly rare form today, swinging through the air like some deranged ape and gleefully ringing the bells. But she had discovered that, this time, the reason the hunchbacked dwarf was ringing bells was to let her know that Fester was once again digging in her garden.

Muttering to herself, she resolutely headed there. "Fester. He must be having one of his paranoid delusions. But is he trying to hide his nonexistent pots of gold or find them?" Really, she thought peevishly, she didn't need any of the leprechaun's shenanigans right now. Didn't she have quite enough on her plate as it was?

If only Fester's pots of gold really did exist, then her funding problems for the Towers would be resolved and she wouldn't be worrying herself sick about tonight's dinner. But her guests would be arriving soon, and she was out trolling for devious dwarves and lunatic leprechauns! She had to stop Fester from his digging, and fill in the holes before any of her guests could fall into them.

Knowing that she had only a few precious hours, Eve hurried from her massive manor home, which was dotted with lichens and overhung with ivy. Its stone was now weathered to a deep grayish brown. Built during the Elizabethan age as a country retreat, it was a massive structure in an L shape, with towering spires and the bell tower from which she had just came. The tower's loud, pealing bells were much to Eve's and everyone else's annoyance, with the obvious exception of Hugo.

The grounds were extensive, with rolling lawns dotted with oak and chestnut tees, and overflowering with rosebushes and other budding plants. A great marble-and-basalt fountain lay behind the house, and Greek columns were placed elegantly among the clipped hedges and terraces. There was also a hedge maze.

As she passed her head gardener, Totter—cousin to her butler—she gave a quick nod. He was busy clipping an overgrown hedge, but he touched his forehead in respect and shyly pointed to a path through the maze.

"Dat Fester's over dere," he said.

Totter was an excellent gardener, but he had a slight speech impediment. And though he facially resembled his lanky cousin, he wasn't quite as tall. He had more bulk to his physique, which hinted at his ogrish ancestry.

Eve smiled in thanks and took the pathway he indicated, passing brightly flowering roses and traversing the lush hedgerows until she spotted Fester's little baldhead, with its few tufts of gray hair sticking out. The crafty leprechaun was bent over an enormous hole by the hydrangea bushes.

Shaking her head in exasperation, Eve hurried over to him, wondering what to expect. Fester was sometimes quite cranky and other times quite gregarious. With an Irish lilt to his voice but a ruddy face, the little fellow was almost ugly—all but his slanted eyes, which were fringed with thick black lashes and the color of fresh mint.

"Fester, I've told you time and again that these holes are a danger to anyone walking in the gardens. One could break a limb if they fell into your hidey-holes."

Fester glanced up, his eyes all buggy and round. "Well, me bucko… they're after it again, I tell ye. I heard them talking through the gilt-framed mirrors in the library this morning. They want me pots of gold. Each and every last one of them! Well, they won't find 'em—I tell ye that now, Dr. Eve! I'm onto their wicked, slick ways, and know their black hearts."

Not the old voices of Parliament through the gilt-framed mirrors again
! Eve opened her mouth to speak, but the little man before her began hopping up and down.

"I've foiled them this time, I have! I hid me pots of gold in the house," he said between hops, then stopped to point proudly. "So, you see, this hole here is a decoy. Parliament will think me gold is out here, when it's really inside!"

"I see," Eve remarked, staring at the gaping wound in her garden. "That was rather clever of you." She held her temper by a slender thread indeed. She wanted to beat her head against the proverbial wall. After two years of treating Fester's paranoia, she felt he was getting no better. He was an enigma, a paranoid character with delusions of grandeur along with peculiar conspiracy theory after peculiar conspiracy theory. One of Eve's personal favorites was about Napoleon. Fester believed that Bonaparte was not really dead, and that both the British and French governments wanted gold to finance a secret army to go against him. Those governments were always trying to steal Fester's imaginary gold.