The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard (London Paranormal 03) (8 page)

Eve held her breath for the umpteenth time on this horrid, horrid night. The big souse was going to land straight on the table by the stewed prunes!

Eve managed to remain seated, though she wanted to howl in misery. How had her life become this farce? In one fell swoop, she had found that she had a traitor for a father, a drunk for a butler, and a liar for a husband who was probably also a confidence man, scheming his way into women's lives and robbing them blind.

"What an absolutely dreadful butler—all that banging and lurching about. The things we put up with in servants. I find this quite distressing," Countess Caligari stated, her thin lips quivering in distaste, her small eyes glinting. "I have an employment agency that might help you find someone more suitable. They provide the best servants for all the best houses. But… perhaps they are short of staff now." The way she spoke, Eve felt sure that the countess doubted whether Eve's house was good enough for the best servants—maybe even for the worst ones.

"I thank you, Countess. Your sincere offer is most kind," Eve replied. Then, under her breath: "Keelhauling is too good for Teeter. Instead I shall chop him into little bitty pieces and feed him to the fishes."

Having heard his wife's testy comment, the man called Adam leaned over, murmuring to her in a conspiratorial tone, "My, my, such bloodthirst for someone not a vampire. Besides, I thought that was what you were going to do to me—feed me to the fishes. Or have you changed your mind?"

Ignoring his charismatic manner, Eve thought hard for a moment. Slowly she smiled, a smile of pure devious intent. The daft trickster thought he had her leg-shackled and trapped, but he was wrong.

"Ship ahoy!" she whispered. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing, and
nobody
—even if that nobody became a
somebody
—was going to trick her and get away with it. Besides, hadn't her grandmother always said that necessity was the mother of invention? Eve was far more inventive than most. And soon the affable Adam wouldn't be a fictional husband, but history.

Adam couldn't take his eyes off his so-called wife. There was something in her finely shaped features that smote his heart. Her voice was husky and deep, almost too much for such a small package, and her demeanor was both demure and full of militant determination. That wasn't altogether surprising, since her father had relayed that Eve was like a little admiral when she wanted something, demanding and commandeering, What a delight his marriage bed would undoubtedly be! In fact, if his luck held, so-called wedded bliss might be just that. That was, he thought, rubbing his chin, if he could get his new wife to quit shooting daggers with her eyes. If looks could kill, he would have been dead twenty minutes ago.

What a lark his arrival had been. He could still see her eyes rounding in disbelief, her dainty hands clenching into fists. In spite of all her ladylike airs, he had a strong feeling that Eve Bluebeard would have planted him a facer if they had been alone. His pretend wife wasn't shy, coy, or silly, but then a pirate's daughter wouldn't be. He would always know what he was getting with Eve, and that was a refreshing change.

Seconds after spotting his quarry, Adam had decided to stay put permanently, in spite of Eve Bluebeard's wishing him to the very devil. He knew he should be frightened of double-dealing in his deal with Captain Bluebeard, but his nether region and his heart were of a different opinion. The captain had paid him to pretend to be Eve's husband, but he also expected Adam to meet an untimely demise in the not-too-distant future. This death was merely to be a pretend one, with Adam disappearing, leaving Eve free to marry Captain Hook. But that plan was no longer workable for Adam. Instinctively he knew that he had found the home he had been looking for all his life. Neither Bluebeard could force him from this comfy nest now.

Setting down his wineglass, he nodded in answer to another question put to him by Count Caligari and Dr. Crane, the latter having quizzed him quite thoroughly about Transylvania and his latest case. Luckily, Adam had always been a quick study, his love for tomfoolery as great as his taste for high adventure.

"So, you solved this fearsome Nosferatu's bloodlust in less than two years. Remarkable, just remarkable," Dr. Crane remarked, his voice holding notes of contention and disbelief. "May I be so bold as to ask how you achieved this miraculous recovery?"

Adam was about to answer when Eve interrupted. "I'm sure that Dr. Griffin"—she seemed to almost choke on the name—"can share that information with you tomorrow, or another day, after he is rested from his long journey."

"But to cure a vampire of bloodlust is startling!" the count remarked, lifting his bejeweled monocle up to view Adam suspiciously.

After some moments, Dr. Sigmund nodded, the myriad lines around his eyes crinkling. "That is true, and this could be an important discovery. Most especially with any of the Dracul lineage, since their bad blood often leads to displays of excessive violence. They cannot seem to control their drive to continue drinking every last drop, long after their bloodthirst is quenched. It is due to the strength of their libidos and their oral fixation—a fixation most likely begun in the oral stage of their development as Nosferatu."

"Yes, tell us more, Dr. Griffin, and don't mince words," Count Caligari demanded, spinning his monocle on its chain. "I am agog and shocked. Yes, shocked that such a vampire lineage, which included kings and queens from more than one country, should be so depraved and
abbandono
. Appalling, really, when you think about it, but all vampires crave power. The type of bloody messes the Dracul lineage leave behind are more in keeping with a primitive heritage, however, such as the common riffraff that flood the crowded London streets at night."

Eve wanted to roll her eyes at the count's obvious disdain for anyone not born with a silver spoon between his teeth or the bluest of blood. What would he think if he knew his hostess was the daughter of one of the most notorious pirates in English history—and Irish, for that matter? She would bet her last sextant that the count's horror would be almost worth the disclosure. Almost.

"Go on, Dr. Griffin. I too am agog at how you single-handedly managed to subdue such a ferocious Nosferatu," Dr. Crane urged, his amber eyes gleaming with mocking intent.

Sparing him only a haughty glance, Adam ignored the scholarly doctor's attempt to disconcert him. His motive was quite obvious, as Adam could smell the lust on Dr. Crane even as the owlish man smiled suggestively at Eve again. Obviously Dr. Crane wanted himself and Eve to do more than just flock together.

That thought had Adam repressing a very primitive urge to plant a boot in the addlepated doctor's arse, but before he could utter a setdown to the wereowl, Dr. Sigmund remarked with some asperity, "Dr. Griffin, I have been wondering if this vampire had difficulties in his potty training? Fear of the chamber pot can cause an adult vampire or a human immense problems in their adult lives."

Eyes flashing fire, Eve gave a slight shake of her head. She was clearly warning him to be silent. If he opened his big mouth and spouted nonsense, she could find herself with the committee's censure and no funding. She broke in: "Adam told me he didn't."

"Now, my dear, I know you love to stick that pretty little nose of yours into my business. And you are a great help—so much imagination and passion. And I will be the first to admit that your inventiveness has been my salvation, almost like a birth, leaving me a… new man. But I would like to tell this particular tale myself." Nonplussed, he held out a piece of sliced apple, which Eve declined less than graciously.

Slanting his gaze away from her infuriated and fearful one, Adam looked over at the other doctors. Oozing breezy confidence, he finished his early remarks: "My wife is… correct. The vampire had no chamber pot fears. Although he did fear certain chambers and what he would do when he first rose from his crypt at sunset."

Glancing at the rapt faces all around, the angry female face to his side, and the scowling, owlish face across the table, Adam began his tale. Sounding knowledgeable and pompous was just one of the many skills he had recently acquired. Some minutes later, Dr. Sigmund's wife was crying, wiping her eyes on her initialed handkerchief, while Countess Caligari stared in fascination, her greedy eyes devouring more than his fine mind. Dr. Sigmund looked intrigued, while Eve looked like she'd like to lash him to the nearest mast and give his back a striping at the first opportunity.

In spite of Eve's lack of appreciation, Adam knew that the renowned actor Kean couldn't have done better himself. Adam had brought the house down. Aside he uttered, "You should be flattering me."

"Flattery is not what I had in mind," Eve whispered back. She stared at the impostor, seething. This madman, who was not really insane, she didn't think, had just been telling the most outrageous tales about his supposed cure. What a quack! Yet most of her guests seemed genuinely impressed with his ludicrous cures of locusts put in coffins for little meals—small dinners, he called them, to subdue hunger—and violin music to be played when awakened. Next he would have Frederick Frankenstein out at the graveyard listening to the impromptu concert! Furthermore, the utterly caddish crook didn't have a flicker of remorse in his large, expressive eyes.

Twisting her necklace in frustration, she very much debated telling all and sundry that Adam wasn't her husband, that he was in all likelihood really a criminal, a crook, and, last but not least, a pirate crony of her father. But managing to barely hang on to her composure, she sat back in her chair, her attention once again on the conversation at hand.

"It sounds as if your vampire had an internal struggle—a power struggle
sexual
in origin," Dr. Sigmund said as he took a gulp of wine.

Adam's expression perked up even more. He grinned in delight, thinking this mind-doctoring-might be very useful indeed, noting the mulish set of Eve's features. "Indeed? Sexual?"

Nodding, Dr. Sigmund continued with his suppositions in a slow manner, sipping wine as he explained. "Of course, my boy, everything in life is a sexual power struggle. All people—male or female, supernatural or human, whether they haven't a feather to fly with or are as rich as Midas—want to be the leader, the one who holds all the power. Men want to be masters over their own domains and the dominant force in their relationships. It's only natural, since God made man in his own image, and ladies' sensibilities are too flighty for true power or leadership."

Eve bent her head in a politely attentive manner, not wanting to contradict the eminent doctor, even though his remarks were so far off course as to be lost in a sea of stupidity. She'd known this flaw of his all along.

Yes, although Dr. Sigmund did indeed have a brilliant mind and was one of the leading authorities on mental illness in the supernatural, he was still a member of the male gender, with a fallible viewpoint on women. He believed that women were often trials inflicted upon the male of the species, meant to test and improve them. He also believed that every illness of the mind had a sexual aspect. And while Eve believed that some mental sickness came from sexual starts, not every mental aberration revolved around coupling—unless you were an incubus or a succubus.

For a remarkable man, Dr. Sigmund could be remarkably obtuse. He didn't notice Eve's lack of appreciation as he continued with his dialogue. "Yes, people in general, most especially men, crave to be the top rooster in the henhouse, the cock of the walk, so to speak. Naturally, these cocks all want their beaks to be the biggest and their crows loudest of all. These barnyard crows cause all the hens to fall into line. When this doesn't happen, they envy. This envy then twists in their mind, making them sick. Women can also feel this. I call this theory cock envy, also referred to in polite circles as barnyard begrudgement. Problems can occur, causing mental aberrations as well as physical—men running about half-cocked, or with a cock who won't fight at all."

Adam was listening intently, since all this muck about sex and power struggles was highly entertaining to a person of the male persuasion. But he would bet his last groat that his wife was not amused.

Catching her eye, he smiled wickedly, feeling a sudden urge to egg the good doctor on, along with his wife. "Yes, I think you may be right. Over the years, I do believe I have seen evidence of this barnyard begrudgement. I myself have been fortunate enough never to have had cock envy. Probably that's why my marriage works so well. Not that I would crow about it."

"Indeed," Dr. Sigmund replied amiably.

Eve could feel her face heating. Envy his cock, her foot! The man was a chicken—a blight on fair and fowl alike, and a big, fat blighter! He also had a pronounced flair for the bawdy. She wished she could take drastic action by stuffing a gag in this great pretender's mouth.

"How fortunate," Countess Caligari spoke up, her eyes hot and her tone a little breathy. Glancing at Eve, she smiled slyly. "How very fortunate for both of you."

Eve wanted to beat her head upon the table—or rather, her fake, infuriating husband's head. She'd never envied any cock in her life, much less that of a figment of her imagination.

Catching her eye, Adam grinned and then winked at her, then went on with apparent sincerity, "Yes, we are both extremely lucky. I feel I can tell you in all confidence, that my Eve doesn't have this cock envy, either. I keep her well satisfied, you can believe." The last accompanied a speaking glance at Dr. Crane, who acknowledged it with an unblinking stare.

Take that, you nest-wrecker and rodent chaser
, Adam thought nastily. He had known instantly that Dr. Crane was a shape-shifter of the avian sort. By the man's coloring and large eyes, Adam also knew instantly what kind of feathered foe this was, since he had traveled extensively and seen many kinds of monsters. He'd also read the
Who's Hoo
book of wereowls.

"Adam!" Eve spoke up. "I think we've had enough talk of roosters tonight."