The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (11 page)

Ian snorted.

As Clair and her husband were arguing, Jane was silently fuming, thinking that if her friend were a vampire, she just might happily stake her too. How could she have been placed in such close proximity to the earl on her first night here? Jane wondered begrudgingly. She needed time to come to grips with what she had to do. She needed time to gather up her self-esteem, for the earl had greatly battered it earlier in the evening.

Jane cursed silently, fidgeting in her chair and knowing that she should not. But Asher was sitting so close, his frosty scent teasing her nostrils, and that made her uncomfortable. How could Clair have placed the most handsome man in the room right by her side? She felt as though everyone were staring at Beauty and the Beast. Of course, in this house of a werewolf, that might mean Clair and Ian.

To make matters worse, Neil Asher’s mere presence was causing her heart to beat more quickly and her breathing to speed up. She was scared, and not of being attacked at the dinner table. Even such a debaucher as Count Dracul wouldn’t slurp on her in public, not with all twenty-odd guests watching.

She was frightened not of the earl but of herself. She was once again feeling a resurgence of the earl’s magnetic sensuality, like she’d felt on the night of the ill-fated masquerade ball. The strange urge was something she hadn’t felt since her first suitor, the author, courted her. He had been a handsome young gentleman, and had kissed her three times. The third kiss had involved something scary with his tongue, but it had stirred something deep within her. Not long afterward, her suitor’s deceit had been revealed.

Yes, that had been a dismal, heartbreaking discovery: that the man was wooing her only for her family connection to the supernatural in the hope that it might help his career. It had scarred Jane deeply, making her wonder if anyone could ever love her for who she was. She was no beauty, but couldn’t someone see past that to the warm, loving person inside who had so much to give?

Since the earl had spoken to her only twice, and both times briefly, Jane turned to her other neighbor, Mr. Warner. The man was rooting about in his food as if he were looking for truffles. His cravat was stained with oyster sauce, or perhaps it was the lentil soup. After two attempts at conversation, and getting mere grunts in return, Jane gave up. Mr. Warner really was a were boor.

Turning back to the earl and trying hard not be obvious, Jane studied him from the corner of her eye. She watched as he took a small bite of duck. She had never been this up close and personal before with the undead. She had also never seen a vampire eat real food, but due to her lessons, she knew one could. Vampires could eat small amounts of meat and drain certain types of liquor without problem. Much more was not tolerated. Of course, they could bespell a person to believe they’d eaten an eight-course dinner and consumed everything served.

The earl continued to eat in silence, for the moment ignoring everyone else as well as Jane.

Enough was enough, Jane decided firmly. She had a duty to do, in spite of the strange urgings this pompous bloodsucker stirred in her. She had to get him alone with her.

“My lord, I believe you are ignoring me,” she said. There, she had taken the bull by the horns, or rather the vampire by the fangs.

Asher turned toward her, his sneer spoiling his aristocratic beauty. Jane couldn’t help but smile, wondering if all the blue blood he’d drunk had gone to his toplofty head.

“Madame, are you perchance speaking to me?” he asked. “Are you speaking to me?”

“It appears that I am,” she said, batting her eyelashes in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner.

Asher cocked his head, studying her. “Do you have something in your eye?” he asked.

Jane could feel the heat of a blush start in her cheeks. “No, I do not.”

Asher gave her a look that was clearly a dismissal, then turned back to his other dinner companion.

Well, that went well, Jane thought in embarrassment. Stabbing at a piece of squab with her fork, she watched in horrified amazement as it flipped off her plate and struck the earl’s immaculate jacket. The vampire looked down, slowly shook his head and glared at her.

“Are you intending to ruin another of my jackets?”

Jane groaned, longing to put her head in her hands and weep. But the earl calmly removed the squab from his coat.

“I’m sorry. It just slipped,” she said.

“My valet will be quite upset.” Asher was about to go on when he noticed that Miss Paine’s embarrassed flush had spread to her lovely bosom. It was such a bounteous bosom—slightly marred by the freckles, it was true, but so pale and kissable. But the woman really was a clumsy puss.

“Somehow, when I am around you I seem to do the most foolish things,” she remarked.

He shrugged. “I am an earl. People are always toad-eating, doing the most remarkably silly things to gain my attention.”

“It’s not that you are an earl that had me flustered,” Jane remarked.

Asher smiled. “Oh. Well, my looks have been known to distract women and send them to their knees as well.”

Jane shook her head. “Such conceit.”

Asher shrugged. “Why should I be modest? I’m a grand personage, and well know it.”

“Indeed,” Jane retorted. “You poor man, having women dropping at your feet like flies. You must be honey laced with vinegar.”

He snorted, surprised to find Miss Paine had a clever bone in her body. He wondered which it was. “I must admit, of all the females I have had dropping around me recently, you left the most lasting impression.”

“I did?” Jane asked, taken aback. Had she made headway?

“Yes, you left a lasting impression on my jacket. Renfield was quite upset.” He gave a short cackle. So much for making an impression.

“I take it Renfield is your valet?” she said.

Asher nodded, noting Miss Paine-in-the-Neck’s lips. They were wide and too full, but they were definitely delicious-looking. A stark image hit him squarely between the eyes as he envisioned those too-full lips causing him to ripen and swell as they took him into her mouth and sucked upon him. His rambunctious rod hardened, and Asher shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Had the world run mad? What was he thinking?

“You must think me the most graceless female you have ever met,” the woman conceded, both graciously and regretfully. “Please forgive any disquiet I have caused.”

Asher remained silent, arching a brow.

Jane’s embarrassment began to fade somewhat, her temper beginning to simmer instead. The earl could be easier in his acceptance of her apology, she thought. “Thank you for making me feel so much better about my clumsy nature. I must compliment you on your gift of charm.”

Her sarcasm caught Asher’s attention. Once again, this little odd duck was acting the shrew. Strange, because most women bent over backwards to please him—and managed some rather interesting positions too.

“You aren’t the most clumsy,” he admitted. He recalled Ann Boleyn, who used to trip over her slippers constantly. That’s how she fell in love with Henry VIII and lost her head.

Cocking his head, he studied Miss Paine more closely, noticing the faint blue lines in her throat, which made him unusually curious whether her blood was sweet or tart, or perhaps a combination of the two. Maybe he would sneak a sip for an aperitif. She was certainly more attractive when her blood was up. So he would anger her some more.

Looking pointedly at the wineglass in her hand, he remarked, “I see you are tippling again.”

Her eyes flashed green fire. “Only this glass of wine,” she remarked. “I was foolish that first night I met you. But I learned my lesson.”

Asher waited, his glass raised to his lips. “Go on. This lesson was… ?”

“You could say that the night of the ball was a first-time experience in overindulgence for me. Most definitely, it was a mistake that will never be repeated,” she replied. She shuddered in memory. “I don’t know how you gentlemen can drink like that night after night without stopping. I felt like elephants were dancing in my skull the morning after.”

“Yes, the aftereffects of overindulgence do not a fine morning make,” Asher agreed, thinking of the few times he had drunk shape-shifter blood chased by the blood of warlocks. His preternatural hangover had lasted two nights, and he’d felt as if he were staked out and left to dry. Since then, he’d sworn off the more exotic victims.

“Yes, the morning after is so unpleasant. I wonder why gentlemen so often indulge,” she mused.

“Men must have their sport.” In agreement with his words, Asher’s gaze again took in the modest display of Miss Paine’s most outstanding assets. He wondered if her breasts would spill over his large, long-fingered hands? True, he’d been right in earlier thinking she was not his usual style, but maybe a change of pace would help his ennui. Life had lately become too much the same.

With both people and vampires acting the same way century after century, lately Asher’s life had begun to stream into one long, endless night. Little children grew old and died. Centuries passed. His dreams as a fledging had already been fulfilled or changed, leaving him agitated and restless, searching for something or someone to elevate his night-to-night existence. Lately he’d been asking himself: Was this all there was to undeath?

Jane shifted nervously, her blood humming. The look in the earl’s eyes was electric. She knew why women fell at his feet when he looked at them.

Asher watched her, his expression thoughtful. Miss Paine was indeed a breath of fresh air, and he was a sporting vampire always on the lookout for new adventures. Perhaps he would give her the thrill of her spinsterish life and woo her a little. Enough to get a taste of that intriguing blood and see if those breasts and elegant neck tasted as good as they looked.

He would court her only slightly—enough to stir interest, but not so much that he would be in danger of offering for the plain Miss Paine. Since she was definitely not a diamond of the first water, the guests would be intrigued and gossip, and Asher did so enjoy good gossip. He could also show Clair Frankenstein Huntsley and her fur-faced husband that his love for her was dying a quick death.

He would be very careful, as he always was. He was too wily a foe to be caught by the parson’s mousetrap. For too many years he had steered clear of marriage-minded females and virgins. The elevated and titled debutantes of polite society were a danger to bachelors like himself. They could be compromised. And compromised meant married in almost every case, due to honor and society’s conventions.

Yes, he decided, as he smiled at his intended victim, he would use Miss Paine and use her very well indeed. It was a shame he couldn’t use her completely. But he would leave Miss Paine’s virginity intact, since to do as his instincts strongly urged would only result in a hasty and repugnant marriage.

He turned on his most seductive smile, the one that had seduced queens. He had just found a way to liven up the next few nights. Imagine, a master vampire wooing a spinster. The gossips would have a field day!

Seeing the earl’s glorious smile turned on her, Jane swallowed hard. “My lord?”

His smile showed perfect white teeth. “Call me Asher,” he said quietly. “All my friends do.”

Jane swallowed again. She felt as if she were drowning in the blue depths of his eyes. What was this strange feeling that seemed to be eating her? Was this how his victims ended up eaten?

“Asher,” she said softly, her lips trembling. When he smiled like that, she wanted to kiss him silly. Her heart beat faster. She wondered if he could hear it.

He leaned closer, almost brushing her ear. “And I may call you… ?” He looked as if he would kiss her.

The force of his magnetism nearly left her breathless.

Silently, she repeated what she knew to be true: Asher was a bloodsucking vampire. In point of fact, he was the prince of bloodsucking vampires. He was also the enemy, and a lady wasn’t supposed to want to kiss anyone, much less the enemy.

Jane leaned back in her chair, as far from temptation as she could get. Even though she was an intelligent female, a Van Helsing and almost on the shelf, she was no match for this hot-blooded rake who also happened to be a cold-blooded killer.

“I’m Jane,” she answered, repeating silently to herself that this was Dracul, the Prince of Darkness, and that she was a Van Helsing, destroyer of vampires.

He leaned in close, his breath cold on her neck, and she could smell a scent like autumn apples and woodsmoke in winter.

Jane shivered. Her plan was working—although she still couldn’t figure out why the about-face on the earl’s part. He was clearly planning something. All night he had insulted her, and now he was trying to charm her? Jane knew that she didn’t stand a chance figuring out his motives if she couldn’t think clearly, and she couldn’t think clearly with him smiling at her like that. Caution being the better part of valor, she hastily remarked, “I’m sorry, I have a headache.” And with those words she practically leapt out of her chair and went to make her good night to Clair.

Asher shook his head. No one had ever gotten a headache before when he was bedazzling her. Maybe he was losing his charm, getting too long in the fang for this sort of thing.

Glancing at the six-foot mirror situated across the room and directly above the buffet table, he observed himself. My, what a handsome devil, he mused. Staring hard at his reflection, he smiled. He didn’t look a day over two hundred.

No, Asher reasoned, he wasn’t getting older; he was just getting better. He was in his prime. After all, he hadn’t even reached his three-hundred-and-ninety-fourth birthday yet. No, the strange Miss Jane Paine must really have a headache.

Jane
spent the next day looking for Asher’s coffin, putting garlic in his bed and avoiding being caught. Not your typical day at a house party.

She ran into Clair twice and even had a nice luncheon with her, which only increased her guilt. But no matter her friendship with Clair, her guestly duty or attraction to the vampire, Jane’s destiny had been mapped out long before she was even born.