The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (20 page)

Jane stood, her hands clenched so tight that her fingernails dug into the tender flesh of her palms. “I see! You will sacrifice me on the altar of family duty. I am to marry a man who might possibly be a vampire in order to spy on him. This man, who has offered me the honor of marriage and saved my good name as well as your honor—when his use to us is at an end, you will end him!”

“Jolly good, Jane. For once you have quickly grasped the situation,” her father congratulated her, his gruff voice booming through the room.

Jane counted to ten. She could hear her brother counting to twenty. She wanted to slap her father silly and kick him in the shins.

Seeing his sister’s grim expression, her eyes sparkling with rage, Brandon took her hands and asked apprehensively, “Jane, when you were alone with him last night, did he try to bite your neck? Have you found any proof that he’s a vampire?”

As much as Jane loved her brother and hated telling him an untruth, she knew if she was honest, she’d be in widow’s weeds before the month was out. On the other hand, as soon as she was pronounced Asher’s wife, she would be at the mercy of a vampire. Jane was no idiot. She knew Asher’s mercy would be miniscule; and yet she owed him her loyalty. He was kindly saving her from a life of social ostracism when she’d been the one to instigate the whole situation.

“No,” Jane lied. If the earl later proved vindictive, she would tell the truth to her brother then. But her first loyalty was now to her soon-to-be husband. A refreshing change… if only he was alive. Which made her think of last night’s debacle and almost-debauching, and Asher’s very alive-seeming and magnificent chest.

Pursing her lips, she wondered if the earl slept au naturel? Did he sleep with a pillow? Would he expect her to share his coffin? She made a moue of distaste. She would slam the lid on that idea, and quickly. Even for more of the man’s deadly sweet kisses, Jane wouldn’t share a cramped casket in a dark, damp mausoleum. No way, no how.

“No, I have seen no evidence of the earl being a vampire,” Jane replied, her eyes studying the hunter green Persian rug on the floor. She would take a page from Clair, who wrote the book on telling little white fibs to save other people’s feelings—or their very lives, as it was in this case.

“No. Asher is most definitely not a vampire,” Jane said, smiling weakly. She put Asher’s big, white fangs and red eyes out of her mind.

Relief flashed across her brother’s face. “Good, good,” he said. “Since the information was wrong about him being the Prince of Darkness, I was most devoutly hoping the earl was not even one of the undead. I have been worrying since we left London.”

“No need,” Jane lied stiffly, studying her brother’s boots.

“Damnation!” the major cursed. “If the earl is not a vampire, then we lose our inside track. You can be bloody well sure that my brother, Jakob, will be hot on Dracul’s trail if he gets a whiff that the gruesome who-some is on the island.” He pounded on the end table beside him, upsetting his glass of brandy. “This whole jumbled mess is for nothing! Once again, Jane has put herself in the brambles, and has put a stain on the Van Helsing pedigree with her actions.”

Brandon stood straighter, his expression outraged. “By gawd, Major! Jane is in this mess because of your dubious orders. As her commander,” he suggested, “doesn’t the buck stop with you, father?”

“D’oh! Oh dear. Yes, well,” her father blustered, his pinkered face now scarlet. “I am just disappointed in losing a possible connection to that vicious vampire. I was counting on Jane’s eyes and ears.”

“We’ll find a way, father. We always do,” Brandon remarked pensively. “Besides, this time it’s personal.”

Noting that her brother’s anger had faded, sorrow taking its place, Jane gently stood and patted his arm.

“What’s happened, Brandon? What occurred in Transylvania that has you so down?”

“Dracul is what happened. He killed a friend of mine in Bulgaria.”

She reached up and kissed his check. “I am so sorry. Can I do anything to help?” she asked, but she already knew what she would do. Suddenly, living with a vampire had a fifth good reason. As her father suggested, vampires often flocked together in nests. Surely living in the same residence as Asher would enable her to gather information on whether Dracul was come to Town. Once she had gathered this information, she would relay it to her brother in the form of an anonymous tip. She didn’t want to harm Asher, but she wasn’t her father’s daughter for nothing.

The
vicar of Huntington parish surveyed the dour wedding party with a twinge of unease. He much preferred morning weddings to these late-night affairs. In the past month he had presided over four weddings and a funeral. This wedding reminded him more of the funeral. The vicar knew that this ceremony was being rushed. In point of fact, the groom had only proposed the night before. But what could you say when the nobility were involved?

The vicar sighed and glanced over at the father of the bride. The man’s expression was bordering on petulant. The bride’s brother wore a look of woe. Baron Huntsley, who was seated next to his wife, appeared resigned, while the earl’s man of business had a solemn demeanor. Worst of all was the groom, who for all his exalted personage looked as if he wanted to bite somebody’s head off.

The bride entered the chapel. She was pale, her mouth was pursed in a tight line and the bouquet of flowers in her hands was shaking, scattering petals here and there, which made the vicar feel that there was definitely more going on than a case of bridal nerves. To be honest, the vicar decided that the only person who appeared happy at this supposedly joyous occasion was the baroness Clair Huntsley—she was smiling merrily.

The vicar shook his head slightly. There was just no judging the Quality. They were a breed unto themselves. And the Huntsleys and their peers more than most.

Clair turned around in her front-row pew and waved dramatically at Jane. Then, turning to her husband she remarked, “Oh dear, Ian, look at Jane. Why, she is beyond pale, and she’s not even undead.”

Ian nodded. “She would have been beyond the pale if the earl hadn’t married her.” Glancing over at the groom, he added, “Asher isn’t in much better shape. I can’t tell which of the two is whiter.”

Clair patted her husband’s thigh. “They’ll be fine. I give them two months, and they’ll be madly in love.”

“Mad, I concede, but love is a pipe dream. This time that Frankensteinian brain of yours has conceived a plan that’s scientifically doomed to failure.”

“Never,” Clair argued. “But speaking of mad, the major looks like he could spit nails. Or Neils,” she added as a joke.

Ian grinned.

Unaware that he was under discussion, Major Edward Van Helsing raised his arm to escort his daughter down the aisle, his pudgy face somber. Glancing down, he noticed Jane’s extreme pallor. “Come now, girl. Buck up. Remember, neither rain nor sleet nor hail nor snow can stop a Van Helsing from his duty. Besides, you are marrying an earl—quite a coup, Jane. Your mother would be proud.”

Jane straightened her spine and laid her trembling fingers upon the man’s arm. Then, turning toward Clair, she managed to nod stiffly, physically restraining herself from running screaming from the church.

Tonight was an ending for her, as well as a beginning. From the ashes of her old life, she would begin a new life with Asher.

Regrets beat at her mind like a trapped bird in a too-small cage: Regrets that by this marriage she would be leaving her brother, whom she dearly loved, and her father, who had never seen who she really was or what she wanted to be. Regrets that her father would have used her as a spying tool if he had known she was really marrying a monster. Regrets that she and her groom were being forced to wed at all. So many regrets, they were fighting each other in her mind for attention.

Scrunching her eyes, Jane recalled that she needed to speak to Clair about the fur in the settee leg. She would also hint that a better carpet might be bought for this church.

Looking up from her study of her shoes and the awful brownish red carpet in the aisle, her eyes sought out the groom. He would have taken her breath away, if she’d had any left to give. Asher was dressed entirely in black, with the exception of a red waistcoat, trimmed in jet. Anger radiated from him in waves. She guessed the old adage was true, and she muttered, “Hell hath no fury like a vampire made to marry.”

“What did you expect, daughter? The earl is renowned for his dalliances with beautiful women.”

She missed a step at her father’s words. Anger overcame some of her panic. But glancing at the groom, Jane swallowed hard at the frosty look in his eyes. There was no welcoming smile to soften his stern features. And she couldn’t really blame him for detesting her; not after her foiled attempts on his undead life and this forced trip to the altar.

She felt like crying. Her groom was not only coldblooded, but he also had very cold feet. And not because he was undead, but about her! Even discounting the fact that the earl didn’t want to be wed to a woman he detested, he was also marrying beneath him. Her father was a mere knight, and her uncle only a baron. The Earl of Wolverton could have married any lovely lady in the land. Any other woman on this day would be merrily singing, thrilled to wed such a handsome, wealthy earl; overjoyed to marry up in status, not fearful. But, then, they wouldn’t know that the groom might pop up in bed (his casket?) at any time and bite her neck—in a bloody way.

Feeling Asher’s scornful gaze upon her, Jane returned to her intense scrutiny of the ugly rug and her pale green slippers. She was afraid. In less than an hour she would belong to a man who was not a man, and he would have absolute control over her life. And this man was a vampire in love with her bosom chum, which was a fact impossible to ignore.

Despite her groom’s obvious disgust, Jane felt her eyes drawn to Asher once again. Tonight he was wearing dignity and a new suit of clothes, standing stiff and starched and unfriendly. Jane breathed deeply, trying to calm her nerves. She had not forced Asher into the misalliance of the century.

No matter the earl’s feelings, Jane intended to do all she could to be a good and loyal wife. She had a fine example in her mother. Thinking back to childhood, Jane recalled how her mother often used to wait for the major to come home from his nightly forays in vampire-staking. The woman often had a hot bath prepared, cold water too, to soak his jacket and shirt, and a glass of brandy for her husband. She’d never scolded the major for the dusty ashes or blood on his clothing.

Would Asher want a hot bath and brandy, or would he want a blood bath? That particular thought made Jane twist her lips in an expression of pure distaste, and her stomach grew queasy.

“Buck up,” Jane mumbled to herself under breath. She intended to be a solicitous wife, even regarding her groom’s blood fetish. She just wasn’t quite sure how. There was so much about her new husband she didn’t know. Did Asher have any mirrors in his house? If not, how would she do her hair and dress for balls? Did he mind sleeping in such close quarters night after night? Perhaps he’d had an oversized coffin made. She hoped so. Did he have a silver tea service and if not, what did he use when entertaining? All the best tea services were silver. Did he track in mud from the graveyard at night? Did he rise at sunset all grumpy and ill-tempered, as her father did upon his morning wake-up call? Would her husband expect her to entertain large nestings of vampires? If so, what was the social etiquette? Did one offer them wine, brandy—your blood?

As she passed the Huntsleys in their pew, Jane took a shaky breath and managed a faint smile for Clair, who was grinning ear to ear. At least someone was enjoying the wedding, she thought morosely. Too bad it wasn’t her. At least she would never have to polish her father’s silver again.

Where were her chocolates when she needed them? Her life was spinning out of control. Her thoughts were tripping over each other. Would the major discover Asher’s secret? She sincerely hoped not. She did look so dreadful in black. What did she really know of the groom besides that he was a notorious womanizer and vampire? Did he like to walk barefoot in the grass, or did he reserve that solely for his crypt? Were monsters’ balls solely for monsters? Would Asher keep a mistress now that he was joined in the holy state of matrimony? Probably, she answered herself, since a rake was a rake, even if he had fangs instead of teeth.

Somehow the thought of Asher’s mistresses irritated Jane; she realized that she couldn’t bear to conceive of him being passionate about another woman. Jane wasn’t sure what her feelings were for this tall, handsome vampire; they were feelings she would rather not take out and examine in the naked light of day. But despite her best intentions, her childhood training, and her lack of ability to draw and keep the attention of such a remarkable catch, Jane had felt strong emotions about Asher from the first. He’d called to her in a way no man or creature of the night had ever done. It was as if he had her destiny written upon his face.

Her father had taught her to put her heart into her objectives—an easy feat with Asher as her husband. She intended to cherish him until the day she died, and to one day make him proud that he had married and saved her from ruin. Despite his pompous airs and neck-biting tendencies, her groom stirred a deep pool of emotion that had been tightly dammed inside her.

Finally, the long walk down the aisle was done. She glanced up as her father handed her over to the groom. Asher was a lighter shade than his usual color, and Jane wondered if his injury was bothering him. She managed a weak smile.

“Your bride, Wolverton,” the major said curtly. “Take good care of her, if you can.”

Asher glared bitterly at his soon-to-be father-in-law and noted the man’s stiff posture and sour features. “I will do my duty, Major,” he retorted contemptuously. Ian had explained that the Van Helsings knew they had a case of mistaken identity. They also believed he was innocent of being a vampire. Ha! Asher thought morosely—he wouldn’t take the Van Helsings at their word. They were a bloodthirsty, vicious, murdering lot. And he was to be related to the whole untrustworthy group. It was a sorry state of affairs that a master vampire should be made to suffer such a horrendous misalliance.