The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (26 page)

“I am descended from a venerable, valiant line of barons and marquesses. My lineage may not be quite as exalted as yours, but it is a proud one. My family line was saving the world when you were just a gleam in your father’s fangs!”

Asher seethed, lifting his glass of wine and taking a gulp, his thoughts murky and nasty. He knew her entire Machiavellian ancestry. Murderous and sly, they were. “Jane, Jane, you are treading on thin ice. Don’t make me lose my temper with you,” he growled.

“What will you do, play the big bad vampire, and bite me on the neck?” Jane laughed.

Asher blinked. The image of sinking his teeth into his wife’s lovely neck was enticing; her blood would go to his head like bubbles in a glass of champagne. But he didn’t want to do that, and he hadn’t survived this many years without learning a thing or two. When all else failed, change the subject. “I heard your brother came by. What did he want?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” she replied.

“Your brother. He was here today.”

“He brought Spot.”

“What did you tell him about me?” Asher pried, wondering what plots Jane and her sibling had hatched while he lay sleeping like the dead.

“I lied. I said you were kind to me,” Jane hissed, her eyes pools of turbulent emotion. She and her brother had talked at great length about the proposed hunt for Dracul in October, since it would be of grave importance. They had discussed Brandon’s good friend’s death. But she had revealed very little about her marriage, not wanting her brother to become suspicious of her husband.

“That’s not what I meant. Does he know what I am?” Asher asked.

“That you’re a stubborn jackass? No. I didn’t tell him that. I told them you’re a man. And I will continue to lie to my family about what you really are—even the jackass part.”

“How very noble of you,” Asher mocked, ignoring the look of wounded dignity in his wife’s eyes. “Such surprising thoughtfulness, for a Van Helsing.”

“My lord, were you born such a bastard, or did that trait occur after you were given the vampire’s kiss?” Jane bristled.

“Do you know you look like a hedgehog right now?” Asher confided snidely, watching her. In spite of all his good intentions, he couldn’t seem to resist striking at her. He felt the need to fight, to assuage his tattered dignity by force. He knew he was being pigheaded, but no more than that wereboar friend of the Huntsleys.

“Born a bastard, I see,” Jane snapped.

“I will not be spoken to like this in my own home! Bite your tongue, woman, or I will do it for you,” he threatened.

“Oh!” Jane seethed with righteous indignation. “You sound just like my father. Ordering me around without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Don’t insult me, Jane. My temper has been sorely tried by this misalliance. And while you may have gotten what you wanted, I didn’t want a wife in a thousand years!”

“What makes you think I wanted to be your wife—especially when you insult and degrade me at every given opportunity?”

Asher looked taken aback. “Why, everyone wants to be my wife. I’ve been chased to ground by connubial bliss-minded females for hundreds of years.”

“Oh, you arrogant blood guzzler. You’re driving me batty. You’re a bloody, no-good—”

“Jane, Jane, remember your new station in life. I don’t believe a countess should curse,” Asher interrupted.

Jane ignored him, almost weeping. “You’ll never forgive me, will you? You will harp on and on about how you’ve been cheated. Well, my toplofty earl, I’ve been cheated too. I desired a marriage to a man who would willingly share his life with me, who wanted me to have his children. I wanted to cherish and be cherished. And look what I ended up with—a dead man walking always away from me. So if this marriage isn’t your ideal, it isn’t mine either!”

Asher snorted.

Cut to her very soul, her dignity and self-esteem shredded, Jane sighed. “You know, your tongue is sharper than any stake my family ever made.” She stood up regally, fighting back tears. She wouldn’t let her callous, contemptible husband see her cry. Turning abruptly toward the door, Jane hurried off, almost running to escape.

As Asher watched his prey flee, his predatory instinct came to the fore. He growled. Jane of all people should know better than to run. He wanted to feel her warm lips under his. He needed to drink in her erotic scent, to drink her virgin’s blood. He longed to feel her underneath him, moaning in ecstasy.

Before she could reach the door, he leapt over his chair. Taking another leap, he reached Jane’s side and yanked her into his arms, crushing her to him and pinning her against his chest. Lowering his head, he ravaged her lips.

He could taste the blood welling from a cut on her mouth. He could smell the sweet, cloying odor. It almost drove him wild. He licked at her, his tongue tasting all her honeyed essence. He groaned, his thirst begging to be slaked. She was a bloody good experience, this unwanted, plain, vampire-hunting wife of his.

His hands rose to squeeze the firm plumpness of her bosom, which overflowed his large fingers. They felt wonderful. Bloody marvelous. His cock swelled, and he began to ache with a new need: to bury himself deep in her tight, hot depths.

Jane moaned, her senses reeling. At first Asher’s kiss had scared and hurt her. But in the space of a heartbeat, the assault had changed to a fierce persuasion, a sweetness that required her response.

As her husband pressed her close, Jane felt a large hardness against her. It gave her pause. Asher was not as immune to her as he pretended. And most certainly his body felt the same way she did—maybe even more so, she thought vaguely as he rubbed it against her.

“Oh, Asher,” she moaned, and pressed tighter, trying to meld her body into his. She wanted to be consumed, to burn and burn, to go up in flames like a phoenix to be reborn. She sensed that Asher could take her to places she had never been, and to walk on clouds that knew no end.

Pressing herself against him, she clung to his shoulders, her world spinning. She felt strange tinglings in her body, which began to burn. She hungered for her husband’s touch, and for something she couldn’t name.

Her breathing became erratic as longings of a more explicable nature swamped her. Tonight! She would finally, truly be his wife tonight; and if this kiss was anything to go on, she felt as if she might be reduced to dust by it.

Asher himself wanted Jane with a fervor that surprised him. His plain little duckling had the softest of lips, and her neck so was very, very inviting. Her scent was beyond description, calling to him in a primeval way. He had to have her now.

He lowered his head and placed a kiss on her breasts. She squirmed against him. Enflamed, he suckled her breast into his mouth, drawing it gently between his teeth. He could feel the nipple peaking, and waves of her heat scorched his groin. He felt as if he needed to bury himself within her in the next few seconds, or he would explode—something he hadn’t done since he was a young man of fourteen.

Suddenly, the most hideous noise interrupted their passionate encounter. Asher broke away, a little dazed.

“What is that sound?” he asked, his breathing labored as he tried to crush down his desire.

It took Jane a few seconds to understand what he husband was asking, so dazed was she by his kisses.

“That noise, Jane—what is it?”

Bemused, she finally recognized the sounds coming from outside the informal dining room’s open balcony window. They were coming from the garden. And only one creature in the garden—probably in all of London—could make that screeching.

“It’s Orville,” she answered. “Orville sometimes likes to sing at night.”

Pushing her away, Asher stared at Jane in stunned disbelief. “Does he make that noise often?” He shifted uncomfortably, his pants too tight. His wife could certainly kiss. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she wasn’t a virgin. But he did know better. And that noise… “Surely not. Nothing should even ever make that noise once!”

Jane would have laughed at the look on her husband’s face, if she didn’t feel like crying. Her body was a riot of emotions. “No. It’s just that this is a new place, and he is probably lonely for me.” As she spoke, she put one hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. One small fib wouldn’t hurt too much.

Asher bowed curtly. “Then you must go and comfort the infernal bird. And since the night is not getting any younger, I have places to go and people to see.” He stalked icily off.

He could feel Jane staring at his back, but he breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. She was quite pretty when she was angry, and he had been stopped from taking his wife on the floor of the dining room. For that, Asher was more than grateful. Who would believe it? Saved by the bird.

The
theatre was crowded with society’s elite, who were sparkling and shining in their jewels and rich clothing. With so many present, the noise was like a thousand wasps trapped in a bell jar. Now some were discussing Lady Veronique’s mysterious disappearance, and the missing prostitutes that the newspaper had been writing about. Twelve were now gone, vanished. Normally newspapers wouldn’t take note, but with the total so high, the public’s interest had begun to stir.

Ian, Clair and Jane had discussed it in the carriage earlier, wondering if supernatural species were involved. Jane hadn’t revealed that she thought it was Dracul. She’d save that for later.

They all sat in Baron Huntsley’s box, waiting for the play to begin. Clair and Jane had been discussing the first week of wedded bliss—or rather, the lack thereof. Ian observed the crowd.

“Asher doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t want me,” Jane complained. She didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Neil Asher was impossible. He made her so mad at times, she wanted to spit Neils.

Clair patted Jane’s hand, commiserating. “But I’ve seen the way Asher looks at you. He wants you, all right. He’s just too stubborn to act. But he will. Men like to sulk a bit. I imagine the earl will sulk a bit longer.”

“If I were a man, I’d never sulk and treat my wife shabbily,” Jane declared. “I’d be free to do as I please. And I’d punch Asher in the mouth.”

Clair laughed.

Jane sighed. After a week of marriage, she was still a virgin. And the way things were progressing, she just might die one. Imagine, being married to one of the biggest rakes in London, being the envy of all women, and yet she slept alone, untouched and unwanted.

There were good things, however. For the first time in her life, Jane was free not to be a Van Helsing. She was free to do the things she enjoyed, to be herself and not have to tote stakes, formulate battle strategies or be around blood and gore. For the first time in her life, Jane was mostly happy. And she was falling in love. She felt excited, agitated, hurt and a little sick. Shaking her head, she wondered why people raved about the experience.

“I just know everything will turn out well. I believe when Asher comes to his senses, he will realize what a wonderful wife you will make. He will fall down on his knees and declare utter love and devotion to you,” Clair confided confidently.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, Clair. I rarely even see my husband. He has quite the aversion to me,” Jane said. “He didn’t want a wife. And if he did have to marry, he would have much preferred someone else.”

Clair shook her head regretfully. “Who? Jane, you have a beauty that shines forth from your lovely eyes, a brave heart, a good nature and a bright wit. You have a beautiful neck, the envy of any woman, and especially desirable to a vampire. And your bosom is large—larger than my own!” Sneaking a peak at her husband, Clair blushed, adding, “Believe me, the bosom being big is a big thing for men, be they mortal or immortal.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jane remarked despondently. She glanced down at the plump fullness of her breasts, displayed quite deliberately and prettily by her low décolletage. “But I could be the very loveliest lady and Asher wouldn’t care. You know he is in love with you.” Jane said the last with a hint of jealousy in her voice. She couldn’t help it; she loved Clair dearly, but some small part of her resented her friend’s hold on her husband. It made her feel small, but she felt it just the same.

“He thinks he is, or was. But you love many people and many things in life,” Clair stated firmly. “The heart is a most wondrous organ. It is big enough to love deeply and passionately more than once in a lifetime. Asher will realize that. He has loved before me, and he will love you. I know this, Jane. I know this with all my soul.”

Jane’s eyes misted, and her misery lessened just a tad. She gripped Clair’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Yet… we have so much against us, Clair, for him to love me.”

“You, my dear Jane, are well worth loving. Never let a little thing like you having been a vampire-slayer and him being a vampire spell the end. Such small things in a marriage can set it on a rocky course, but you have the power to overcome.”

Jane hid her smile. Only Clair Frankenstein Huntsley would think that their problems were small things, easily overcome. “So, do you take your own advice?” she asked, her tone light. “Ian being a werewolf doesn’t bother you at all?”

Clair laughed. “Of course not! It’s bloody marvelous. My supernatural research has never gone so well. And never has it been so much fun. Having your own private specimen to study in the flesh… it’s quite invigorating.”

Jane blushed, a quick visual of what Clair meant flashing through her mind. But it was a dark visual. It was so unfair! She had been married a week and still was ignorant of what went on in the bedchamber at night.

“I’ve quite given up my Bunsen burners,” Clair said slyly. “Ian was tired of getting singed.”

Jane laughed this time, but the laughter died abruptly as she saw her husband enter a box directly across the theater. On his arm was a stunning woman with dark hair piled high upon her head. Her scarlet gown was daringly cut, revealing a large cluster of rubies and a rather impressive bosom. Jane frowned, thinking that the so-called lady looked as if she knew exactly what went on behind closed doors between a woman and a vampire.