by Minda Webber
Having had enough of fool's gold and lunatic leprechauns, Adam went in search of his beautiful bride. He yearned to bask in her company. He found Eve walking to the main entranceway with a pleasingly plump lady with remarkable greenish-silver eyes.
"Darling, there you are!" Adam said cheerfully as he approached, taking his bristling bride's hand in his own and kissing it tenderly. He disregarded completely her frigid demeanor. "Even though I saw you only a short while ago at breakfast, I find myself missing you, my little jewel."
Noting her patient's stunned expression, Eve quickly drew back her hand. She didn't want to introduce Adam to Lady Jane, but saw little choice. She would rather her patient meet her pernicious pretend husband than have Jane think she was involved in some scandal. After all, who—even a person with a Nosferatu husband—wanted to think of her doctor embroiled in some tawdry fly-by-night affair?
"Countess, this is my… husband," Eve said, her teeth aching to gnash in vexation. She sent him a withering glance. "Dr. Adam Griffin. Adam, this is the Countess of Wolverton, Lady Jane Asher."
Adam bowed, then politely kissed Lady Jane's hand. She exclaimed, "Oh, Dr. Eve, why didn't you tell me that your husband had arrived home? How exciting for you! I would have skipped my session today if I had known. I'm sure you two lovebirds long to be together, alone, and not deal with others' troubles—today of all days."
"You are as astute as you are charming," Adam answered agreeably.
"No, I didn't mind at all," Eve stated firmly at the same time. Seeing Lady Jane's confusion, she hastily amended, "Adam loves to tease, but I fear you'll think he's impertinent. Which he is, but that's another discussion. The discussion under discussion is that I truly enjoyed our session today, and wouldn't have postponed it for anything."
Adam sighed dramatically, a smile on his handsome face. " 'Tis true, Countess. My wife would only have worried if she hadn't seen you today. Her patients' welfare means a great deal to her. That's why I fancy her as I do. Such a compassionate lady, and such a fine, dedicated doctor."
Giving him a secret evil eye, Eve said, "My husband is a doctor as well, you know, and understands the profession's demands on time. I was glad to have our session today."
"But a husband is not just anybody," Lady Jane quickly pointed out. "A husband is a great part of a wife's happiness and duties—the latter which some spouses make seem like treats and not duties at all. I think your husband may be like my husband in that respect." Her eyes twinkling, Lady Jane smiled at Adam.
He grinned. "Truer words were never spoken. What a sensitive woman you are—and what a fortunate man your husband is," he said. Then he added with a dramatic shudder, "However, since I have been away from my beloved's side for so long, I fear my dearest feels she isn't even married. I am very much beginning to believe my winsome wife has grown so independent of her doting husband that she feels she has no spouse at all."
Eve glared at him behind Lady Jane's back, while the countess smiled knowingly. "I can tell how happy you are to be reunited with your wife, the sign of a happily married man. I still wish, though, that I had known you were due back from the Continent."
"It was unexpected," Adam explained. "I do so love to surprise my devoted wife."
"You can say that again," Eve muttered. Only Adam's sharp ears caught it.
"How wonderful for you both," Lady Jane said. "Together again after such a long separation. It must seem as if every day is a brand-new world."
"Oh, happy days," Eve agreed, with only a faint hint of mockery. But espying Adam's mirth-filled expression over Lady Jane's head, she had to count to ten to suppress her desire to boot her hysterical husband out the front door.
"Since your situation has changed, Dr. Eve, you simply cannot refuse my and Asher's invitation to Vauxhall Gardens on Thursday," Jane spoke up. "I've invited you to the gardens several times, and you've refused each time because Dr. Griffin was away. Last time you told me that you couldn't come because the romance of the gardens reminded you too much of Adam and your honeymoon." Jane clapped prettily. "Now that Dr. Griffin is here, he can escort you. You can re-create your honeymoon! I won't take no for an answer."
Which she didn't, no matter how many times Eve tried. The Countess of Wolverton clearly got the results she wanted when she desired; Eve had no doubt it was due to her Van Helsing heritage. And she could also tell from the determined glint in Adam's eye—and his vociferous acceptance—that she had little choice. They were going to attend Vauxhall Gardens with the Ashers.
As Lady Jane exited the front door with a smile and it closed with a bang, Eve turned to Adam. "Sirrah, you forget yourself! How could you accept?" she snapped waspishly, her chin out and her back rigid. "Why did you say we would attend?"
"I had little choice," Adam replied with a grin. "You kept inventing excuses. Besides, Lady Jane's request was just what the doctor ordered." For him. He would get to spend more time in a romantic setting with his beautiful, belligerent bride. "We wouldn't want the world to think our marriage is in trouble before it's really begun. Remember, we're supposed to be a happily married couple."
"Oh, you are just impossible!" Eve hissed, wishing that his little dimples didn't make her feel rather shaky inside. "You brigand. You delight in putting me out of countenance!"
Staring at her, he shook his head, his eyes riveted to her lips. "I'd much rather get you out of something else. However, I have an ulterior motive. The Countess of Wolverton is quite well-known. I encourage the connection. She thinks we're united in wedded bliss, and thus so will the funding committee—if they don't think so already. They should. Your patients are joyous at our matrimonial state, as are your servants," Adam explained patiently. "It's good for your business. Now, my little admiral, tell me what Lady Jane was speaking of when she mentioned all that about gardens and our honeymoon? Was that where we held it?"
"Rubbish, rubbish, and a rubbish pile! We never had a honeymoon, you stupid, stubborn-as-a-mule pirate."
"The countess seems to be under the impression we did," he retorted.
Eve sighed, realizing that the very attractive but infuriating man standing in front of her would fail to leave her alone until she confessed this tiny white lie she had told to decorate the story of her fictitious marriage. But "I don't trust you," she said.
He cocked a brow and shrugged. "Remember you have no choice. And, by the way, though I have been a pirate and a rogue, I am both trustworthy and loyal."
Eve looked up at the high vaulted ceiling, searching for divine inspiration. Her life was in shambles. She should be marching this rake by swordpoint to the top of the Towers and making him walk off. Instead, she found herself explaining her little fibs. He listened patiently, his head cocked to one side, an amused glint in his eyes.
"I merely mentioned to Lady Jane that we spent our honeymoon in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon."
"I see," Adam said, a grin spreading across his face. He shook his head wryly. "Although I do believe that the Hanging Gardens were destroyed during biblical times."
"Oh, well… I'm a doctor of the mind, not of history," she snapped.
"Apparently the Countess of Wolverton is neither," he replied, then threw back his head and howled with laughter.
Before Eve could let loose a string of curses that would do her scalawag of a father proud, her medical assistant, Pavlov, arrived with baggage in hand through the open front door. Pavlov had been in France for a short trip to attend the wedding of a close cousin who happened to be one of the undead.
"Bonjour, Dr. Eve, it is good to be back," the young Frenchman said earnestly.
An ugly dog following Pavlov spotted Eve and leaped toward her. His fat speckled tongue hanging out, the dog charged up to her, then immediately plopped down and rolled over at her feet, waiting to be petted and adored, his body wriggling. Adam wasn't able to recognize the breed. Its color was a blend of spotted black, red, and gold. It had long hair around the face, and a tail that curled upward, which at the moment
was wagging furiously like a demented flag. It was the ugliest mutt Adam had ever seen.
Bending over it, Eve began to stroke the mangy mutt. She greeted her assistant by asking, "Pavlov, how was your trip?"
"Paris was lovely, the wedding such an affaire de coeur—and my family was quite happy to have me there for a visit," her assistant replied. He pulled his faithful companion to its paws and then straightened his pristine velvet gold jacket with a flourish. "But now I am eager to get back to work. I have missed the Towers. In spite of all its quirks, it's become home. I hope you have missed me just a bit, oui?"
Adam watched this exchange, a little chagrined to note that the young Frenchman was not an unattractive man—although much too young for Eve and much too foppish, what with his gold jacket, lime green vest, and the dark curls all over his head. Just who was this preening peacock, and what was his relationship to his wife? Surely he didn't live here with Eve. Surely Adam's baffling bride wasn't involved with such a foppish fellow and his ugly mutt. He wouldn't stand for it!
Firmly grabbing Eve's hand, Adam pulled her to his side and staked his claim. "She has been much too busy to miss you, now that I am home. And just who in the bloody hell are you?" There was no mistaking the possessive quality of his question, or the mocking threat in his eyes.
Taken aback, the man questioned hesitantly, "Just who are you, monsieur?"
"Dr. Adam Griffin. Her husband," Adam retorted, ignoring Eve's attempts to loosen her hand from his. She was his wife, and she had better become quickly adjusted to the fact. She really had no idea how lucky she was to have him for a husband, pretend or otherwise.
"I'm her assistant," Pavlov answered, noticing Eve's flashing blue eyes. Ignoring the muscular frame of the man, he asked bravely, "Dr. Eve, is this true? This is your mari? Am I finally to meet Dr. Adam Griffin? Oui, he is finally here in the flesh?"
"Oh, he's here, all right," Eve said, as Adam squeezed her fingers in warning. "Interfering flesh and all." The last was said in a whisper.
"Non. But you are not happy," Pavlov guessed, a bewildered look on his face. Dr. Eve rarely spoke of her husband, but when she did, she was always respectful and cheerful. She was not so now.
Eve started to reply, but realized that she didn't want her assistant to discover the true state of affairs. Pavlov was a brilliant assistant, and he had been very helpful in her work. His behavior patterning had great merit. He also had a humorous bent, and had trained his faithful canine to sit in a chair at the table and eat whenever a dinner bell was rung. It was quite amusing to watch, as long as the demented Hugo didn't get loose. Sometimes the hunchback would ring the bell and no food was served the long-suffering dog—a good dog who always sat patiently waiting in his chair.
"No, everything is fine, Pavlov," she said. "Dr. Griffin and I had a difference of opinion over something at breakfast," she added as Adam squeezed her waist and pressed her closer. His actions had her feeling rather tingly.
"Ah, a lovers' quarrel?" Pavlov remarked thoughtfully. "If you were French, I would advise you to kiss and make up."
Adam perked up. "I'll take that suggestion, even though I'm not French," he said. He pulled Eve into his arms before she could react, and kissed her greedily. Her mouth tasted of honey, and her lips were soft. She was heaven on earth—and sun-kissed raspberries. She was perfect.
Caught up in the kiss, Eve found herself too stunned to protest. The heat from Adam's body and the warmth of his lips seduced her senses. This kiss was quite different from any that she had ever received. As he kissed her, she temporarily became insane. Regardless of her best intentions, Eve found herself heatedly returning the embrace. She wanted his lips to devour hers. This fiery feeling was akin to her burning up in flames, becoming a phoenix reborn. She had experienced nothing like it in all her twenty-seven years on earth or at sea.
Pavlov cleared his throat, interrupting. Embarrassed, Eve pulled back, but Adam held tight to her, his smoldering eyes regarding her with amusement.
Pavlov said, "By the way, Dr. Eve, where is Teeter? He is the butler, oui? Shouldn't he be opening the door—or at least Mrs. Fawlty? Aren't they being rather lax in their duties again? I have bags that need to be taken upstairs, and I also purchased some new lab equipment. It's in the carriage and needs to be attended immediately."
"I heard that," a harried-looking Mrs. Fawlty snapped as she crossed the marble floor. "So, you're back from your foreign country with your foreign ways, eh, Pavlov? Humph. I see you brought that foreign nuisance of a dog back, too."
"I beg pardon. My dog is part English setter," the assistant replied.
"Well, be getting on with ye to your room. You'll have to carry up your own bags, since Teeter is chasing that daft dwarf and his marbles, and the footman is filling the hole in the wine cellar where Fester was digging," Mrs. Fawlty chided. "And you know I'm too frail to be carrying your bags up meself."
Pavlov shook his head, murmuring, "Quelle dommage. But in this fou place, what else can I expect?" He wore a slight hint of disgust on his face as he picked up his heavy bags and began hauling them up the main stairs, complaining every few steps.
"You'll have to excuse his manners, Master Adam. Pavlov's. French, you know," Mrs. Fawlty whispered with disgust before scurrying away.
Eve finally managed to break out of her husband's heated clutches. She snapped, "You despicable, depraved, and dangerous dastard! Don't you ever kiss me again!" Then, sucking in a sharp breath, she fled the great pretender—and even better kisser. She really hated having a husband, with the exception of his kisses. Those she'd quite enjoyed. So her betraying father was going to pay for his folly with blood.
Chapter Twelve
East of Eden, and Way Beyond
Though Eve left in a decided huff, Adam didn't take it personally. She had every right to be angry. But he knew that part of her anger hinged on the fact that she didn't understand how he could help her with the unhinged. Although at the moment he didn't know a whole bloody lot about her insane business, that didn't mean that he couldn't learn. Adam had realized long ago that life was a balancing act, especially whenever he took on a new role. And being a doctor would be only slightly more unbalancing than trying to get Eve with child. Which was the only way the cunning Captain Bluebeard would forgive his double-dealing and be content at having a grandchild, even if it was Adam's. Adam shrugged. All life was basically a risk, and this risk was well worth the gain. For over a decade he had floated along like a piece of driftwood, willing to let life's currents take him from shore to shore. No more. Eve had met her match, and so had Captain Bluebeard. They just didn't know it yet. And so had the patients in this house of the deranged.
"Time to get down to business," he said. A visit to the loony ward was in order.
As he approached the arched entranceway to the patients' ward, he ran into Eve's assistant. Behind the Frenchman was his ugly mutt, bushy tail wagging and wearing a goofy doggy smile.
Pavlov nodded at Adam, curiosity evident in his expression. "Bonjour, Dr. Griffin. I had not thought to see you again so soon. Are you going to start evaluating patients now? Non, I thought you might want to rest after your long trip."
Adam knew opportunity when it knocked—or, as the case might be, when the dog licked. The pooch had slurped on his hand. Leaning down, he patted the homely beast on its massive head and said, "I thought I would take a quick peek around and immerse myself. I think I should study each patient's history before I begin treatments."
"Oui. I'd be happy to introduce you to some of the patients and their folk—madness—if you'd like." Seeing his dog delivered into ecstasy by Or. Griffin's deft touch, Pavlov added, "Let me introduce you to my furry assistant, Junger. He's part mastiff and part English setter—with a hint of corgi, I believe."
Adam nodded as Junger sat up straighter and then happily lifted his paw to be shaken, at which point Adam grinned. The dog was certainly no beauty, but it did appear well trained and intelligent.
"Ju
nger helps a great deal in my research."
"How?" Adam wondered aloud. Did it chase the loons about the place, or find them if they became lost?
Pavlov started to walk down the limestone hallway. "Well, I am working on a therapy about managing behavior, and I practice on Junger. I hope to help patients overcome addictions to rum and opium by retraining their impulses. Can you imagine trying to stop drinking when all you desire in life is a drink? Impossible! Drink becomes everything—lover, friend, all your desires. My therapy, I call behavior patterning. I hope someday it will help many. Perhaps even those with strange compulsions such as repeatedly washing their hands or reorganizing their wardrobes. Dr. Eve hopes to be able to use my research for vampires with oral fixations. Currently I am trying to get Junger to associate pleasure with the sound of a bell, to reinforce good behavior and punish the bad. Addiction can be so… tragic."
Yes, Adam had seen firsthand the wicked wages of addiction. They not only stole life; they stole hope as well. Though he wasn't fond of this little Frenchman, his goal did sound impressive. "Very worthwhile, I'm sure. Have you met with much success?" His opinion of the little frog was changing slightly. In fact, if Pavlov wasn't interested in seducing Eve, he could grow to like the little fellow.
"I've only began working with the dog. Junger now eats whenever he hears a bell. Unfortunately, with Hugo Lambert ringing bells day and night, Junger has put on a bit of weight."
Adam didn't try to hide his amusement. "I'd like to meet this Hugo character. He sounds like a noisy, nasty little plague—a character straight from Bedlam."
"Cela va sans dire. That goes without saying. He is fou—crazy, Hugo, but he's asleep now, and trust me, we don't want to wake him up." The Frenchman actually shuddered at the thought. "Hugo was picked up off the streets when he was eight for picking pockets. From there he was sent to an orphanage, where the monks let him ring the bells, making him their unofficial bell ringer. He became obsessed with bells, so the good monks sent him here. This turn of events was fortunate for Hugo, but unfortunate for us, since this old house has a bell tower."