by Minda Webber
"At least not without her spectacles."
"True, true. But then, she was a vain woman, even on nature walks," he replied, pursing his lips. "So she died looking better than she saw."
After a moment he frowned, recalling his third wife. "Holly was a true beauty in every respect, but she couldn't keep her nose out of me treasure chests. Could sing like an angel, and could wield a cutlass better than most of me sailors. But she was a hard-hearted wench who loved gold more than me. And the rolling of the sea made her queasy."
"Should have been hanged from the yardarm," Eve remarked sardonically.
"She was," Bluebeard replied, and then added with a contented sigh, "In Port-a-Prince, after putting her hands on the governor's chest.
"Now, yer mother was the best of the lot. Six was me lucky charm. Yer mother was a real lady with a heart of gold. She was me real treasure. Loved me with all her heart and never played me false, even if she couldn't tell north from south or hit the broad side of a barn with a cannon. Still, I loved her dearly."
Eve's anger died a little in the face of her father's adoration.
"She was my pride and joy—just like you are," the crafty old pirate added. He loved his daughter, warts, nuthouse, and all. "That's why I picked a handsome, fine husband for you. A good solid Irishman, with a touch of piracy, a touch of the English, and a seducer's touch as well. His father was a baron, ye know."
"No, I didn't," Eve said, "and I don't care. Besides, I think one pirate in the family is enough." That Adam had been into pillaging the seven seas with a bunch of cutthroats was another point against him—a big, fat point. "And I find him neither fine nor handsome," she lied.
Bluebeard pinched her cheek. "Never try to lie to a liar, lass, or cheat a cheater—or outman the man of the sea. They'll give you no quarter."
Eve glared, hating the fact that her father knew her so well. "I didn't say he was ugly, now, did I? This Adam character might be fairly attractive, for argument's sake, but I'm not in the market for a husband. As you well know!"
"Of course not, Evie. You already have one." Her father laughed.
"Da, if you don't get rid of him, I'll have him thrown in prison for pretending to be someone he's not."
Her father glared at her. "I don't think so, lass. I have a friend or two in some pretty high places."
"Of course you do," she snapped. "But that won't stop me from declaring him an impostor. Adam is looking at a fall."
"Adam won't be arrested for pretending to be anything, for he's the very man ye married in Vienna. Or so I shall say. Already those busybody doctor friends of yours think he's yer husband. How will they feel about giving their coins to a woman who says her husband isn't her husband, yet who pretended he was her husband when he was pretending to be that same husband?"
Shaking her head, trying to decipher that sentence, Eve finally got the gist, and the jest was unhappily on her. Dr. Sigmund and Count Caligari would never give her their foundation funds if they realized she was a liar and a fraud. It was all as she'd feared. "You bloody-minded, conniving, conspiring crab!"
The Captain's face became a mottled red, and he fought the urge to turn his grown daughter over his knee and paddle her bottom as if she were still a child. "You're one to talk! That's like the pot calling the kettle a Bluebeard. Look who's the calculating chit, pulling a spouse out of thin air with nothing more than her overactive imagination."
"Well, I certainly learned from the best!"
The captain stood, pointing a finger. "Adam stays as your husband. If ye so much as breathe a word to anyone that he isn't, I will personally see that the good mind doctors find out the whole story. Ye will be ruined in the scientific community. Ruined in any society, scientific or otherwise—except on a pirate ship, which is where ye belong anyway, so don't tempt me!"
Eve's chin quivered, but she held back her tears. "You hard-hearted barnacle! For how long am I supposed to play house?"
"I want grandkids, lass."
She shot him a look of pure horror. "Sleep with him? We're not really married!"
"Now, don't get your sails in a knot. I have a plan," he confided craftily.
"Why am I not surprised?" she muttered, her eyes aching with the sting of sorrow, yet her demeanor rigidly polite.
"Adam is to be your husband for only a while. Then, unluckily, he dies and you're a widow—free to marry a flesh-and-blood person!"
"He might have something to say about dying just to please this plan. I know I do. I don't like the lying lout, but I won't let you murder him," she retorted abruptly. What a waste! Not many men were so dashing that they could make a lady's toes curl by kissing her silly. "When did you become so bloody bloodthirsty?"
The captain rolled his eyes and shook his head, his weathered face revealing his annoyance. "I'm a pirate. What do you expect? But I wouldn't do him in. Since he's yer pretend husband, it will be a pretend death. But we'll have one fine and dandy funeral for him."
"A real funeral?" She was beginning to get mixed-up.
"Of course, real. A fancy funeral for a fine man, so that all will know ye to be a poor widow."
Eve stomped her feet, then stood with legs apart, hands braced on her hips. Ironically, so did her father.
"Let me get this straight," Eve managed to mutter through clenched teeth. She had gone beyond vexation into pure rage. "You've made me accept an impostor as a spouse so that you can pretend to kill him off so I can be a fraudulent widow?"
"You'll be a widow for only a short time, lass. Then I'll see ye married good and proper."
"I see," Eve said in stunned disbelief. Her deceitful da was even more devious than she had previously thought.
Plopping back down in her chair, Eve slowly shook her head. "We have a room in the Towers if you're interested, because you've gone barmy, I declare! Madder than any patient of mine," she growled, her eyes shooting sparks. "How could you?"
"Not mad, just crazy like a fox—even though me bloodline's pure werewolf. Still, I'm canny as a wolf, and you should be overjoyed. Since Adam isn't as fine or as handsome as ye like, ye can marry me boon companion," the old salt suggested, waiting to see if Eve would take Hook, line, and sinker. He knew he had to continue to advance while her guard was down.
Eve just blinked. Her father intended her to marry the nefarious Captain Hook? "I think I'll keep Adam," she replied sarcastically.
Bluebeard shook his head. "No, lass. Adam is a fine fellow for an impoverished impersonator, but I want a real pirate for a son-in-law. See, it's just like I always told you, lassie: every cloud has a silver lining—and if one doesn't, you just steal it."
"Never. I'll never, ever marry Captain Hook!" Giving her father one last baleful look, she turned sharply on her heel, shoved her way through a dirty dozen or two, and stalked back to where Teeter had just ordered his third ale.
Grabbing the mug from him, she downed the strong brew in less than a minute, without choking once—an advantage of having lived on a pirate ship.
So, her father wanted her married to Hook, and by crook. But she wouldn't marry the heinous Hook, and she wouldn't sleep with Adam. She would be captain of her own destiny. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but soon. "Well, as soon as I can come up with a plan to upset the old pirate cart," she muttered to herself.
Teeter started to argue as his mistress drank the last few drops of his ale, but seeing her harried expression, he decided that his two previous mugs were quite enough for the time being. He would raid the wine cellar later—perhaps with Mrs. Fawlty, if she were in the mood for high romance.
Eve cursed and set down the mug. Her father had just trimmed her sails without a shot being fired. "Blast him and all men to smithereens!" she growled, shoving Teeter out of the tavern and into the darkness of coming night. "Where's our bloody carriage?" she asked sourly. Twisting the pearls around her throat, she realized that in her anger she had forgotten her father's cardinal rule: "Early to rise and early to strike makes a pirate healthy, wealthy a
nd wise," she repeated. Well, it didn't rhyme but it was true. Her father had struck swift and early, his aim deadly accurate, and now she was trapped in a pretend marriage.
Chapter Fourteen
The Good, the Bad, and the Truly Mad
The horse-drawn carriage took both Eve and Teeter back to the Towers after her unpleasant visit with her father. Any other night Eve might have taken a moment to appreciate the spaciously noble building and its lush location. As an inheritance, it was grand. The house had been set upon a slight hill, and had a fine view of a meadow and woodlands. Its lofty walls and soaring spires had been raised when Elizabeth I was queen. Now the walls were dark gray with age and mellowed by centuries of weather, and covered in a variety of deep green ivy and flowering plants.
Walking inside the asylum, Eve found it more than odd that the place appeared deserted. Before she could become thoroughly worried, however, a loud disturbance outside caught her attention. Eve discovered as she opened the balcony doors that sounds of merriment grew louder. Perplexed, she stepped down the terraced steps to find a fairyland. Under the soft golden glow of the moon, and hundreds of colored Japanese lanterns, Eve watched her patients and servants mill about the yard with plates of food in their hands, or tap their feet to an orchestra.
"Why is there an orchestra here?" she asked. It was true that music soothed the savage beast, but it wasn't even a full moon yet.
Eve narrowed her eyes in disbelief as she took in the scene before her. Between tall Greek pillars crowned by heraldic beasts or Nosferatu or wereanimals, she spied curious faces laughing and frolicking. Everyone appeared in a rather boisterous and rowdy mood. It was a little after nine at night, and it seemed the madhouse had moved into Eve's garden. She didn't know whether to frown or smile. So often the insane were trapped in silent, ugly worlds, but tonight was certainly different—as evidenced by the chaotic sounds of laughter and mayhem.
"What on earth is going on?" she asked as Teeter came to stand beside her. Glancing up at his homely face, she could tell from his expression that he was as clueless as she. "Who ever heard of a nighttime picnic for the insane? Who ever heard of any picnic for the insane? Who ever thought up this particular folly should have their head examined!" She hoped her paranormal patients didn't decide to eat the servants.
Teeter volunteered a comment nervously. "Madam, the lunatics might escape into the night. If they do, they'll turn London upside down with their strange behavior. What will we do?"
Eve's face clouded as she assessed the situation. So far, everyone appeared to be in fine form, behaving themselves. Did she dare break it up and become the bad guy? No. "I guess we wait and see. And, speaking of duties, I see Hugo." She pointed to the bellicose bell-ringing dwarf. His face was cast mainly in shadow, but she could see his weak chin and the slash of his mouth.
"But we weren't speaking of duties," Teeter complained.
Eve almost smiled and let him off, but a punishment was a punishment, else a ship would go to rack and ruin and a madhouse would be run by its inmates. "Come now, Teeter, it's not so bad. Hugo is playing quietly with his marbles. And see? Sir Loring is watching as well," Eve cajoled. "With avid interest," she added. Upon closer inspection, she had noted that it was not Hugo's marbles that had mesmerized Sir Loring, but rather the dwarf's fat little neck. "Go and tend Hugo now. And see that Sir Loring is fed immediately."
As he left, Eve directed her attention to finding the culprit who had devised this foolishness. To her direct right Mrs. Monkfort was standing on the large marble fountain. Eve assumed that it was so that the widow wouldn't get her feet dirty. Mrs. Monkfort was busy admonishing Mr. Pryce not to land in the potato pie with his grubby little wings. "There's a fly in the ointment, which gives me heart palpitations," she was saying. "Where are my smelling salts?"
Eve raised her eyes to the heavens, hoping heaven would grant her a bit of peace from this day from hell. Her insane patients were having a picnic outside? Yet, to give the devil his due—in this case Adam?—most appeared to be behaving remarkably well. With the exception of Mr. Jack Rippington, who Eve reluctantly noticed, was currently sneaking up on a pair of innocent rosebushes with his pants undone. Fortunately, Pavlov was a mere few feet behind him, evidently having been given Jack the Rip watch.
Sighing in relief, Eve continued her earnest search of the area for the viper in her garden, a particularly tricky little serpent whom she knew was responsible for this nighttime folly. Her enemy was crafty and quite deviously charming, what with his sharp wit and twinkling hazel eyes. And she absolutely would not remember his kiss. He had to go—and the sooner the better. She couldn't have him usurping her authority and ordering picnics with orchestras and champagne without so much as a by-your-leave.
Turning her head to the left, she found him. His powerful build stood out among the members of her staff, and he was jauntily telling some story that had everyone chuckling.
Hurrying over, she nodded briefly at her staff, then pulled on his shoulder to get him to bend close. She hissed in his ear, "I'd really like to throttle you. You make me so hot!"
"The feeling is mutual," Adam replied. Eve brought out the little devil in him. In fact, staring at her, he felt as if a runaway carriage had hit him, and his little devil was looking to get in something holey. "You must stop glaring like that, my love, or people will start to talk," he said. "We wouldn't want to give them something to talk about."
"You cretin! Did you give the orders for this picnic?"
Some of the people in the small group moved away, looking surprised by her cross tone. Adam, however, seemed unfazed. "Of course, my love."
Grabbing him by the arm, she dragged him a distance to a large oak tree. Under it, more in shadow than light, they were isolated by soft darkness from the surrounding crowd and provided the illusion of being alone in a sea of soft lights.
Although she longed to shout and jump, Eve kept her voice low. "You are overstepping yourself again. You had no right to throw a picnic for my patients."
"Don't be a gudgeon. How can I be overstepping my bounds when I'm your husband?"
"Stop saying that. You're not real. I made you up, remember?"
"Aren't you a little old to have imaginary friends? Besides, I'm as real as the next man—and a lot more fun to play with."
"Never!"
"Never," he warned, his voice between a growl and a purr, "say never to me. I love a challenge too much to resist making you eat your words."
"You should be flogged and hung from the quarter mast. You have no right to even be here. I won't live a lie!"
"You already have been," Adam reminded her. "My little pearl, you don't have to do everything alone anymore. You need a husband to warm your bed and your heart. You need help. It's so much more pleasant when you share the burdens of everyday life along with the pleasures."
Eve drew herself up to her full five-foot-two inches with an indignant gasp. "How dare you, sirrah! I fear you have a sad lack of character. I have absolutely no interest in the married state. I know exactly what I need! After all, I'm the doctor!"
Adam sighed, shaking his head. Women could be such… well, women. But while Eve might not care for him now, she needed him. That much was obvious, after only a night and one day. Her patients needed him, too. Eve had too much on her plate, and the asylum's inhabitants needed another quick mind—a less serious mind—to ease their burdens. Eve could cure them, but he would make them laugh. "You're a bossy little thing, aren't you?" he said.
"I prefer to call it instructive," she replied, trying to lessen her temper, for she knew the value of a cool head when under attack. Especially when the attack was one of hot charm, skill, and witty seduction.
"That you are," he agreed with a wicked smile. And passionate—a nature he intended to capitalize upon. "Just think of instruction in bed."
A charged silence hung in the air between them, and in the soft glow of moonlight and lanterns Eve's eyes widened. Adam's face stood out in stark relief
, ruggedly handsome. Staring at him, she had to forcefully remember to ignore the way he made her feel, the quickening of her pulse and the butterflies in her stomach. She drew on her previous anger. "How could you order up a midnight picnic without consulting me?"
"The patients seemed depressed, so I thought this might cheer them up."
"Of course they're depressed. It comes with the territory," Eve argued. "They are insane!"
Adam lifted a brow. "Territory?"
"Their madness," Eve whispered. "Mad people are often melancholy. Often their terrors are such that they can't speak of them. And some patients are sad because they know they're mad and want only to be normal. Wouldn't you get tired of living in dark shadows and endless pits of despair? Not to be melodramatic—I get enough of that around here as it is."
Glancing around, Adam regarded the patients. "They don't seem sad now. For once they are forgetting their sorrows." He smiled engagingly. "By the way, how was the visit with your father?"
"My father is the devil's tool," she snapped. "And just how did you know I went to visit him?"
Adam pointed to his head. "I would have done the same. Tell me, how did the old reprobate take your scold?"
"None of your business," she replied.
"It's a rare female who can keep a secret from her husband," he suggested mischievously. "Besides, I know your father. He told you the marriage stands. He quite likes me, you know."
"I can't imagine why. But then, the Captain has never been known for his good taste—with the exception of marrying my mother."
"You'll have to include me in his good taste now. I wouldn't want you to feel disadvantaged in marrying me. I wouldn't want you to feel disappointed."
"Oh, I'm disappointed, all right. You're still here."
"Making merry with your patients and finding ways for them to have fun," he agreed. "See?" He pointed.
Eve glanced over and found, to her surprise, that her lovely fountain was now brimming with ripe red apples. Next to the large marble edifice were some patients and staff, including Jack Rippington, who was at least now standing with his pants buttoned. Rippington was actually smiling for once, and looked interested in bobbing for apples.