by Minda Webber
"My fountain has apples in it," Eve remarked stupidly, feeling rather dull-witted. "And Jack is there. Not by any rosebushes."
Adam shrugged with that devil-may-care attitude that Eve found distracting. "I thought it was better for all concerned that Jack the Rip should be bobbing for apples and not bobbing for roses—or any other females of this picnic. Furthermore, every Eden should have apples. Besides, you know what they say—an apple a day keeps the doctor at play."
As Rippington bent to bob, Mrs. Monkfort suddenly pointed a finger at Mr. Pryce, shrieking, "He's returned! The fly's returned, and he's masticating on apples! Nasty flying creature. We're cursed! Cursed by the fly." And before anyone could stop her, she began swatting him with one of her numerous handkerchiefs until he buzzed off. As others replaced Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Monkfort shook her head, trying to recover. Staring into the fountain, she said, "I know what's in that water. Do you? It's repulsive. I wouldn't duck my head in it."
"Bobbing for apples?" Eve said. "At a picnic?"
"I told you, I thought it would keep them busy. You know—fun and games," Adam teased. Then winked at her. "Or maybe you don't. You're much too serious, you know."
"Oh, I think I could come up with one or two games," Eve remarked, a sly smile on her face.
"When you look like that," said Adam, "I don't think I want to know."
"I could suggest tar and feathers to them. And I know just who should be tarred."
"I'm sure you do," he agreed, almost wincing at the memory of a time he'd seen a man tarred and feathered in Penzance. The unfortunate victim, Sullivan, had looked like a half-plucked turkey for weeks. "Generally I would be happy to be at your disposal, and feathers would be fine, but the tar I must protest. Not my style at all. Bedsides, they are too busy bobbing."
Eve's attention turned back as Hugo submerged almost completely in the water, but he came up with a nice red apple caught between his crooked front teeth.
"See, the midnight picnic was a fine idea!" Adam crowed. "They need to laugh, just like you do." And kisses—his Eve needed thousands of kisses. He could barely restrain himself from giving her one right that minute. However, he wasn't in the mood to have his face slapped.
"How in the world did we manage to entertain ourselves before you barged into our home?" she asked sarcastically.
He bowed. "I live to serve. Besides, I feel it's rather more than obvious that I have a certain finesse and leadership skill."
"Rubbish! Next time ask the doctor about her patients before you go ahead with any of your harebrained schemes," she said. She was unwilling to concede that Adam's picnic was coming off splendidly. Perhaps her patients did need to make merry, but this audacious man was just too smug for his own good. She didn't care that the dimples in his cheeks were unfairly appealing. And she was too wise to be taken in by his performance as a devoted spouse. The man was, after all, a dangerous deceiver, a great pretender.
Looking smug, Adam placed a hand theatrically over his chest. "Isn't it lucky, then, that I am a doctor."
She blasphemed once, then again for good measure.
"All by your invention!" he continued. "Keep that in mind, sweetheart."
She was quite the little handful, but he would be devout in his attentions. Even seeing her cursing him to the high heavens—and the nine levels of hell—Adam fully believed that a mixture of teasing, thoughtfulness, tenacity, and a tumble in the asylum, a tumble in the garden, and a tumble in the bell tower—or anywhere else, for that matter—would eventually win Eve over. Yes, they would settle down in this cuckoos' nest and raise a fine, attractive brood.
"Argh! You're driving me around the bend!"
"Shall I get the carriage, or the high-perch phaeton? Any particular route you wish to be driven? Shall we go fast or slow? I do like both methods—depending on the occasion, of course."
She stormed away, all ladylike pretensions vanished, her heart beating rapidly. He was a master of the lurid phrase. He was dangerous. Therefore, she would eventually roust him, rout him, and rally her defenses against him, by using her wits and her wile. "Or my name isn't Eve Bluebeard Griffin," she swore resolutely. Then she thought a moment. "Well, it isn't really Griffin." She was honest to a fault.
Chapter Fifteen
Mad About You, Mad at You
The night sky deepened to a dense black, with light from only a scattering of stars and the glow of the moon. As Eve made her way around and visited with her patients, she searched earnestly for any signs of mania or violent behavior. Instead she found laughter, betting, and light flirtations, and only discontented grumbling from those who usually were of a stern and unhappy nature. Relaxing her vigil, she sat down upon a marble bench beneath two massive oaks. A half dozen lanterns above her lighted the trees, while she watched the picnic in progress. She shivered slightly, though she did not know whether from the cooling night breeze or the acknowledgment that she had met a worthy and sly foe in Adam.
"I have more important things to think about than him," she muttered. "Like Mr. Carlen."
Eve was happy to note that for once the gargoyle wasn't in his catatonic state. Although he was a cold man at the best of times—rather stone-faced and denigrating—tonight he was alert, and even now was speaking warmly with Major Gallant. Their conversation was for the common good, since he was keeping the major occupied. Major Gallant hadn't yet charged around the garden. Rather, he was standing with his hand in his jacket, wearing his ridiculous hat.
To Eve's right, Mrs. Monkfort was surveying the ground around her and muttering about dirt while wringing her hands. Hugo was tossing marbles in the air nearby, while the wily Fester was snatching at one or two of his marbles and grumbling. Something about a black witch who was in league with the House of Lords? Eve thought she heard Fester remark that the witch had cursed the marbles.
Eve shook her head. Searching for the why and how a patient slipped away into a netherworld could be likened to searching for a hidden treasure, with only an aging map with missing pieces to guide the way. And yet, the search for this buried treasure was probably one of the most important searches in the world, as well as being one of the hardest and most frustrating.
Watching Eve from the shadows, Adam smiled faintly. The antics all around faded into the background. He felt at peace, here, because there was an odd kindness, and comradeship as well. Dedicated in his youth to overcoming betrayal and obtaining worldly goods, he had forgotten the wealth of home and hearth. The peaceful contentment of knowing a loving household had faded into a vague memory.
But in the blink of an eye his world had changed. Strange that he would find happiness here, of all places: yet he had known the moment he had seen her, just as his father had known the moment he spied Adam's mother.
Like his grandfather before him, and his greatgrandfather before. All those men had felt something upon meeting the only female in the world for them. It was bred into Adam's bones, the heritage of all Hawkmore men to instinctively know their mate. He felt blessed this good night, because he had a wife called Eve, a home, good friends, and a worthy occupation—all lay before him in a deranged and daunting splendor.
Yes, it was bizarre that he should find himself quite comfortably entertained and content in a lunatic asylum, but so be it. Fate was a fickle mistress, with a highly developed sense of the absurd. But he truly liked many of the people he had met. He regretted the fact that he would have to double-cross Captain Bluebeard—being both a man of common sense and honor—but there was no hope for it. Once a Hawkmore male found his mate, nothing stood in his way—not even a cutthroat pirate like the captain.
He looked his fill. The softness of the lantern light accented the beauty of Eve's heart-shaped face. It set the reddish highlights aflame. She appeared some pagan fairy princess come to earth in the dark hours before dawn, and if he had some fairy dust on hand then her anger and distrust would vanish before he could snap his fingers. Sadly, there was never a true fairy around when a person needed one, for
they were a secretive and elusive lot.
Adam strolled over and sat down next to her. Once seated, he pressed his luck by moving his long, muscular leg next to hers on the marble stone bench.
"What are you doing, stalking me like a shadow? I didn't ask you to sit down," she complained haughtily. "And tell me that's not your thigh crowding mine."
Her rudeness didn't bother him; he had been insulted too many times to count in his past misadventures. So he said, "What refreshing candor. But it leads me to believe that you have a fear yourself, Doctor." He stroked his bottom lip.
"What utter nonsense. What fear?"
"The fear of intimacy."
"How ridiculous," she scoffed, then quickly added, "Move your leg; it's too close."
He laughed at her discomposure as Mrs. Fawlty strolled up, Teeter at her side. "Ah, young love," the housekeeper said. "So fine and so lusty." She gave both Adam and Eve a crooked grin. "Are ye up to something naughty, Dr. Adam?"
"Oh, indeed," he replied with roguish intent, the dimple in his cheeks showing. "A doctor does what he must, and a husband—well, his work is never done."
"That's a fine thing. You're right back where you belong—in yer wife's bed. Ye'd best stay there."
"Wild werewolves couldn't keep me away," Adam promised. "For no other woman can compare."
Mrs. Fawlty nodded happily. "See that you keep him, Dr. Eve. Them wicked foreign women know things, so you'd better keep on your toes. German women are some of the best cardplayers—especially when they play without clothes. Frenchwomen are the best kissers. Now, you take them Russians? They fair heat up the sheets, so I'm giving ye some advice me old ma gave me, Dr. Eve. Don't go to bed mad, or any other place. And you might try kissing a bit more. Men like that, ye know."
Hearing a stifled chuckle beside her, Eve elbowed Adam discreetly in the ribs. As the older couple strolled away she said; "Don't you dare laugh."
"Do you think I'd laugh at you? Laugh with you, definitely, but not at you. And don't worry about Mrs. Fawlty's comments. Those wicked foreign women didn't tempt me when I was in Transylvania. I was faithful to you, my darling. My marriage vows were never broken."
Her eyes narrowed. "What utter rot," she replied.
"I dreamed about you last night. And I know I will again tonight," he said. "You are temptation itself."
"And you're full of blarney. Just like Fester. Don't think I don't know that," she answered. He was a charming liar, but a liar nonetheless. Yet he held a fascination for her rather like a rabbit did for a snake. He was an enigma, complex and capable. He also had expertise in using his good looks and husky laugh to best advantage.
But no, he was the enemy and a puppet in her father's plan. She would not be locked into any marriage, even with a man as attractive and intriguing as this.
"It's the truth, I'm telling you. You could drive me mad quite easily—mad about you, mad for you, mad without you, and mad that I hadn't met you sooner."
In spite of her many misgivings, Eve had to admit Adam appeared to fit in well here. It was as if he'd lived at the Towers for years. She frowned discouragingly, hoping he would leave her be.
He leaned back negligently, studying her, his face highlighted by lanterns and the moon. "Do you know how pretty you are when you smile? But I bet I haven't seen you smile more than twice since I've been here."
His words took her aback. "I'm a psychiatrist."
"Psychiatrists don't smile?" Adam asked with an amused expression. "Or laugh? Is that the hippocrytical oath?"
"Hippocratic. And of course they smile… we smile. But sometimes one forgets. After all, psychiatry is a serious business. When a doctor loses a patient, he loses a life, but when I lose a patient he loses his mind—and that's a terrible thing to waste," she said. "My patients end up living in total mental darkness, and sometimes in total fear. They feel guilty, sad, angry… Most know they aren't normal, and that is a heavy burden to bear."
Adam cocked his head to one side, pleased. Eve was finally opening up to him. "I always thought normal was just a varying degree of insanity. Is anyone truly normal? Can we define it?"
Eve glanced at Adam, surprised to find herself explaining about her work. But his expression was very focused, and she knew that he was listening—really listening—unlike most people she knew. "I think some are more normal—or what society would term normal—than others. Sometimes the sane can become crazy, it is true, but the truly insane live in reverse—with their madness a daily habit and lucidity found in flashes. The shadows and mist that fog their minds are so difficult to discover… I often feel like I'm sailing a ghost ship into uncharted waters. Somehow I must lift that fog in spite of the difficulties, and help my patients find themselves."
Her sincerity touched Adam in a place that had grown jaded by years of living to survive, years with women who had fornication on their minds while cheating on their spouses or lovers, or making a few coins. This petite woman in front of him was different, as his mother had been. When these women devoted themselves to a cause, it was completely.
"Do you know, Eve Bluebeard Griffin, that you are an admirable woman? A woman who knows her own mind and her strength. And best of all, you share yourself with those around you. In today's modern world, a woman still has to struggle with great obstacles to achieve her aims. You do. This same strength you bring to your patients. So, never fear you won't succeed, because I believe that you always will."
Eve didn't know how to take the compliment. Was Adam teasing her, mocking her, trying to flatter her into the bedroom? She'd be a fool twice over if she didn't notice the heated looks he had been giving her all evening. Actually, they'd been scorching looks, as they'd been since she first met him.
Ruthlessly she crushed all feelings of warmth for Adam. She would not be taken in by his manly charms. Adam was turning out to be many things, some quite opposing. He was bad, he was good, a pirate and a prince. He was a schemer, yet he had his own code of honor. He'd revealed a sharp wit along with a deceitful nature, but his words were often tempered with tenderness and generosity. "My father disagrees. He feels I'm wasting my life on land."
"Captain Bluebeard sails uncharted seas, so why shouldn't you sail into the minds of your patients?" Adam asked.
"The Captain wants me at sea," Eve remarked gloomily.
"But he wants grandkids more. Trust me. Give him a few, and see how his tune changes," he added.
Leaning closer, he grinned, his dimples becoming more prominent. Picking up her hand, he kissed it slowly, letting her see the fires of passion in his eyes. She felt her breath quickening at his close proximity and heated stare.
Adam's grin deepened as he noted Eve's reaction to his nearness. She might be difficult and carry more portmanteaus than the royal family, yet in spite of her faults she was a fitting daughter for the Captain, and a fine wife for himself. She would make strong babies—his babies. "I gallantly place myself in your hands to be of service," he said, "for the servicing." He couldn't resist teasing.
"Oh, you wretch," she began, and yanked her hand away.
"Oh, no, you don't," Adam said. He snatched her hand back. A flash of resentment filled him at her judgmental tone. Tapping the ornate gold band on her finger, he subtly reminded her just with whom she was dealing.
She opened her mouth to protest, so he leaned down to kiss her senseless. His lips met hers with a fierce possession, hot and demanding.
Adam's kiss, Eve saw, was different from that of the black-hearted Hook. Adam smelled regrettably delicious, and unknowingly she had been lonely for just this—the touch of a lover, strong fingers caressing and worshiping her, kisses that made her forget all her troubles. These kisses doused her anger and sent her emotions swirling like the wide Sargasso Sea. She felt entirely right in his arms. In fact, she felt perfect, as if she had been designed for him alone.
At first Eve fought, shoving at his shoulders and keeping her lips closed to his passionate assault. But now she relaxed a bit, and Ada
m gentled their kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She was so soft and fragrant in his arms, and her lips were hot and sweet. He hadn't lied to her or tried to charm her when he told her that he was mad for her. His senses were crazy for her taste and feel. She called to him on such a primitive level that he felt like running away with her, ignoring all and sundry for one night in her arms.
For Eve, disaster had struck in the form of these eminently kissable lips. Her blood began to hum as the world faded. Strangely, she felt herself growing breathless, the kiss drawing her inward. It was a bold journey into swirling emotions and liquid-hot feelings. She was tumbling head over heels, awash with passion. Gathering her willpower, she tried to halt her treacherous emotions, but that was as useless as trying to stop waves crashing upon the shore.
Instead of cursing the liberties he was taking, Eve now nestled closer, pressing her bosom against his rock-hard chest. His lips were hot, demanding, and oh, so sweet, with a hint of wild cherries. He was all male, predatory as his hand began to pick the pins loose from her hair, letting the thick, shoulder-length waves fall free. His other hand moved down her back to mold the tops of her buttocks. He groaned. So did she.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Eve knew she should be outraged. Instead, she felt the place between her thighs grow wet with need. She felt a hunger in her stomach, and lower an ache that was bittersweet, needy, all clamoring senses urging her to mate. It was disturbing and earth-shakingly potent.
She clasped Adam's back harder, dimly aware that his kisses were dangerous as opium. He could become an obsession, with her appetite only whetted by his attentions, growing greater in need, she realized with dismay.
Warning bells began to ring in her mind. Or were they really ringing? Reality had returned in a rush, and Eve pushed Adam away.