The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard

by Minda Webber

  Sticks and stones he was used to, but name-calling still bothered him. He didn't want to lose any ground in this game of love and war, and besides, he had meant what he said; he did care about her patients. He also cared about their gold.

  "I only wanted to help. Fester seemed lonely. I wanted to ease his burdens a bit. Not to mention he's getting a bit old for all this digging alone. This cellar floor is fairly hard, and he's not a young leprechaun anymore."

  "You dare to mention my floors? How could you dig here?" Glancing down, she fought back a scream of frustration. It was bad enough putting up with Fester's folly, but now she had to worry about Adam encouraging Fester's delusions. "And as far as Fester being lonely, that's one for the old Blarney Stone. Fester's never met a stranger he didn't like—except in Parliament. Blast ye to smithereens, Adam. You wanted his gold. Isn't my father's treasure enough?" It hurt that after being paid to be her husband, the impossible impostor was still a gold digger. "Well, the old saying is true. If you lie down with sea dogs, you're bound to get fleeced."

  Adam had been watching her carefully, and he noted the flash of vulnerability in her eyes. He backtracked, taking another tack. "I may be digging myself a deeper hole, sweetheart, but the only treasure chest I'm interested in is you." Her chest was indeed priceless, and he could see it as she stood there, bosom heaving. The flesh inside her rounded décolleté rose and sank in a dance that made very hot blood pool in his groin. He had only to look at Eve to want her fiercely. She had only to open her mouth to make him think of silky, cool sheets, hot, sweaty skin, and the musky scent of lovemaking in the air.

  "Compliments won't work, Adam. And keelhauling is too good for you. You should be marooned on a desert island. You pirates are all alike. You're never satisfied, always wanting more." It burned her breeches. How could anyone who looked so magnificently male and dashing, even with dirt on his sleeves and cheek, be such a scallywag?

  Eve's outrage only made Adam want her more. She was all fierce passions and primal desires, a woman any man should be proud to call his own. Lust overruled his good sense, encouraging him to tease her. "Are you casting stones at me?" he asked.

  "What a delightful idea. Let me go find a nice fat one."

  Ignoring that, he shrugged on his jacket. "If you won't share your treasured chest with me, then perhaps you'd like to see something I'd like to bury. It's just a matter of where to put the family jewels."

  Her face reflected confusion until she realized the meaning of his words. Disconcerted all over again, she spluttered for a moment, her face turning red all the way down into the neckline of her gown.

  "You… you pompous, conceited crook! You randy, roguish rake! You're beyond impossible! Hell will freeze over and pirates become members of the House of Lords before I let you… let you…" And yet, she was tempted. She was still a virgin at the advanced age of twenty-seven. Of course, she was also a doctor, and being a doctor she had gotten an eyeful on more than one occasion. She wondered at the size of Adam's hoard. She knew some men had more family jewels than others.

  Oh, why had she let him kiss her? She wasn't a stupid woman. She knew that curiosity had killed three of Bluebeard's wives, and that was something she didn't want to mimic.

  As Adam noted his wife's reaction, a secret thrill shot through him. She was such a passionate little thing, which boded well for the years ahead in their marriage bed. Managing an expression of contrition, he hung his head and looked suitably disconsolate. "I take that to mean no."

  Shaking with rage, she lost control. "I'm warning you, stay away from Fester! Stay the bloody hell away from my patients! And most of all, stay away from me!"

  "But, darling, I can't. I'm over the moon about you. Besides, my little beauty, you've got your hands full. You need me. I want to help. I need to help. I'll carry your load, carry your books, carry a tune, carry on and carry forward—anything, if you'll just let me. But most of all I want to carry you off into the sunset."

  Truly, the maddening man did look sincere. With his commanding air of devilish tomfoolery, Eve found herself intrigued in spite of her better judgment. But despite his being the best kisser she had ever known, Adam Griffin's good intentions were nothing more than an illusion as false as Fester's gold.

  "I mean what I say, Adam. Stay away from Fester. You're not a doctor." She added with angry dignity, "And this is an insane asylum, not a 'loony bin' or 'a house for crackbrained idiots.' I must insist you watch your wording. Some of my patients are sensitive to slurs cast upon their conditions."

  Adam sighed. "You lecture me like a naughty schoolboy, but I shall contrive to remember your advice. But you must not forget that I know a few things. Remember, I cured a vampire of his oral fixation."

  "In your dreams," she snapped. As if he knew anything about oral fixations. Surely he didn't know enough. He didn't know about her wicked dreams, how she had awoken in a panic. Her fantasy had seemed so real, her nipples ached. Adam had been sucking them while fondling other parts. What a wanton hussy she was! And her thoughts afterward? Now that was an oral fixation. She blushed, hating how he'd burst into her life, intruding upon her world and dreams. It sucked. Though not literally.

  Adam laughed, noting his wife's blush. "In my dreams? No, I believe in yours. And, by the way, I haven't thanked you yet."

  She didn't want to ask; she really didn't. She really wasn't curious. "Thank me for what?"

  "For having given me such an interesting profession. I'm so glad you didn't make me a lawyer." He shuddered theatrically. "All those nasty judges to deal with. Or you could have said I was a man of business, and I'd have had to spend all my days crunching dusty old numbers. But thanks to you, I'm a doctor of the mind. I use my mouth and my head to help people. Oral fixations? I know about all things oral, as a matter of fact. Why, the things an educated man can do with his tongue are just amazing," he added outrageously, a wicked grin on his face. "I'd be happy to show you a trick or two, if I could just get you onto a couch."

  "Argh!"

  "You sound just like your father when you do that." He laughed. Then, moving to stand below her on the staircase and seeing her look of outrage, he added, "Don't blame me. After all, you invented me, not the other way around."

  She glared at him and stormed up the stairs. He counted to five, but had only hit three when another "Argh!" followed closely on the heels of the last. He also heard words that sounded suspiciously like fickle fake and pretentious prick.

  "Don't forget that tonight we're guests of the Earl of Wolverton and his wife at Vauxhall Gardens," he called up to her. "We will more or less be onstage as the happily married couple only recently reunited."

  From the vulgarity of her reply, he doubted there'd be any reunion in the marital bed anytime soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Three Faces of Eve and the Great Pretender

  Romance was in the air, which was not surprising, since midnight in the Garden of Vauxhall was always conducive to love. In the dark blue heavens above, fireworks lit the sky with brilliant patterns of flowering yellows, greens, and reds. Couples strolled the dark, twisting pathways to quiet spots in the shadowy world of unlit paths. Inside the pavilion, brightly dressed couples were waltzing together in gay harmony.

  Yes, everywhere it appeared that Cupid's little arrows were flying, but nowhere more than in the Earl of Wolverton's private box. The earl and Lady Jane had been the perfect hosts for the past several hours, yet once the firework display began, the earl turned his attentions to his wife. And Lady Jane was not much better; she had eyes only for her husband.

  Eve suffered a moment's pause, an unaccustomed stab of envy for the besotted pair. Every once in a great, great while, Eve dreamed of inspiring such a love. It wasn't often, since she had much to occupy her time, and truth be told, she had never been terribly romantic or whimsical. She had often thought her lack of romantic notions was due to growing up aboard a pirate ship. Such ships were filled with pirates, of course, which tended to make
a person focus more on the realities of life than the sentimental. Like never having enough freshwater for a bath, or fresh fruit for eating. Oh, yes, and all those smelly boots. Since freshwater was ofttimes scarce, pirates were a ripe lot, and their feet the worst of all. It didn't matter, Eve supposed; even now she didn't have the time for romance. Her work was too important. Her patients were too desperate in their despair, and if that meant she missed out on love, then so be it.

  "They look very happy." Adam had been silent the last few minutes, but now he spoke up. "Very much in love. Was it love at first sight?"

  Eve snorted. "Anything but."

  She sneaked a peak at Adam. To be honest, it was somehow quite thrilling to be sitting in the shadows with him. Since the brigand had barged into her life, he had made himself all that was amenable in a husband. And tonight he was in exceptionally fine looks, dressed all in black, very restrained yet quite elegant. His Hessians were polished to a gleam, and his cravat was tied in the plainest of styles, with only a modicum of starch.

  Again glancing furtively out of the corner of her eye, she was faintly amused at her dithering thoughts. Yes, her husband was every bit as good-looking as the Earl of Wolverton, without the vampire's aristocratic hauteur.

  Adam had a commanding presence about him, but he lacked the pomposity that Eve disliked.

  Adam glanced at the other couple. "They're lucky to have found each other," he whispered. "Fate was kind to them."

  "I wouldn't actually call it fate," Eve, remarked. She thought with amusement that they'd both had a stake in the outcome.

  "Fate comes in many forms. Look at us," Adam suggested.

  Eve did. And it gave her an idea. "Speaking of fate, how would you feel about dying?" she asked.

  He glanced at her sharply. "Unhappy."

  She snorted. "I mean, you could pretend die, just like my father's plan, only it will be my plan. Instead of faking death for him, you can fake it for me."

  "So, you want me to pretend to die before your father even wants me to?" he asked. His tone was cold. "Have I got that right? Why? So you can go merrily on your way to marry Captain Hook? Surely I'm a better husband than he!" He hated to admit it, but her plan hurt his pride.

  "Hook is quite the rat—and I've never been partial to rodents," she admitted reluctantly. She thought about what he said. He was right. If he died sooner rather than later, her father would still press her to marry Hook. "I guess I'll have to reevaluate my plan," she said.

  He retorted, "I guess."

  Catching a glimpse of his expression, Eve imagined that Adam's feelings were hurt. If only circumstances were different. She might have been proud to be sitting at his side if they were truly man and wife. Instead, she felt like a character in a farce, especially since Adam had been pressing his thigh against hers and drawing little circles on her palm, pestering her, no doubt in an attempt to try to stir her senses. He was succeeding. He was too near and too disturbingly male for her peace of mind. She was not used to having her palm caressed tenderly, or having someone bewilder her with heated glances and wicked winks. But things were how they were, and she would not—could not—find him even a little bit enchanting.

  "May I have my hand back?" she asked. Her voice held a husky little shiver.

  "I don't think so. I love the way it feels. And you love the way this feels. Relax and enjoy your husband's lovemaking."

  The sneaky scalawag was attacking from the stern, trying to weaken her defenses, she thought warily. He was just too dashing for his own good. And hers. "Rubbish," she said. "We aren't making love, and we won't."

  "Give me time. Love isn't a disease, Eve; it's a miracle. It soothes us in our times of trouble and lends us strength. It can move mountains. And a helpmate can lighten any load by adding a strong back and caring arms. They can bring affection, humor, and passion to everyday life. So, what are you afraid of?"

  She sniffed, sitting more stiffly with a prim pout plastered upon her face. "Bluebeards fear nothing!" she growled. "We are notorious scourges of the seas. Men quake when they hear our name."

  Adam grinned wickedly. "Temper, my little admiral. Temper, temper."

  She narrowed her eyes, assessing him. "You are goading me on purpose."

  "How astute of you to notice." A lazy smile crossed his lips.

  "I can see that you are determined to be difficult," Eve remarked stiffly. Why couldn't he move farther away? Why did he so stir her blood? He was only a corsair after her treasure and her virtue.

  "Only with you, my love." His eyes roved over her, absorbing how lovely she was in that amber gown. It did wonderful things to her fiery hair. The fabric cupped her breasts like a lover's hands, clung deliciously to her delightful form. "Have anyone else's kisses ever made your toes curl?"

  "You presume too much. And my toes don't curl," she stated emphatically, her fingers crossed behind her back.

  "Yes, they do. And, I imagine, much more," he replied, his voice husky. Leaning toward her, he couldn't help but place a brief but tender kiss upon Eve's lush pink lips. He definitely wanted more, but restrained himself. He understood implicitly that all good things came to those who wait, if they weren't stolen first. He intended to be victorious.

  Adam's gentle kiss stirred Eve's senses, sending her into a tizzy. Enough! This impish Irish impostor had been playing the tender lover since their arrival over two hours ago, and it had to cease. "Stop being so familiar with me," she hissed.

  "If you keep whispering in my ear like that, you little enchantress, I shall ravish you on the spot," he warned.

  She quietly and inconspicuously kicked him in the shin.

  "Come, now, my little admiral. You must pretend a modicum of civility. Dash it, Eve. A husband can never be too familiar with his wife. Look at Lord Asher and Lady Jane. They can barely keep their hands off each other. How would it look if I ignored you? Think of the scandal! And your funding—we must present a united and loving front as the most devoted of couples if you want it."

  "Hmph."

  "It's not just your reputation at stake, but my own," Adam continued. "Just because you won't allow me to take you to heaven doesn't mean people should think I can't. Like the Earl and Countess of Wolverton."

  Inching back, Eve slowly shook her head, his audacity infuriating. But at the same time, the nearness of his body made her breath quicken. His kisses were addictive, lethal, and made her heart dance. He had the look of a Gypsy and the heart of a rogue. But she was a psychiatrist and made of sterner stuff; she would not be led down the garden path. At least, not while in Asher's private box.

  "Why should I care what the earl thinks about you?" she asked.

  "A wife knowledgeable about the paranormal world should always care if a master vampire thinks her husband is less than a man. I don't want to be shown to disadvantage," he remarked stubbornly. Before Eve could argue, he added, "Shush. Besides, as my wife you have an obligation to me."

  She drew back, astonished. "Your pretending to be my absentee husband obligates me? How dare you, sirrah!"

  No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to make a dent in his strategy to act as her spouse. "Surely you must be getting bored with this!"

  He bit back a chuckle. "With you, my dear, I could never be bored. That's why I'm crazy about you, crazy for you, crazed to have you. And I must confess, I am ready, willing, and cleverly able to do crazy things to keep you by my side."

  "Oh, go and sell your craziness somewhere else," Eve said. "I bought at the office." This bounder was forever teasing, testing, and tormenting her, and the worst thing was, she was never certain whether he was maddeningly sincere or a compulsive liar with lucre or lust in mind.

  Adam chuckled. The time for action was here. He placed a hand under his chin and lifted her face to his, and with determination and tenderness he kissed her.

  Eve would not be seduced so easily. With pure indignation she fought the feel of his lips, paying no heed to the small, secret place within her that rejoiced in
triumph. But after a few moments passed, his lips caressing hers, his fervor had her opening her mouth to protest—only to be routed as Adam quickly took advantage, his tongue dueling with her own.

  Heat flooded her system, and Eve felt tiny butterflies in her stomach. Deep, deep down, she felt the stirrings of a hunger long dormant. And good grief, she could feel her toes start to curl from the heat of the kiss. Why, oh, why, did this man stir her senses to insensibility?

  Breathing harshly, Adam reluctantly ended the kiss, his bones aching to the very marrow as he leaned his forehead against hers. He had almost lost his head, the kiss affecting him to such a degree that he wished to lower her to the ground and make mad, passionate love to her here, in public. Yet his self-control had resurrected itself.

  "No more. Please, no more," she beseeched him breathlessly.

  Reluctantly he drew back, not trusting himself. Her lips were swollen, and she was staring at him in a bewitching manner. There was a candor in her eyes he had not seen before.

  "You're much too dangerous to be my husband," she said. "Too unpredictable. I hate to admit it, but you run circles around me. It's quite disconcerting."

  "I vow I'll be a wonderful husband," he said.

  "No. You're too great a risk. Too much the rake, the adventurer. A lady could never risk her heart upon you."

  "It's true that I'm drawn to adventure," he said. "But the only adventure I seek is in your bed. The risk for me is already taken, for I fear you have stolen my heart."

  He sounded so sincere… but then, con men usually did. Yet, Eve heard at least a grain of truth in his words, which caused her to recognize a fundamental truth: the man in front of her—Adam Griffin—had been going through a change since he first opened his mouth—from nobody to somebody. How disturbing. Worse, she was coming to admire him. But how could she ever trust him? She had to remember that he was a clever conniver who could convince anyone of anything, even someone as grounded in rational thinking and the sciences as herself.