The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard

by Minda Webber

  The moment was fraught with sexual tension and unrequited desire, and he inhaled audibly, deciding humor in this instance would get him farther than petulance. Reluctantly he pushed himself back and plopped down on the opposite seat. "If your sensibilities are too proper to try it in a carriage, perhaps we could adjourn to your bed—or that nice Persian rug before the fireplace in your study?"

  She still had a grin on her face, but said, "Don't think to end on top of this situation. I've come to my senses." Yes, she longed to broaden her horizons, but she didn't want her waist broadening with an illegitimate child. He had introduced to her the spicy taste of passion—a taste she would not forget anytime soon—but a full meal was a long way off.

  "Come to your senses? Oh, no, my dear, you've surely lost them," he replied, wincing as he shifted and sat back against the seat. His trousers were definitely too tight. "Do you know, I believe I will shoot Major Gallant when we get back to the nuthouse. I've always disliked the French, and you can't trust a man who hides his hand. I mean, where's he been sticking it? And what can I say about Jack? He'd better be nimble; he'd better be quick—or else he'll get a nasty stick. Right up the backside," he added ineloquently.

  Running a hand through his hair, he gazed at his wife with focused intent while she righted her clothing. His heart rate was beginning to slow, and his erection was now at half-mast. "Do you know, Eve, I have a reputation to consider. I don't like this one bit. If we don't relieve this sexual tension between us, soon I'll be howling like a mad dog. They'll think I'm one of your patients! Perhaps I'll join the major and Jack and take to the highways."

  Eve swallowed another laugh, even though the weepy place between her thighs was still sensitive and felt hollow. Strange, but she had never noticed it much before his arrival. "We always seem to be at cross-purposes," she remarked. Buttoning her gown, she felt remarkably strong and regrettably stupid. Still, when all was said and done, she couldn't allow this to happen. Could she?

  "Truer words were never spoken. I try to make love to you, and find myself constantly interrupted by your demented patients. I'm not teasing, my little pearl; if I don't have you soon, you'll have to lock me away. By the by, if you have to take that drastic step, I do hope you'll let Dr. Sigmund visit me. After all, he understands this thwarted-libido stuff."

  Eve's mirth spilled forth again, filling the carriage, which pulled up to the Towers, the horse's hooves ringing on the cobblestones. In the background she heard Sir Loring say, "Stay away from my coffin! I'll have no Englishmen and mad dogs disturb my eternal resting place. Do you hear that, Totter? Don't let Mrs. Monkfort touch my soil!"

  Adam shook his head balefully. "Spring cleaning… in the fall."

  Eve's eyes narrowed. "They may be loud, they may be mad, and some may even be a bit perverted, but these are my raving lunatics. I happen to be quite fond of them."

  Adam shook his head in mock disgust. "But not as fond as you are of me. No need to deny it, Eve. You're falling in love with me, and I couldn't be happier."

  Her eyes assessed him with a sharp gleam. She hated to admit that his words held any truth, but they did. She was fond of him, although she certainly wasn't in love with him. She would never be that stupid. Adam whatever-his-name-was was too wild, too witty, and much too mischievous. Furthermore, there was another damning fact: her Adam had accepted gold to care for her. Even if he really loved her, such a disgraceful beginning couldn't have a happy ending. So without another word she pushed past him out the carriage door, and hurried up the stone steps to the front door.

  Behind her, she heard Adam mutter, "A chest, a chest—my kingdom for Eve's chest."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sense and Sensuality

  It was the days of autumn rain. Outside her bedchamber, Eve could hear the splash of raindrops and tree branches scratching against the windowpanes. She barely glanced at herself in the oval mirror as she put on her pearl necklace. Nor did she note the tiny frown lines around her mouth. Instead, her mind was consumed with Adam, just like in her dreams and daytime fantasies. Ever since Adam had helped Frederick come to terms with his social gaffe, all lingering anger she felt at his deception had slowly bled away, leaving her longing to be with him.

  Yet, four days had passed since the aborted assault on her virginity. Days in which she'd considered and reconsidered her choice. Anticipation and angst had been Eve's daily companions, for her husband had been the perfect gentleman. To say that was surprising was an understatement, Eve thought disgustedly. And she should be hopping up and down with joy. Instead, here she was, staring into her mirror, seeing nothing but Adam's face, and wondering when he would make a move to seduce her again. His lips were so soft and hot, making her tremble with need. Placing several drops of perfume beneath her breasts and finishing the last of her toilette, she stared at her reflection. She was in fine form tonight. Her gown was fitted tightly at the waist, and it showcased her figure. The décolletage was lower than she usually wore, revealing the curve of her breasts. Adam would notice those—breasts that had begun to ache at night from wanting his mouth fastened to them.

  Eve frowned, questioning her sanity. She couldn't really want to bed the man, could she? Just because he was devastatingly handsome was no reason to lose all sense. And why had he stopped tempting her and trying to get her alone? She knew he wasn't the kind of man to be stopped by repeated failures. He was too strong for that, and too virile.

  "Of course," she said to herself, "if I were being absolutely fair, I must admit we've been busy here." With the full moon only a night away, the lunatics had been a rowdy bunch. They had kept both her and Adam busy soothing anxious nerves and calming turbulent water beds.

  Giving one last look in the mirror, she nodded. "Let him ignore me tonight," she dared. And with those words she left her room to descend the stairs, her mind finding explanations for Adam's disinterest in her boudoir.

  "Three nights ago," she said thoughtfully, "we had to track Mr. Carlen through the London stews. That certainly wasn't a picnic." Mr. Carlen had reverted to gargoyle form and flown the coop. Out of necessity, she and her husband had become a team, afraid that if the gargoyle went into a catatonic state he would be discovered. Humans would just not understand a gargoyle in the flesh. Therefore, Adam and Eve had tramped around until near dawn, when they had luckily spotted him. He was perched on the roof of the Birds of Paradise club, which Adam had seemed to think was a good sign. The flying monster was clearly looking for a feathered mate—or at least an evening with a soiled dove.

  "And last night our patients and staff played cards," she mumbled as she crossed to the dining room. It surprisingly had been an enjoyable evening that Eve would long remember. Adam had patiently explained several games to a few of the patients and staff, while Mr. Pryce had explained the finer points of gin rummy to Mrs. Monkfort. Even Sir Loring, who had been hiding in the draperies and playing dead, had finally joined in the fun and games, and he'd won more than a few hands after having a cup of his native soil delivered under his chair. For good luck, the lanky vampire had explained.

  Adam entered the dining room and greeted his wife cordially, his hazel eyes twinkling as he took in her dress. How he managed to act nonplussed, he didn't know. Tonight she was dressed in a rich royal blue, the color of the icy Atlantic. Her bodice was rounded and revealed her ample charms. And no doubt, he thought lecherously, underneath was her Freudian slip. The gown was cut lower than she usually wore, and he would bet all of Fester's gold that she had worn it to show him just what he was missing. The little corsair was adorable, but he would not play into her hands.

  Before Eve could fully evaluate her husband's reaction, Pavlov claimed her attention with a compliment. Dinner then proceeded, and Eve scrutinized Adam then, although in a secretive manner. Just because she was becoming besotted with her spouse was no reason to let him know it. Why weren't those fingers stroking her at night? She took a sip of her soup, smiling slightly, watching as Adam dangled his winegla
ss from elegant fingers as he spoke with Pavlov.

  "Tell me about the time you found yourself locked in a wine cellar with a thirsty vampiress, n'est-ce pas?" Pavlov cajoled, requesting one of Adam's more lurid adventures.

  Eve tilted her head, listening vaguely to Adam's story while secretly pondering their problem. Adam was excellent. Despite her initial protests, she knew when to give praise. Adam visited with all the patients now, listening with the air of one really interested. His remarks were well thought out, almost as if he could see deep into the hearts of their darkness. The patients listened to his advice with wide smiles, and appeared to feel better after talking to him. Adam had told Eve that he preferred to call his sessions chats, rather than Verbal Intercourse, since he was saving that for her alone. Once she would have been incensed, but this time she found him amusing.

  Actually, the past four days had seen many revelations for her, giving her new insight into Adam the man. Yesterday Mrs. Monkfort had even gone so far as to drink a glass of water without washing it first. She said Adam had convinced her that the water in the deep well behind the asylum was clean. And Jack the Rip had honored his wager to Adam after losing a game of piquet last night; this afternoon when Eve was called out to halt Jack from flashing her roses, his trousers had been off but his undergarments were firmly in place.

  And the staff adored Adam, she mused. It was obvious. Collins—a sometimes footman and sometimes member of the serving staff—had noticed that her husband had finished his sautéed mushrooms, and he quickly dished out another serving. Of course, the trollish fellow managed to appropriate a few for himself, but Eve didn't begrudge them, since those with troll blood were notoriously fond of truffles.

  Taking a bite of braised rabbit, Eve listened to Adam's response to one of Pavlov's remarks. Eve's lips twitched into a smile as she noted that even her assistant seemed impressed.

  Pavlov began laughing at something Adam said. He did have a dry, wicked wit, she admitted, and he obviously relished playing doctor. She just wished he'd play it on her.

  Watching his handsome face break into an engaging grin, Eve realized that she was more than fond of him. Until this dashing rogue had burst into her life like a Nosferatu springing from a coffin, Eve had preferred her heart just where it was. Life had been much simpler then, but it was so much more fulfilled now. Was this love, this awakening of the senses whenever he was near? When he was gone, she felt a hollowness inside. At times like that, she found that she had to actually resist the temptation to go running to find him.

  As Collins sidled forward to pour her more wine, she pondered this marvelously scary feeling, and what would happen if love blossomed full force. Adam was an adventurer, an ex-privateer. If he got the urge to wander again, what would she do? What could she do? If he chose to someday leave her, whom would she tease about digging holes with Fester? Who was brave enough or foolish enough to dance and sing in the rain with frogs and Frankensteins? Who would wink at her over Mrs. Monkfort's shoulder? And how in the world would she live without Adam's impassioned kisses? Yet an adventurer was an adventurer, and prone to wander. She had to beware.

  Adam choked back laughter. His wife's glances were quite different now from when he'd first arrived. Thank goodness he had always been difficult to discourage. She was everything he could have hoped for in a mate—a feisty little autocrat, yet tenderly concerned with her patients. She was a kind commander, but also managed to be firm. Coming to know her had been one of the high points in his life. He had formed a great respect for her accomplishments. She had become a psychiatrist at a time when most women were content to be put upon a pedestal and endlessly admired and feted for their great beauty. Not Eve.

  It was beyond strange, Adam thought, that as lovely as she was, Eve was one of the least vain women he had ever met. It was due, he reasoned, to the fact that most of her time was taken up with helping others—which had ironically made her even more beautiful.

  Her kind nature had actually worked against him recently, as she'd been tending to her patients. But he had a battle plan. Eve was a Bluebeard: deny her something she wanted and she would fight to the death to get it. She wanted him, and was just now beginning to realize it. His feigned disinterest should drive her mad with desire, and by the look in her eyes it was working. He was more than relieved, not knowing if his passion for her could go another unrequited night.

  Pavlov concentrated on the cherries jubilee, but Adam sipped his wine, leaning back in his rose brocade chair. His eyes fixed firmly on Eve. His grand battle plan would come to an end tonight; it had been decided when she walked into the room in all her glory. She was ripe for the plucking. He would have her in bed and on his body or beneath his body, crying out in ecstasy. Theirs would be an earth-shaking release. Tonight he would get his cock in a position to be envied.

  Her husband's heated eyes burned into her, causing Eve to blush. Flustered, she glanced at the grandfather clock on the wall. "We have an hour to reach the Scientific Museum of Supernatural Studies," she said. "Dr. Sigmund's lecture starts then. We can't be late."

  "Absolument. Dr. Sigmund would have your head, Dr. Eve. He hates tardiness," Pavlov agreed. "My friend will arrive soon to take me with him. I dare not be late either. Those troll eyes of Dr. Sigmund's can be intimidating when burning with anger."

  Adam grimaced. "I know we are engaged to attend, but I must confess that I hope this lecture isn't on chamber pots."

  Eve sighed. "Since he is the head of the funding committee, I can't risk not attending." She added with a conspiratorial smile, "However, I feel we are both in luck. Tonight his lecture is not about chamber pots. He and Dr. Hartley will be discussing the treatment of bizarre behaviors of the chaos-ridden mind. Also, there's something about some werewolves named Petersen and Borden, and how multiple personalities can manifest with lycanthropy."

  "Sounds riveting," Adam replied. But still. What could a troll really know about a werewolf?

  "Fraud. I thought you enjoyed playing doctor," Eve said—so softly that Pavlov wouldn't hear, her teasing words fraught with fondness.

  This, Adam understood, was a good sign. Eve was coming to value his talents, and to trust him. Both qualities he felt were essential in a truly harmonious and loving marriage.

  Leaning toward her, he tenderly lifted her hand to his mouth and stared with heavy-lidded eyes into hers. "With you there, my dear, it will be highly entertaining. If nothing else I can absorb your beauty. Besides, I live in hope that Dr. Sigmund will mention his rooster theory again, as I do find that quite interesting. Perhaps you and I might discuss the applications of it later." Yes, from the look in her eyes, she was ripe for the plucking. And once Eve was plucked, they could settle down and nest for life. By thunder, how he loved her, even with her lair of lunatics.

  Eve stifled a groan and felt another blush flushing her cheeks. Adam was such a little devil when he wanted to be.

  Pavlov, missing the undercurrents of sexual tension, remarked thoughtfully, "Oui, I've taken several of his classes. His barnyard begrudgement is a more recent theory, however, and I feel that it is not that impressive. I believe my behavior patterning will someday overshadow it. Everyone will know of my bells. Still, I am interested in his theories on multiple personalities. I've always felt that shifting from animal to human form must take a toll on the psyche. So many werecreatures are insane."

  Adam studied Eve's assistant, then turned back to her. "Do you agree?" he asked. "Do you think that all werecreatures are likely to be demented?" He didn't believe she felt that way, but he needed to know. He had thought to reveal his paranormal nature tonight, after they made love. But if she thought shape-shifters were basically unstable, he might think more about his confession first.

  "Of course not," she replied, cocking a brow at her assistant. "Really, Pavlov, I've told you that your theory of rampant insanity among werecreatures is a fallacy—with the exception of wererats. I've always felt that they are a bit off balance."

  Adam
grinned, remarking, "Probably because of their tiny little feet." He knew she was talking about Captain Hook.

  Pavlov looked surprised, then joined in Eve's laughter.

  A loud noise shattered their mirth as bells began to toll, their loud peals filling the air. In unison, all three turned toward the huge stained-glass window, and they stared out at the bell tower. In unison, all three growled, "Hugo."

  The bells continued to ring, and Pavlov's obese dog came flying through the dining room doors. With practiced ease he leaped onto the brocade chair next to his master. His expression was blissful, his speckled tongue hanging out, and he waited to be fed, panting and wriggling. Pavlov had trained him perhaps too well.

  "This is folie—madness! It's a disaster," Pavlov cried, patting his mutt's head. "Once again, my beloved dog answers the call of the bells—just what I wanted when I began my behavior patterning. But with that fou Hugo ringing bells at all times of the night and day, mon chien is becoming un cheval!" Junger just whined.

  Suddenly, the doors to the kitchens slammed open and Teeter lurched into the room. "You rang, Dr. Eve?"

  Adam's bark of laughter could be heard over the bells. "God, I love this place."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As Good as It Gets

  Several hours later found Adam and Eve listening to Dr. Sigmund's lecture, which was now coming to a close. Eve glanced around at the wash of present faces. They were many and varied, but then, the older psychiatrist had always commanded great respect. Beside her she felt Adam's restlessness, and he shifted a time or two in the hard-backed chair.

  "Multiple personalities have been found in some werewolves. This can lend itself to blood savagery when they are moonstruck. Therefore, in treating them, one must use extreme caution. I must urge all of you not to forget that werewolves often bite the hands that feed them." Dr. Sigmund's closing words were met by loud applause.