The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing

by Minda Webber

  "I told you to pretend to seduce the earl, not for you to let the earl seduce you! I told you to stake him, not to be caught alone with him in the wee hours of the morning. I am deeply astounded and ashamed that a daughter of mine would act like a Covent Garden doxy!" The major snorted derisively.

  Jane gasped, her cheeks burning. Anger flared inside her. Her nerves were tootling like a cavalry troop's call to battle.

  Brandon's expression became one of anger. "Father! You sent Jane into this whole ramshackle affair. She's no seductress—anyone can see that," he said. He shook his head vigorously. His father never should have sent Jane to do a man's job. Er, not that seducing the earl was a man's job.

  Jane gasped. She knew she was no femme fatale, but really! A brother should take up for his sister, not disparage her lack of sensuality.

  Brandon glanced at her apologetically. "Sorry, Jane. But Father has no right to berate you."

  "Right? Right? I am her father! If I can't point out her flaws, who can?" The major gave both his unruly children withering glances.

  Brandon nodded fiercely. "And 'tis a good thing she did. If Jane had succeeded, she would have been tried for the murder of an earl!"

  "Murder?" Jane peeped.

  Brandon nodded. "Didn't you wonder why we made such good time? The messenger found us en route to Huntsley Manor."

  "I know," she said. "Why?" She was so nervous, her queasy stomach was doing somersaults. She was about to cast up her accounts all over Clair's Persian rug. It was only with a supreme effort of will that she forced the nausea to recede. Did Clair have any brandied bonbons lying around?

  "Father got his information wrong. The Earl of Wolverton may be many things, but he is not our foe Count Dracul," Brandon announced, giving his father an annoyed look. Then he added wrathfully, "Although, it's apparent that Wolverton is a seducer of innocents!"

  Jane ignored the latter comment. She hadn't really been all that innocent. She was the one who'd instigated the whole rotten scenario, although with a great deal of help from her father.

  "How did you discover the case of mistaken identity?" Jane asked, wondering if they knew Asher was a vampire with big, nasty, pointy white teeth.

  His forehead bunched, clearly tense, Brandon answered. "Our spies were wrong. I found and followed Dracul in Transylvania, but lost his trail in Paris. So I came home in hopes that he might turn up in London. He used to live here over a century ago, for nearly forty years, but was forced to flee for his life. Now I believe he has returned, secretly, in spite of we Van Helsings who live here. Lady Veronique has not run off with her lover since he returned to Town yesterday from a brief trip to the country. The widow is definitely missing, and I have word that some ladies of the evening from White Chapel are missing as well. Although one was found with two holes in her neck, very much dead."

  Jane shook her head grimly. This was not good news at all. Returning to her own problems, she grimaced, her foot tapping a sharp beat on the hardwood floor. "I could have killed an innocent man," she scolded her father. Her instincts had told her that Asher wasn't the Prince of Evil, and Clair had also championed the earl. If events had turned out differently, she would have dispatched an innocent vampire. Well, she amended, no vampire was innocent, but Asher certainly wasn't the Prince of Depravity.

  Furious with herself and her sire, she wanted to stomp her feet and scream curses. If she wasn't such a lady, she would have. Her cursed father! He had sent her on her merry doomed way to destroy a Peer of the Realm on faulty information. Asher probably thought she was touched in the head. He had a case.

  "Innocent? How do you know he's innocent? Just because my spies were wrong about who he was doesn't mean they're incorrect about what he is," the major argued.

  Jane let that comment slide. "How could your spies have been so mistaken?"

  "Well, if you've seen one vampire, you've seen them all. They all look alike," the major said with a dismissive hand wave. "A simple case of mistaken identity."

  "Not so simple, Papa," Jane reprimanded him bitterly. She sank into a rose-hued chair near where her brother stood resting his foot against the fireplace grate. "It has quite changed my life. Now I am ruined. Ruined." She and Orville could go and hide their heads in the giant sandbox she had ordered especially for him.

  Glancing down, Jane sighed bleakly. "Ruined."

  "Not quite. Your reputation may be slightly tarnished, but it's not damaged beyond repair," her brother said, leaning down to pat her on the shoulder. Jane knew he loved her dearly and hated seeing her so disheartened. He above all people knew her life had not been an easy one, most especially with the death of their mother.

  "Your brother's right, Jane. The earl has asked for the honor of your hand, and I have accepted," the major pronounced. His voice was strained.

  Jane smothered her gasp. She had been talked into.

  expecting the offer of marriage by what little Clair had explained of Ian's conversation with the earl, but still it came as a shock. Even more shocking was her father's permission.

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. If she didn't marry Asher, she was doomed to spinsterhood and shunning from society. If she did marry the hoity-toity earl, she would be doomed to a lifetime with a husband who despised her. Not to mention his fetish for blood. And his age! He was way too old for her, and way too experienced. Although, he did make her heart go pitter-pat whenever he was near.

  Tears welled in her eyes, and Jane furiously blinked them back. Her life was never to be the same again. Yet, wasn't that what she longed for, a different life? But, what would the proud earl think of her lineage? Her antecedents had killed his.

  Her tears dried up as she reasoned that being married to a vampire would have certain advantages. First and foremost, she would never again have to hunt the walking dead. Rather, married to the Earl of Wolverton, she would only have to watch out for the walking wed—the terrifying wives of other nobles. Second, there would be no more vampire training in the rain, sleet or snow. Third, the earl was handsome and very wealthy. She could buy as many pretty new gowns as she wanted, and jewelry. She did so love emeralds. And maybe they could travel—to the Dark Continent, perhaps—so that she could go exotic bird-watching. And perhaps she could have those delicious chocolates from Paris imported. Fourth, Asher probably didn't have a speck of silver anti-vampire paraphernalia in the house. Never again would she polish silver chains or crosses as punishment.

  Intrigued with the possibilities, she cautiously asked her father, "If the earl was a vampire would you let me marry him?"

  The major waved his hand dismissively. "If he is a vampire, and if Dracul has come to London as your brother suspects, you will be our ears and eyes to the plans of those bloodsucking fiends."

  Brandon let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.

  Unaware of his tactlessness, the major continued. "Of course, if he's a vampire, then after you have gathered the information we seek and Dracul has been exterminated like the crawling vermin he is, then I imagine the earl will have an unfortunate accident. That will leave you free of the heinous, hideous creature, and you'll be left a wealthy widow free to continue vampire-slaying."

  Once again, her autocratic father had insulted Jane. He did not care for her welfare, nor for her personal code of honor. All he cared about was slaying the great Count Dracul before his brother did. Her father had windmills in the head, but not the least clue what ill winds he was blowing.

  Jane stood, her hands clenched so tight that her fingernails dug into the tender flesh of her palms. "I see! You will sacrifice me on the altar of family duty. I am to marry a man who might possibly be a vampire in order to spy on him. This man, who has offered me the honor of marriage and saved my good name as well as your honor—when his use to us is at an end, you will end him!"

  "Jolly good, Jane. For once you have quickly grasped the situation," her father congratulated her, his gruff voice booming through the room.

  Jane count
ed to ten. She could hear her brother counting to twenty. She wanted to slap her father silly and kick him in the shins.

  Seeing his sister's grim expression, her eyes sparkling with rage, Brandon took her hands and asked apprehensively, "Jane, when you were alone with him last night, did he try to bite your neck? Have you found any proof that he's a vampire?"

  As much as Jane loved her brother and hated telling him an untruth, she knew if she was honest, she'd be in widow's weeds before the month was out. On the other hand, as soon as she was pronounced Asher's wife, she would be at the mercy of a vampire. Jane was no idiot. She knew Asher's mercy would be miniscule; and yet she owed him her loyalty. He was kindly saving her from a life of social ostracism when she'd been the one to instigate the whole situation.

  "No," Jane lied. If the earl later proved vindictive, she would tell the truth to her brother then. But her first loyalty was now to her soon-to-be husband. A refreshing change… if only he was alive. Which made her think of last night's debacle and almost-debauching, and Asher's very alive-seeming and magnificent chest.

  Pursing her lips, she wondered if the earl slept au naturel? Did he sleep with a pillow? Would he expect her to share his coffin? She made a moue of distaste. She would slam the lid on that idea, and quickly. Even for more of the man's deadly sweet kisses, Jane wouldn't share a cramped casket in a dark, damp mausoleum. No way, no how.

  "No, I have seen no evidence of the earl being a vampire," Jane replied, her eyes studying the hunter green Persian rug on the floor. She would take a page from Clair, who wrote the book on telling little white fibs to save other people's feelings—or their very lives, as it was in this case.

  "No. Asher is most definitely not a vampire," Jane said, smiling weakly. She put Asher's big, white fangs and red eyes out of her mind.

  Relief flashed across her brother's face. "Good, good," he said. "Since the information was wrong about him being the Prince of Darkness, I was most devoutly hoping the earl was not even one of the undead. I have been worrying since we left London."

  "No need," Jane lied stiffly, studying her brother's boots.

  "Damnation!" the major cursed. "If the earl is not a vampire, then we lose our inside track. You can be bloody well sure that my brother, Jakob, will be hot on Dracul's trail if he gets a whiff that the gruesome who-some is on the island." He pounded on the end table beside him, upsetting his glass of brandy. "This whole jumbled mess is for nothing! Once again, Jane has put herself in the brambles, and has put a stain on the Van Helsing pedigree with her actions."

  Brandon stood straighter, his expression outraged. "By gawd, Major! Jane is in this mess because of your dubious orders. As her commander," he suggested, "doesn't the buck stop with you, father?"

  "D'oh! Oh dear. Yes, well," her father blustered, his pinkered face now scarlet. "I am just disappointed in losing a possible connection to that vicious vampire. I was counting on Jane's eyes and ears."

  "We'll find a way, father. We always do," Brandon remarked pensively. "Besides, this time it's personal."

  Noting that her brother's anger had faded, sorrow taking its place, Jane gently stood and patted his arm. "What's happened, Brandon? What occurred in Transylvania that has you so down?"

  "Dracul is what happened. He killed a friend of mine in Bulgaria."

  She reached up and kissed his check. "I am so sorry. Can I do anything to help?" she asked, but she already knew what she would do. Suddenly, living with a vampire had a fifth good reason. As her father suggested, vampires often flocked together in nests. Surely living in the same residence as Asher would enable her to gather information on whether Dracul was come to Town. Once she had gathered this information, she would relay it to her brother in the form of an anonymous tip. She didn't want to harm Asher, but she wasn't her father's daughter for nothing.

  Married to the Monster

  The vicar of Huntington parish surveyed the dour wedding party with a twinge of unease. He much preferred morning weddings to these late-night affairs. In the past month he had presided over four weddings and a funeral. This wedding reminded him more of the funeral. The vicar knew that this ceremony was being rushed. In point of fact, the groom had only proposed the night before. But what could you say when the nobility were involved?

  The vicar sighed and glanced over at the father of the bride. The man's expression was bordering on petulant. The bride's brother wore a look of woe. Baron Huntsley, who was seated next to his wife, appeared resigned, while the earl's man of business had a solemn demeanor. Worst of all was the groom, who for all his exalted personage looked as if he wanted to bite somebody's head off.

  The bride entered the chapel. She was pale, her mouth was pursed in a tight line and the bouquet of flowers in her hands was shaking, scattering petals here and there, which made the vicar feel that there was definitely more going on than a case of bridal nerves. To be honest, the vicar decided that the only person who appeared happy at this supposedly joyous occasion was the baroness Clair Huntsley—she was smiling merrily.

  The vicar shook his head slightly. There was just no judging the Quality. They were a breed unto themselves. And the Huntsleys and their peers more than most.

  Clair turned around in her front-row pew and waved dramatically at Jane. Then, turning to her husband she remarked, "Oh dear, Ian, look at Jane. Why, she is beyond pale, and she's not even undead."

  Ian nodded. "She would have been beyond the pale if the earl hadn't married her." Glancing over at the groom, he added, "Asher isn't in much better shape. I can't tell which of the two is whiter."

  Clair patted her husband's thigh. "They'll be fine. I give them two months, and they'll be madly in love."

  "Mad, I concede, but love is a pipe dream. This time that Frankensteinian brain of yours has conceived a plan that's scientifically doomed to failure."

  "Never," Clair argued. "But speaking of mad, the major looks like he could spit nails. Or Neils," she added as a joke.

  Ian grinned.

  Unaware that he was under discussion, Major Edward Van Helsing raised his arm to escort his daughter down the aisle, his pudgy face somber. Glancing down, he noticed Jane's extreme pallor. "Come now, girl. Buck up. Remember, neither rain nor sleet nor hail nor snow can stop a Van Helsing from his duty. Besides, you are marrying an earl—quite a coup, Jane. Your mother would be proud."

  Jane straightened her spine and laid her trembling fingers upon the man's arm. Then, turning toward Clair, she managed to nod stiffly, physically restraining herself from running screaming from the church.

  Tonight was an ending for her, as well as a beginning. From the ashes of her old life, she would begin a new life with Asher.

  Regrets beat at her mind like a trapped bird in a too-small cage: Regrets that by this marriage she would be leaving her brother, whom she dearly loved, and her father, who had never seen who she really was or what she wanted to be. Regrets that her father would have used her as a spying tool if he had known she was really marrying a monster. Regrets that she and her groom were being forced to wed at all. So many regrets, they were fighting each other in her mind for attention.

  Scrunching her eyes, Jane recalled that she needed to speak to Clair about the fur in the settee leg. She would also hint that a better carpet might be bought for this church.

  Looking up from her study of her shoes and the awful brownish red carpet in the aisle, her eyes sought out the groom. He would have taken her breath away, if she'd had any left to give. Asher was dressed entirely in black, with the exception of a red waistcoat, trimmed in jet. Anger radiated from him in waves. She guessed the old adage was true, and she muttered, "Hell hath no fury like a vampire made to marry."

  "What did you expect, daughter? The earl is renowned for his dalliances with beautiful women."

  She missed a step at her father's words. Anger overcame some of her panic. But glancing at the groom, Jane swallowed hard at the frosty look in his eyes. There was no welcoming smile to soften his stern features. And she
couldn't really blame him for detesting her; not after her foiled attempts on his undead life and this forced trip to the altar.

  She felt like crying. Her groom was not only coldblooded, but he also had very cold feet. And not because he was undead, but about her! Even discounting the fact that the earl didn't want to be wed to a woman he detested, he was also marrying beneath him. Her father was a mere knight, and her uncle only a baron. The Earl of Wolverton could have married any lovely lady in the land. Any other woman on this day would be merrily singing, thrilled to wed such a handsome, wealthy earl; overjoyed to marry up in status, not fearful. But, then, they wouldn't know that the groom might pop up in bed (his casket?) at any time and bite her neck—in a bloody way.

  Feeling Asher's scornful gaze upon her, Jane returned to her intense scrutiny of the ugly rug and her pale green slippers. She was afraid. In less than an hour she would belong to a man who was not a man, and he would have absolute control over her life. And this man was a vampire in love with her bosom chum, which was a fact impossible to ignore.

  Despite her groom's obvious disgust, Jane felt her eyes drawn to Asher once again. Tonight he was wearing dignity and a new suit of clothes, standing stiff and starched and unfriendly. Jane breathed deeply, trying to calm her nerves. She had not forced Asher into the misalliance of the century.

  No matter the earl's feelings, Jane intended to do all she could to be a good and loyal wife. She had a fine example in her mother. Thinking back to childhood, Jane recalled how her mother often used to wait for the major to come home from his nightly forays in vampire-staking. The woman often had a hot bath prepared, cold water too, to soak his jacket and shirt, and a glass of brandy for her husband. She'd never scolded the major for the dusty ashes or blood on his clothing.

  Would Asher want a hot bath and brandy, or would he want a blood bath? That particular thought made Jane twist her lips in an expression of pure distaste, and her stomach grew queasy.