The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard (London Paranormal 03) (10 page)

Mr. Pryce, a rather sallow-faced man with thinning hair, was not handsome at the best of times. At present he was on his hands and knees, his scrawny buttocks thrust up in the air. He made a buzzing noise as he licked a substance off his table.

Wandering over, Adam glanced down at the sticky golden goo. "I see it's true. You do catch more flies with honey. And there's always a Pryce to pay."

Eve sent him a speaking glance, which clearly indicated for him to shut his mouth. He obliged momentarily, since he was fascinated by her patient.

"
Cos'e'questo
?" Count Caligari questioned, and then, realizing he had spoken in Italian, repeated his words. "What's this, a fly?"

"Yes," Eve said, "so it will do precious little good to try to communicate with him."

"Fascinating!" Dr. Sigmund cried as he eyed the man before him like a bug under glass, even if he was a werewolf on a table. "Does he ever talk when he's like this? Does he hear voices, or the call of the wild in this altered state? What's the buzz?"

"The buzz? When he is in this altered state, he only makes that odd humming noise, as you can hear."

"Yes, I see," Dr. Sigmund remarked, staring at the wiry little man on the table. "Not in essence moonstruck. When he is in possession of himself, what has he revealed of his relationship with the chamber pot? What do you know about his potty training?"

Eve shook her head. "His potty training was perfectly normal. I talked with his mother about it."

Adam couldn't help himself. "Is the mother a fly-by-night insect as well?" he asked. He hadn't been so amused since he helped sink the
Flying Dutchman
with the Dutchman aboard. "Does being bugger-all run in the family?" As he looked at Eve's glaring face, the word
mulish
came to mind.

"Of course not! His mother is perfectly normal."

Adam grinned at her reply. For most humans, werewolfism wasn't a normal state.

They all walked out and back down the hall, and Eve said, "Mr. Pryce is quite a nice man when he is not in his insect delusion, or tearing up the countryside as a wolf. He has few debilitating fears… except for the conservatory."

"Fear of the conservatory?" Dr. Crane questioned, arching his neck.

"We have several large Venus flytraps in the conservatory," Eve answered. "I thought of getting rid of them, but I… didn't want to pamper the patients' phobias to excess," she added, not altogether truthfully. The last part of her statement had been added strictly for the odious count's beastly benefit. Her mother had brought those flytraps from Greece to celebrate Eve's tenth birthday. The two women had decorated them with tiny silver bells and pink seashells, but the flytraps had eaten them, mistaking the decorations for lunch. Eve and her mother had laughed for hours. Therefore, Eve would never get rid of the flytraps, not even for a patient.

Adam's face broke into a wide grin, and there was more than a trace of laughter in his voice. "Yes, I can see where those plants might be a problem."

"You have the compassion of a goat," Eve hissed at him softly.

He turned and smiled. "I know you are wishing me to Jericho right now, but the trip would take me away from you. And I don't want to deprive you of my company any longer," he replied.

"You're utterly maddening. Impossible! Just wait until I get you alone!"

Adam found the threat terribly interesting. "I wait with bated breath."

He didn't have to wait long. Dr. Sigmund soon took his leave, telling them all that the funding committee would be making its decision in the upcoming weeks, and then all the guests said farewell.

Adam heard the front doors bang closed as Eve ushered him into her study. She slammed that door herself, and turned to face him. A lesser man would have taken flight at the look of utter fury in her eyes.

He grinned, for he was not a lesser man.

"Blast you to smithereens, you bounder! What in the bloody hell do you want?" Eve demanded.

"I already have it," Adam replied. The little imp within him couldn't help but enjoy the spectacle of vexation that flowed over Eve's beautiful face. Her dark blue eyes glittered like stars in the sky, her cheeks were flushed a becoming peach, and her bosom was heaving. He very much liked how it heaved.

She was magnificent in her fury. Hopefully, he would soon have her beneath him. Perhaps not this night, but soon, very soon. His world had tilted the moment he had seen Eve. She had set his bachelor life to sinking.

"Who told you about me? Who else knows?" Eve questioned, a ruthless gleam in her eye. Her heart was thundering in her chest. Who was this man, and exactly what knowledge did he hold in his grubby little hands? Would he reveal her hoax? Would all and sundry soon know of her deception? She needed to analyze the situation and stop imagining the worst. "Is this blackmail? What exactly are you after—money? If so, you're extremely foolish." No one blackmailed a Bluebeard.

"It's not blackmail, and how utterly insulting an accusation," Adam retorted with disgust. "I have seen and done many illegal things, but blackmail isn't one of them."

"Who told you about the nonexistent Adam? How in the bloody world did you get here?" she pushed, even though deep down inside she knew the answer: her fiend of a father and his infernal interference.

He batted not an eyelash as he answered, "By carriage."

Infuriated, Eve grabbed a porcelain figurine off a shelf and threw it at the brigand. "How did you know to come to the Towers, blast it? How did you know a real husband might not be lurking in the shadows to call you out? I could have a husband waiting in the wings to duel you."

"Ouch." He laughed as the figure caught him on the shoulder. "Play nice. Wives don't throw things at their husbands. And I wasn't worried about being called out to duel—though maybe I should have been. Ghastly prospect, really. All that cold, damp air and people shooting or jabbing at you with very sharp swords. But I wasn't worried, because I knew that you have no flesh-and-blood husband. He's only a figment of your very active imagination. Or so I was told."

"Yes!" Eve shouted. "I know! You were told about me!" And she knew just who the twisted old tattletale was. Her irascible father and his impossibly silly suggestions of grandchildren were enough to drive her around the bend at a maddening gallop.

The fire in the fireplace crackled, and a log broke apart, ominously loud in the sudden silence of the spacious study. Both Adam and Eve knew that the tide had turned and an ocean of revelations was at hand.

He wanted to kick himself in the backside for letting her goad him into revealing himself too soon, but there was nothing Adam could do but watch Eve carefully handling another, heavier figurine. It was a bust, and not the bust he wanted her fondling. The cat was out of the bag, the Bluebeard was out on the prowl, and he might soon be out on his arse.

"Who told you?" Eve asked. She wanted definite proof for when she threw her father's perfidy back in his face. Otherwise, he'd deny it until he was blue in the beard.

"Would you believe a little bluebird wearing a gold earring and a pirate's hat?"

"That backstabbing buccaneer!" Eve swore. "I'd serve my father's liver to the eels, but I hate to give the eels indigestion. I knew it was the Captain. The maddest meddling menace of the seven seas." She threw the heavy porcelain head in her hands, but missed as he dodged.

"My, what a bloodthirsty little vixen I have for a wife," Adam said. "After all that hard work in Transylvania, it appears my wife had greater need of my services here." He gazed at her breasts, greatly admiring the view. At least she wasn't near any more knickknacks to throw, for she plainly intended to do him bodily harm. But what jolly good fun, he thought. He would be the first to admit that he loved a duel at the door of every boudoir. Easy conquests were boring and predictable, and he did so dislike the ordinary.

"What if the good doctors could see your temper tantrum right now?" he asked, glancing down at the broken figurines. "What do you think they would say?"

His words only incited her ire. "That's something else I wish to discuss! How dare you pretend to know what to do with a blood-crazed vampire with an obsessive oral fixation? Your theory of behavior-changing bloodletting of fledglings to relieve fears of the graveyard—pure nonsense!" she snapped, her blue eyes blazing. "And to say that you stuffed that undead coffin with locusts and worms to give them snacks—
snacks
!—to keep their bloodlust in line was positively idiotic lunacy of the first order. And music—violin music and opera singers to sing them to sleep? Rubbish! It's beyond belief. You're telling tales from the crypt, and I won't have it!"

"Ah, the plot thickens. You're angry because I stepped on your dainty professional toes. My theories were absolutely brilliant, and your nerves are too overset right now to comprehend the genius of the scheme. Besides, it was better than telling them to take two cups of rum and call me in the morning."

"Brilliant? Shiver me timbers! It was ludicrous twaddle. How anyone could swallow that cockamamie tale is beyond my ken. And I so respected Dr. Sigmund before this hideous night."

"I don't know. Most of your doctor friends appeared to be fascinated with my little pretense," Adam said, his hazel eyes twinkling. "But by the way, couldn't you come up with a more original name than Adam? Adam and Eve? I feel like I'm in some farce called
Original Sin in the Garden
. Now all we need is the forbidden fruit." He gave her a wink.

Looking to the high vaulted ceilings, as if for divine intervention, Eve said, "You might have ruined my plans, and I could lose my funding. For that alone you should be walking the plank." But inside she was a cauldron of messy emotions. She was furious at her father, scared that he had learned her secret. And she was hurt that he'd deviously used it against her for his gain. And Adam—the man not only made her see red; she felt all hot and bothered whenever he gave her that pirate grin.

"I didn't ruin anything. I only
added
to your dull dinner party with my witty comments and dashing good looks."

"You can't just waltz in here and start ordering me about. I'm not a child!" Eve stamped her foot to punctuate the thought.

"Oh, I beg to differ," Adam remarked. "I have waltzed into your life with a zest that is, I must say, most inspired. It was probably those dance lessons. Of course, they got me into a tight spot in Strasbourg." Tight
spot
was an understatement, he conceded wryly. Due to an empty stomach and an emptier purse, he had been giving dance lessons to the Baron of Eudall's daughters, and the eldest had taken a fancy to him. She had picked up his steps with ease and later led him a pas de depux into a corner, giving sugary, hot kisses and a blatant treatment of his
ront de jambe
. Luck had been in short supply back then—else he would never have been teaching dance to tedious debutantes—and the baron had interrupted the impromptu waltz. Adam had managed to flee Strasbourg with his private parts intact, but just barely.

He managed a faint smile. "Isn't it fortuitous for all that I'm quick on my feet?"

Pointing to the door, Eve ignored the impostor's boastful manner. "Well, Mr. Lord of the Dance, why don't you take your braggart self and waltz right back out of here. I'm sure someone in London must be dying to give an aging rogue a chance to two-step. Just do it anyplace but here."

"Shrew," Adam teased, enjoying the battle. He also appreciated his luxurious surroundings. He liked beautiful things, and expressly enjoyed the easy life. Although, his wife wasn't exactly easy. He didn't mind some physical labor, especially when it came to fixing broken things. His wife liked to take broken minds and heal them, which meant that they were a match made in heaven. If only they didn't burn out before the true fire was lit.

"If I left tonight, people would say you drove me to it. They'll say your ill and vicious temper is why I stayed in another country for so long. That I'd rather deal with a blood-crazed vampire than my own wife. I couldn't do that to you, my little jewel."

"Read my lips! I am not your wife," Eve spluttered. She dropped her hands to her hips and stuck out her chin. Thieving pirates could be such stubborn louts, especially when they were after booty, but she didn't understand his tenacity. The man was like a bulldog. No matter how she denounced him, defamed him and demanded that he leave, all was to no avail.

Blinking, she noted nastily that he was still there, standing stolidly in her study like some lighthouse perched upon a rocky shore, enduring through the ages regardless of wind, waves, and storms. "Adam Griffin is nothing more than an illusion, a wisp of smoke—bad grog I had on a winter's night," she accused.

"I know that and you know that, but your servants don't. Neither does anyone else," Adam remarked as he leaned against the closet, legs crossed at the ankle, arms in front of him. "And I told your honored guests that I was back, that I would be treating our patients with you loyally by my side—like a good little wife should be."

Eve snarled, "Oh, no. You aren't coming near my patents, Mr. Whatever-your-name-really-is. You aren't a doctor. You haven't spent years studying the diseases of the mind. My patients walk a fine line, and I won't have you pushing them off it with half-baked theories and treatment."

"You're lovely when you're bossy, little admiral."

"Oh, go away."

"Like I said, what will you tell people? Here tonight, gone tomorrow?"

Eve had a ready answer. "I'll tell them that you had an emergency to attend, and had to make haste. Haste to Hades, if I had my way."

Adam snorted. "Now, now. Good little wives don't tell their husbands of just a few hours to go to hell." He lifted her chin with his hand and stared deep into her eyes. While only fools rushed in where angels feared to tread, still, he thought smugly, he was in good company in a madhouse. The place was jammed to the rafters with fools.

"How could you think I would leave you again?" he asked. "I've just returned to you, my darling. We need quality time together, and a quantity of it. We have merrymaking to manage and beds to muss. I say we start now!"