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."