"You need me, Eve," he said. "You want me, darling. I bet you're wet with desire."
Her blue eyes were glassy, and his words sizzled through her. Rot the blighter if he wasn't right, for she felt a gush of liquid between her thighs. "How could this happen so quickly? I am a rational person, a doctor," she said. "One doesn't just snap her fingers and find love knocking at her door."
"I didn't knock," he managed to growl, the warm tenderness in his eyes becoming blazing-hot desire. His arousal pressed against her, showing his attraction, and he leaned over and suckled on her breast. Lifting his head, he begged, "Darling, let me love you."
The sound of crunching gravel and James's shout interrupted, however. Eve quickly pushed against him. "Adam! Stop that. We've arrived back at the Towers. We can't do this on my doorstep!"
Adam groaned, his blood burning, his manhood literally ready to explode at any moment. "Then for pity's sake, let's hurry to your bedroom."
Eve's heart was thundering in her chest as she straightened what she could of her gown. Need was riding her shoulders, for she indeed wanted this man to take possession of her, to introduce to her to the delights of the marriage bed. She had waited too long, and this would be a night never to forget.
The driver had opened the door and placed the steps for her to get down. Adam followed, then grabbed her hand. Together they ran up the steps to the asylum, laughing merrily. They took the stairs two at a time, and Eve hadn't felt so carefree since her days on the Jolly Roger.
No sooner had they burst through the front door, than the towering Teeter grimly greeted them. "The little bald fellow has been digging holes again, the fanged gentleman is most upset about his dirty bed, and the buggy patient has flown himself into a web," he reported.
Things were generally crazy, Eve knew, but for a grown man, (or werewolf) to be caught in a trifling spiderweb made no sense at all. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Teeter, have you been drinking?"
"Oh, madam, if only I had," he replied.
Through the window, Eve saw Mrs. Monkfort waxing some fronds near the pond. Sir Loring was there, too, pacing frantically in the conservatory, looking for dirt, which Eve assumed Mrs. Monkfort had removed.
Adam glanced at Eve. Apparently his desires were to be thwarted once again. He asked in a voice filled with irritation, "I don't suppose we could just get back in the carriage?"
Eve narrowed her eyes in weary resignation, then dutifully followed Teeter into the conservatory.
Adam sighed, reluctantly trudging after them. He knew patience was a virtue, but he'd never been very virtuous. He was the conquering hero, but with no reward.
Shrugging with ill grace, he grumbled, "Somewhere tonight, people are happy and laughing. Perhaps they're at a ball, or a musical, and they are sharing heated glances and secret assignations. Somewhere tonight, young lovers are lying entwined in each other's arms, but it bloody well isn't here."
And was this as good as it was ever going to get?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Oh, the Webs We Weave…
Adam's eyes widened. Sir Loring was dashing about the conservatory, crying mournfully and tearing out fistfuls of his hair. "That woman! That maddening madwoman has thrown out my native soil. The native soil that filled my coffin. What shall I do? I'm doomed—doomed!"
Mrs. Monkfort peeked over the fountain. The garden room was filled with a dense array of foliage and colorful flowers. It was an exotic jungle with the rich scents of earth and hundreds of flowering plants. Normally it was a place of sanctuary and serenity. Not today.
"Oh, dear," Eve remarked, a frown furrowing her brow. This was serious. Vampires had to have their native soil close at hand in case of accidents, since native soil aided greatly in their regeneration. It also helped vampires who had a tendency toward hysteria, calming their overwrought nerves. Sir Loring, more than most undead, was particularly grounded in his soil.
Turning to the culprit in question, Eve leveled a stern look at her. "Mrs. Monkfort?!"
The woman pointed an accusatory finger at the vampire. "I won't have all this dirt in my house. It's disgraceful and so, well… dirty!"
"Mrs. Monkfort, it wasn't your dirt, and this isn't your house. It's mine. You had no right to throw away anyone's dirt, or even to touch another patient's belongings," Eve replied. "Where is the dirt?"
"Where you'll never find it. Never."
Sir Loring continued to whine.
Teeter groaned. "It's an orchard in here, I tell you. Every day, a veritable new treeful of fruits. I must insist on higher wages. I can't take much more. Especially if I'm to do this sober."
Adam silently seconded the butler's thoughts.
"There's too much dirt," Mrs. Monkfort continued. "Too much nasty, nasty dirt. And naughty little bugs crawling around in it. We're got a long, long way to go before we're clean. And that bloody leprechaun isn't making my task any easier," she added, pointing.
Eve glanced over to where Mrs. Monkfort was motioning, where Fester was digging up the flower beds. "Fester!" she yelled in outrage, spotting two very large holes near her orchids. "How could you?"
At the sight of Fester's panicked face and his wife's fury, Adam couldn't help but laugh.
Eve put her hands on her hips, incensed. Adam should be helping her halt this nonsense, but instead he was hysterical. Well, she would have a long talk with him and remind him of a husband's duty—both to a wife and to her mad patients.
Fester turned a guilty glance their way and set aside his shovel. He knew better than to dig a deeper hole for himself, especially when Dr. Eve was wearing her little-admiral look. His ship was sunk.
Placing a hand on his wife's shoulder, Adam narrowed his eyes in speculation. Could Fester's gold finally be here? He hoped so. What Captain Bluebeard had paid him had been a great help, but a man could always use more. Especially if he were to do what he truly wanted.
"Fester, I think you should stop. You've upset Dr. Eve," he said with a hint of steel in his voice. "You're about to make her check herself out of a loony bin. We'll hunt down your gold later. After all, two heads are better than one. Right, old man?"
The chagrined leprechaun thought about it a moment or two, then finally nodded and threw down his shovel.
Eve shook her head, annoyed. But before she could begin a reprimand, a tiny voice from behind the Venus flytraps rang out: "Help me! Help me!"
Both Adam and Eve glanced at each other, shock on their faces. The leprechaun shrugged. "Me hearing ain't what it used to be," he said. "I never heard no cry of help before."
They cautiously made their way down rows of towering green plants and dense foliage, and Mrs. Monkfort scurried behind them. She wore a slightly guilty look. Ahead, half-hidden in shadow, three massive Venus flytraps rose from the corner of the room. Mr. Pryce was entwined in what appeared to be a large spiderweb, his hands outstretched and wrapped in white tendrils. He was staring in sheer terror at the large gaping mouths of the flytraps.
But there was a bigger surprise. The spiderweb was the giant lacelike thing Mrs. Monkfort had been crocheting.
Eve's jaw dropped open, her eyes round in patent disbelief. "Really, this is simply too much, Mrs. Monkfort!" she cried.
The pitiful Mr. Pryce tried to flap his pretend wings, buzzing and shrieking in a high voice, "Help me!" He indeed looked like a desperate housefly.
Everyone turned at once to glare at Mrs. Monkfort, who began dusting a massive fern next to her. Glancing up, a haughty expression on her countenance, she asked crossly, "What? I did only what needed doing. We don't need such fake flies in our home, especially not going around and buzzing respectable people who are hard at work. Yes, I wrapped him up in that lace cloth and set him in front of the flytraps, but he's the one who froze like that. It's not like the demented man is stuck. He could be free if he wanted." She waved a dismissive hand at him.