After several tense moments of silence, the vicar, along with several members of the wedding party, breathed loud sighs of relief.
The bride had also held her breath, half fearing her brother would protest—or worse, the groom would. She wished that circumstances could have been different. Yet, Jane was well content with the husband destiny had provided. It didn't matter that he was another species. Lord Asher made her blood rush to her head. He made her breathless. Even when he was at his most pompous and sneering, she found him enthralling. Whenever he was near, Jane felt more alive than she ever had. Odd, she thought, that an undead could make her feel so undead—and how much joy she now felt in just drawing breath.
Stealing a sideways peek at Asher, Jane longed to hold him close and listen to his heartbeat. To feel his strong, cold arms around her. She wanted to ease his burdens and warm his pale, icy body. Although Asher would never be the prince of her dreams, he very well could be the earl of them.
After the vicar hesitated and no one protested, Asher stifled a growl, desiring to shout to the heavens. But centuries of good breeding kept him mum. For all his wealth and power, he was held helpless hostage to society's rigid conventions and rules. Both societies—English and that of the Undead. He could hear the coffin lid crashing down on his well-ordered, hedonistic lifestyle.
"For better or for worse. In sickness and in health," the vicar said in a baritone voice.
Jane glanced up at Asher, thinking wryly that the clergyman could just skip that part; the undead never got sick. She felt an uncontrollable urge to giggle. As a pair they had certainly experienced the "worse," and so now it was time for the "better." She controlled herself, knowing that if she started laughing now she would never stop.
"Till death do you part," the vicar intoned solemnly.
Jane nodded. But they could skip that part too. Asher was already dead.
The churchman's words pierced Asher's morose thoughts. Till death do you part? That wasn't soon enough for him, he seethed, piercing his bride with his icy glare.
Unfortunately for Jane, she knew actually what her soon-to-be husband was thinking. She sighed again. It seemed that they were still on the "worse" part of their marriage after all, and might be for some time to come. But at least she could give up her dubious and unsuccessful career as a vampire hunter. That gloomy part of her life was over, except for the possible hunt for Dracul in October. Never had she felt more relieved. Her loyalty and allegiance were now to her husband, as she had just vowed before God, man, werewolf and vampire.
"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Silence filled the church. Asher stood glaring at his bride. When he made no move toward her, Jane bravely stretched up on her tiptoes to bestow a kiss on his stubborn mouth. His lips were cold, firm and sweet, like her favorite bonbons.
Jane kissed him harder, feeling the silken smoothness of his lips begin to melt under her not-so-tender mercies. When her tongue sought entrance to his mouth, he growled.
Suddenly she felt his strong arms grab her, drawing her close, pressing her tightly to him. His lips became warm, his mouth opened and he swirled his tongue in a wicked caress, a dance that was both angry and hungry.
Tingling waves of heat shot throughout Jane's body. Her toes curled and her knees began to give way. Only Asher's embrace kept her from falling flat on her back. Her hands combed through his hair, passion flaring hot and bright between them.
In the background Ian teased, "Hear, hear. We Huntsleys have a wild reputation, but we never consummated our marriage in the church!"
Clair hit her husband stoutly on the arm with her fan, but his words brought Asher slamming back to reality. The wretched wolfman was married to the lady of his dreams, while he, the superior being, was married to this inferior vulgar, vile, venomous Van Helsing. Even if she did kiss like she was an angel.
Jerking back, he shoved his bride away from him, and only centuries of breeding kept him from exposing his fangs in a hiss. His bloody bride was not delicate and lovely. His bloody bride was an unfit, unreliable, butcher of his kind! His bloody bride could not be trusted. Yet, he wanted her with a fervor he hadn't felt in centuries.
Asher stalked away down the aisle. Jane hurried to keep up with him. At the door, they joined together to wave to those gathered outside to wish them well.
Glancing up at her husband, Jane whispered, "I imagine you are wishing me to the very Devil right now."
"How astute," Asher replied, a mocking curl to his lips. "In fact, I'll take you to meet him with all due speed, or we can stay right here and wait for his well-wishes. Surely he's the one behind this farce of a marriage!"
Tears filling her eyes, Jane stepped outside the chapel into the cold, brisk air. Fortunately that revived her senses. Above, the stars glittered in the heavens—like Asher's eyes glittered with icy disdain as he walked out to stand beside her.
She could see his carriage in the distance, waiting out in the cobbled courtyard with his piebald stallion. He would ride outside the carriage, while Jane remained inside, Asher informed her frostily as he gave her another withering glance.
"We will be arriving at my hunting lodge later tonight. It is twenty miles from here, and forty more on to London," he managed with a bare semblance of civility.
Bleakly Jane nodded to show she had heard; then Ian and Clair hurriedly approached to offer their congratulations.
Clair swiftly led Jane away from the other guests to a quiet corner beside the church, and Ian took Asher in the other direction.
He shook Asher's hand. "I would offer you my heartiest congratulations," the baron said.
Asher shook his head. "Don't. It's more like condolences. Besides, if you wish me a long and prosperous married state, I might just have to tear your throat out."
Across the way, Clair held Jane's hands tightly, saying, "I wish to offer you my felicitations."
Her face a mask of gravity, Jane arched her brow.
"Am I out of line?" Clair asked.
"I shouldn't have tried to stake Asher. I should have gone for the matchmaker of this whole mess," Jane grumbled. She was feeling very discouraged. "My not-so-esteemed husband has insulted me, sending Ian to do everything. Your husband proposed to me, not Asher," she complained bitterly. "My groom has barely addressed two words to me. When he does speak, he addresses me with chilly disdain."
Jane sniffed, her heart aching, and she added, "I hate to admit it, but Asher does chilly disdain better than anyone I know, including my father. And that's saying quite a lot."
Clair nodded. "Of course. Asher has had centuries to practice. Your father's a beginner."
Jane would have giggled, if her heart weren't breaking.
Noting her friend's forlorn expression, Clair's smile faded. "Just remember this: Life is like a box of bonbons," she advised, knowing Jane's fetish for chocolate. "Sometimes the bonbons are sweet. Sometimes they're sticky. And sometimes you just end up with big brown smears on your gloves."
Jane blinked.
Clair smiled cheerfully. "You two were meant for each other," she encouraged.
Not wishing to take her hurt feelings out on her best friend any further, Jane added a trifle stiffly, "Thank you for your good wishes. I have a feeling we will need them. Each and every one." She loved Clair dearly, but sometimes the girl was oblivious to the sheer chaos she created.
"As do all newlyweds," Clair replied. She knew Jane had an inner core as strong as iron. She would have had to develop such strength, or else be destroyed by her father's tyrannical reign. In time Jane would do well with Asher, and the couple would be happy—or her name wasn't Clair Frankenstein Huntsley!