Drawing Jane to her, Clair hugged her friend. "All will be well. Neil will come around sooner rather than later, I suspect."
"Humbug," was Jane's only response.
Clair escorted her to the carriage amidst all the guests, who were shouting congratulations. Asher followed behind, raking a hand through his immaculate hair. Ian Huntsley pulled his wife into his arms and grinned. This was the second time in his life that he had seen the vampire looking less than his usual distinguished self—and he rather enjoyed it.
Asher glanced back as he mounted his huge piebald stallion and caught the amusement on Baron Huntsley's face. He shot the man a glance of pure threat. Where were silver bullets when one needed them? For once and probably the only time in their marriage, Asher agreed with his wife: Humbug!
It Didn't Happen One Night
Asher's hunting lodge was set back in a beautifully wooded area. The moonlight highlighted the ivy-covered walls and large French balconies on the second story of the house. Jane thought it was quaint, and had started to remark on this to Asher, but he had brushed her comments aside and delivered her rudely to the maid. The maid was terribly quiet, answering only two of Jane's questions, and had quickly left after depositing Jane in the yellow-and-lilac bedchamber where Jane now sat alone with her thoughts.
Her feelings were bruised by her husband's brisk behavior. As she sat brushing her long brown hair, her face was an expression of intense study. She was also nervous about what would occur in the Targe four-poster bed in the corner of the room tonight.
Clair had once hinted at the wild delights and ravenous hungers that could be found in the marriage bed. Of course, she was married to a werewolf.
Still, being married to a vampire might be a similar experience. Jane's husband was certainly a fine specimen of a male. But angry as he was with her right now, she didn't know what kind of experience under the bedcovers might be in store for her. Surely he wouldn't want to drink her blood while doing it? If he did, then what? Would she pass out? The thought of him drinking from her was disgusting.
"Can I actually let him?" she wondered aloud. Would it hurt like the time that mouse bit her finger after she'd rescued the poor thing from her grandfather's trap? Would she bring up everything in her heart (and stomach!) if her husband went for her neck?
Asher was her spouse, and her duty was to him; but letting him suck her life away seemed a bit beyond the call. If only her mother's lectures on wifely duty had included a course in making love to a vampire.
Pouring herself a small glass of brandy, she wondered what she should offer Asher. She stifled a nervous giggle. In spite of all the problems behind and before them, Jane had great hopes for this marriage—and for tonight, besides wanting to be alive at the end of it.
As Asher made his way up the stairway to his wife's chamber, he too had great expectations. Expectations of being poked in the back if he ever dropped his guard to his spouse. He shuddered. His situation made his blood run cold. Colder than normal. What he needed was hot, wet sex, and a midnight snack. What he was going to get was a course of a different color…
Opening the door, he entered the room, and his attention was captivated in spite of himself by the sight of his bride brushing her hair. Before tonight, Asher had only seen her hair in braids, braids that had hid the small golden highlights. Now her locks hung long and free past the curve of her generous bottom. It looked like a wave of cascading silk. He had the strongest urge to touch it. His arm started to lift, but he caught himself quickly and quelled the urge.
Placing both hands firmly behind his back, Asher took in the picture of his unwanted bride. She stood by the bed, the fireplace highlighting her silhouette, revealing her curvaceous frame. She was wearing a white lace nightgown, cut deliciously low around the neck, exposing a great expanse of beautiful, pale bosom. Her rose-hued nipples were clearly visible through the fabric.
Asher could feel his mouth watering. No doubt, the gown had been a gift from Clair, the intention to whet his appetites. How he wished Clair were before him, for if it were she, he understood clearly how differently the night would end. But he clenched down angrily on his hurt and his carnal urges, driving them far away, his expression hardening like that other part of his body that was betraying him.
When her husband entered the room, Jane turned to him, then rose, unaware of the feelings she was engendering. Slowly she started toward him, feeling a great need to touch his body. His deep blue dressing gown was open to the waist, revealing a long expanse of pale yet muscular flesh.
"Hello, husband," she said softly, her eyes greedily traveling over him. Neil Asher was the most beautiful creature in the world. And he was hers! She noted vaguely that his fangs were exposed ever so slightly, but that was not all.
"I would prefer you not address me that way," he said.
"But we are married."
"To my eternal and utter disbelief and disgust."
"That's rather good. Keep it up and you'll be in your coffin long before sunrise," Jane remarked curtly, hiding the hurt his words caused.
Ignoring her, Asher went on, "I never thought to get caught by the parson's mousetrap—especially not by a slice of Van Helsing cheese." Glaring at her, he leaned against the bedpost, but the movement caused his dark blue robe to fall open. Revealed was a fleshy stake, much like the Van Helsing model six.
Jane gasped in stunned and curious amazement. Her eyes flew upward to her husband's face and caught a flash of fury there. Instantly, as if someone had wiped a cloth down his features, all hint of emotion on Asher's features was wiped away. He became still, deadpan. But, then, her husband did deadpan better than anyone she knew; he had a leg up on them by being dead to begin with.
"Madame. I came to announce what will happen tomorrow," Asher stated tersely, snapping his robe closed and belting it. It was amazing; it did appear that his wife's breasts might be even larger than Clair's, although he had never seen Clair's in this type of a situation.
Jane stepped back. With her groom in the room, it seemed immeasurably smaller. He was so large, and his energy so intense, the chamber had narrowed considerably as if by magic. And that portion of him was certainly quite big—big and interesting.
"Yes, what about tomorrow?" she asked.
"You will leave for the Wolverton town house tomorrow at first light. I want you to prepare the house for my return late tomorrow. Is that clear?"
"I know my duty," Jane retorted. But she winced, stung by his icy tone. This was her wedding night—a night Jane had feared would never come to pass as the years slowly did. Asher should be holding her close and kissing her with his wondrous lips!
Asher caught her small wince, and that her smile had faded completely. Satisfied he had wounded her, he pressed on. "Do you?" he asked with a contemptuous smile. "To whom is your duty, the grand and glorious Van Helsings? Or to your dearly beloved husband?"
His bitterness filled the room like a gathering storm, causing Jane to despair. They could have a comfortable life together, if Asher would only relent a little.
"Tonight, I became your wife," she said. "I took a solemn oath before God to you and no one else. My past is just that. It is left in the past where it belongs now, a dead issue."
The earl cocked his head and studied her for long, tense moments. Jane had the urge to squirm, but she remained still, her eyes locked with his.
Asher finally shook his head. Jane's eyes had depths, depths he'd not been prepared to find. But she could take her rotten little Van Helsing mysteries to the grave. "And you expect me to believe you? You, a Van Helsing! You must think me mad to believe such balderdash." Asher spat out the family name as if it were poison.