Asher remained motionless, as still and pale as marble. He watched her with dark fascination.
But how could he stand there so stone-faced? The condemning cad, Jane mused curtly. She went on: "One great uncle got so wrapped up in his mission that he was left in a tomb in Egypt. Mummy wasn't pleased. Another uncle learned never cross the Alps with a vampire. Hannibal ate him with fava beans and a nice chianti."
"Well, you know what they say," Asher remarked, lifting up a bottle of champagne with sangfroid. "The only good Van Helsing is a—"
Jane gasped. "How rude, how crude, how contemptible."
Ignoring her but not finishing his joke, Asher poured himself and Jane glasses of wine. "I took the trouble to select something appropriate for the occasion. I trust one glass won't put you in your cups?"
Jane lifted her chin, her green-silver eyes sparking. "Hemlock?"
Asher narrowed his eyes, hiding his grin. His wife had a sharp wit—almost as sharp as her stakes. She was a complex creature, and he found himself slightly stunned to find that he wanted to know more about her—from an enemy's standpoint, of course.
"Touché," he said. "Now come have a drink and before I Socrates one to you. Tell me more about your life. Since we married in haste, I fear I know little about you except what Huntsley and Clair have informed me of."
"I don't really like to talk about myself," she hedged.
Asher took a sip of champagne. "Is your life so dull that you think you'll put me to sleep? Come now, don't be shy, little vampire hunter."
Jane arched a delicate brow. "If you insist?"
"I do," he agreed.
"If you start snoring don't say I didn't warn you," she said.
He took offense. "I don't snore!"
Jane grinned and took a drink of the bubbling liquid he'd given her. After another sip, she cautiously began. "My childhood was difficult, but it was made easier by my mother. She died when I was twelve, leaving a hole in my life that has never been rilled. She was a remarkable woman, always ready with a smile or a hug. She kept me from as much of my Van Helsing lessons as she could. She was a petite woman, yet she would always stand up to my father for my sake, and he usually relented. He loved her greatly and has never quite been the same since she died. I was always a reluctant hunter. She was my touchstone, always there to tuck me in bed at night and read me stories. My mother loved to read and I inherited her love of the written word along with my love of bird-watching."
"Yes, Clair did mention something about birds," Asher said. He had known from the beginning that Van Helsings raised no fools. His wife was learned, which he viewed as one of the few high points of the marriage. It was also interesting to hear the sincerity in her tone about her abhorrence of stalking and staking the undead. Clair had told him. Ian had told him. Neither had convinced Asher. Yet Jane's words tonight seemed honestly real. What must it have been like for her to grow up with a fanatical bigot like the major? Most females would have been crushed beneath such weight. His small wife was alive and well.
"Clair said you disliked stalking through the dead of night under your father's dark command," Asher mentioned. "I know that Major Van Helsing has a dark past, and that he's known for his obsession with slaughtering the undead. Your grandfather, the colonel, is a fairer man to deal with. He gives a vampire a sporting chance. Or at least he did back in his halcyon days."
Jane nodded. "My grandfather is a good man. Gruff sometimes, definitely eccentric. But I love him, and he understands that I truly, truly dislike the sight of blood. He doesn't push me to do anything I don't want."
"Ian mentioned that to me at Huntsley Manor—being afraid of blood." Finishing his brandy, Asher set it on the mantel, crossing in front of the mirror once more. Jane again regarded his reflection with a sense of wonder.
Noticing her distraction, he stopped and stood, letting the mirror reflect his back. "I told you—not all old wives' tales are true."
Observing how the candlelight reflected in Asher's wavy hair, she nodded and addressed his earlier comment: "Yes, it would be a great waste. All that beauty hidden from its owner…"
Asher's mouth crooked up in a small grin. "Too true. Though I hate to admit to it. What conceit you must attribute to me."
She nodded. "I am sorry to discompose you, my lord, but I really must point out that you are vainglorious."
"With just cause," he answered devilishly, clearly not offended. He extended his arm. "Come. Dinner is waiting."
Taking his arm, Jane let Asher lead her into the small informal dining room, studying him as he seated her. The buffet table was set up with many covered dishes.
"I thought we would serve ourselves tonight. I do so love helping myself to dinner," Asher explained. "To have my food at band, so to speak." He touched her neck.
Jane arched a brow, surprised by his sense of humor. She watched Asher sit down at his place, and his long, elegant fingers picked up a plate and uncovered small pieces of lamb stewed in mushroom-and-wine sauce. She wondered idly what those hands would feel like on her skin. Then Asher picked up a piece of lamb and sensuously licked off the sauce.
The room suddenly felt extremely warm as Jane watched his tongue teasing the morsel. Fanning herself, Jane remarked, "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to act saucy?" The smell wafted upward, whetting her appetite.
"Ah, but that's the best part," Asher answered, watching her. He noted how the pale blue gown she wore revealed a tantalizing expanse of soft white flesh. His groin got hot and swelled in spite of his wishes. His wife was in her prime—virgin territory waiting to be taken. It was a sobering and seductive thought. He would be the first, if he so chose. But could he bed a Van Helsing? Looking at Jane, he rather thought he could.
After pouring them each a glass of wine so red it looked like rubies in the glow of the chandeliers, Asher seated himself. "I saw that your ostrich arrived today. I have heard it has the house at sixes and sevens."
Her wine went down the wrong way. Recovering, Jane replied with great warmth, "Thank you for letting Orville and Bert come. Orville has been dear to me ever since my grandfather Ebenezer brought him home. He used to travel abroad quite a bit for work."
I just bet he did, Asher thought, recalling a hunt on the Dark Continent for the Prince of Darkness that had been the talk of the supernatural world for decades.
Jane continued: "My grandfather always brought me something back from his travels. Knowing I loved bird-watching, he brought me the biggest bird he could find, mostly to support me in my endeavor to catalog and learn as much as I could about our feathered friends. My cousins used to tease me unmercifully about my hobby, but they were quite impressed with Orville, who is an amazing bird and quite a character."
Asher nodded curtly, not liking the warmth that curled low in his belly as he stared at his wife. He should not care that she was easy to please, since she was nothing but a villain—or a daughter of one. That was a fact he had best not forget while he watched her luminous eyes shining and the pulse beating within her swanlike neck, making his own pulse accelerate. She had been married to him less than a week, and already he knew she was spying on him.
"Your cousins? You are speaking of Jakob Van Helsing's boys," he commented.
Jane nodded.
Asher shook his head. "They are a wild, unruly bunch. I can well imagine they would have disdain for anything as sedate as bird-watching." Was that an understatement, Asher thought. The Van Helsing boys were notorious at wenching and wrenching open casket lids, playing havoc with vampires everywhere. No sane Nosferatu wanted to meet one in a light alley. Still, his small wife had stood up to her ill-mannered, capricious cousins, and had continued with her interests, such as cataloging birds.