The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (5 page)

Her disastrous and humiliating second attempt at staking had occurred at age twenty, with even less success than her first. This vampire, a newly made fledgling, quite muscular and attractive, had definitely not been an old bag of bones like the first. When Jane had opened the coffin, she’d got much more than she bargained for. The fledgling was naked as the day he was born (or made), and in full splendor, decked out in all his glory, his erection was rampant. Behind her, Steven Ray, the fourth oldest of her male cousins, had commented drolly that he’d known the vampire was going to pop out of his coffin, but not quite in such a way.

It had all been too much for Jane; she had run screaming from the crypt, her face beet red, her cousins’ taunts ringing in her ears. As she ran, she’d berated herself. Instead of striking at the vampire—or in the very least, her cousins—she had turned tail and fled. To this day, she was still living down that fiasco. Her cousins called her the Streak, making sly comments like, “Don’t look now, Ethel Jane!”

After the awkward naked-vampire debacle, Jane had been sent home in disgrace to the family estate in Dorchester. Now, almost three years later, her father had called her back. Unfortunately, it had been shortly after her arrival that the spies announced Dracul had come to Town. And that abysmal revelation had led her to tonight, which had her reaching for the flask of brandy she had cleverly hidden beside the holy water in her gown’s deep pocket. The strong liquor was concealed in a silver flask, which she only used in case of an emergency—a vampire emergency.

Sneaking a quick peek about, Jane took a sip of brandy. The fiery liquid traced a burning pathway to her stomach, imbuing her momentarily with courage. “Tonight I will just stalk up and strike with my holy water and no stake.” She took another sip. “I won’t have to worry about blood splattering my gown tonight. And that’s something,” she coached herself. “No bloody mess, just a bit of watery goo.”

Frown lines creased her brow as Jane tried to remember the section on the corrosiveness of holy water in the family manual on methods of vampire extermination. Her father had said that the earl’s flesh would melt. Nervously, she gulped more brandy. Maybe melting flesh would be worse than pounding a stake through the chest cavity.

Glancing over at the polished earl, Jane shuddered. “How can I melt those exquisite looks?” She mused again. “Maybe I can find a good reason why this job must be done. Or maybe I can make the job a game.”

Well, either way, she would have just one more sip of brandy to help the medicine of her heritage go down. Taking a long swallow, she closed her eyes. She wished she was finished and on her merry way, feeding some birds.

“A vampire a day is the Van Helsing way,” she muttered to herself. Her words begin to slur slightly as she gathered her fortified resolve. Slowly she would put her plan into action. She would casually walk the earl’s way and introduce herself. That would be shocking in itself, since she and the earl hadn’t been formally introduced.

“Manners be damned. I have a world to save in spite of the earl’s—alias Dracul’s—good looks and my friend’s misguided loyalty.”

Somehow she would manage to flatter and cajole Count Dracul, getting him to walk with her into the conservatory. There she would do her wicked deed.

“This time, I won’t fail. Finally the major will see me succeed.” She only hoped she wouldn’t be sick in the puddle that Count Dracul was about to become.

“The die is cast,” she told herself firmly. “There is no retreat for a Van Helsing.” And so saying, she lurched several steps forward, feeling as graceful as a swan. She felt beautiful and seductive, a siren to be reckoned with. How amazing, she thought. I can conquer the world! If only her obnoxious cousins could see her now.

She tracked the earl through the ballroom, silent and graceful as a cat, idly wondering if Cleopatra the First had been a tippler of brandy. She must have been, to have let herself be rolled up naked in a carpet and delivered to her suitor that way. Had Caesar immediately seized her? It seemed only likely after seeing Cleopatra au naturel.

A short distance away, Lord Asher paced, trying to destroy the feelings that he felt in his heart for Clair. Somewhere, men and women were locked in fiery embraces. Somewhere under the blue-black skies, lovers were kissing. Somewhere in the world, romantic words being written were shared by lovers. “But not for me,” Asher moaned. To wait so long for love to arrive, only to discover that his love was fruitless—it was a hard burden to bear.

“I’m becoming morbid. I feel like somebody’s walked over my grave, and maybe it’s me,” he complained as he restlessly stalked toward the balcony. There, the open doors were an invitation to the cool breezes of the night he so cherished. But before he could reach the door, a lady in a Cleopatra costume clumsily barged into him.

He caught her around the waist before she fell flat on her face. She had nice, lush breasts, which felt very nice pressed against him. He did so love large, plump breasts. They were so fun to bite and suck.

Although he was still an old-fashioned vampire, the neck being the most erogenous zone for him, breasts were a definite second.

Examining her neck, Asher found it to be very pale and elegant, like a swan’s. He’d bet she was good to the last drop. This female was definitely worth a closer look, a taste, a prime bit of blood.

He straightened, then leaned back slightly, his eyes running over her figure. The woman in his arms was small in stature—probably five foot two—but not in form. Her hips were wide, her breasts plump. Her waist, though not tiny, was also not large. His nostrils twitched. The lady had been tippling at the brandy bottle. He almost laughed as she tried to gaze haughtily at him. Her incredible silver-green eyes reminded him of moonlit mist through a wet, lush forest. Although right now they were slightly unfocused.

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way at all,” she announced firmly, then hiccuped.

Asher hid his grin. “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”

“I meant to dazzle you, not fall over you,” she explained. Her tone was condescending, as if she spoke to a half-wit. “Don’t you know anything? Pay attention!”

The little lady was a tartar, and saucy, Asher mused. “Apparently not. I don’t even know your name,” he admitted, wondering what the face looked like beneath her mask. Was it as remarkable as her eyes?

“I would never give my name to the Devil,” she said pertly, staring at the mask he wore.

In the back of her mind, Jane thought her voice sounded a tad bit slurred. Was she tipsy? Heavens, surely not. A lady never became tipsy—most especially not in public.

The earl grinned lasciviously. “Better the devil you know.” He trailed off. “And we could get to know each other oh-so-well.”

Jane shook her head. Didn’t she appear the epitome of English virtue? In her hazy cloud of overindulgence, she forgot she was supposed to be a siren bent on seduction.

But her prim image was ruined when she hiccuped again, quite loudly.

She remembered her task as Asher chortled. “The vicar at our church always said the Devil would try to tempt mortal man and woman. I can see what he meant. You are a temptation,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips. This seductress demeanor was easier to assume than she’d thought. With her woman’s intuition, she could tell the earl was falling victim to her charms.

“So, you have to admit you must give the Devil his due,” he bantered. His blue eyes were mesmerizing. But Jane fought that off.

“Only if you like extremely hot and sulphurous places to spend eternity,” she replied. She almost added that he should be particularly worried about spending an eternity in hell at the moment, because he was an immortal creature and by all accounts quite amoral too. The earl reputedly had more than three mistresses in his keeping, not to mention his three brides. Not only morally corrupt, the vampire must also be exhausted, Jane mused, making another black mark in her head against the earl. Add gluttony to the list for all his bloodsucking.

And yet, Jane’s eyes welled with tears. This lovely creature was immortal now, but by tomorrow he would be dust in the wind. All he’d be was dust in the wind. The thought saddened her tremendously.

“Poor, wicked, devilish earl,” she said, gazing up at him sadly. Who would cry over his coffin? He would be buried in—or swept into—unconsecrated ground. After tonight, she would never see those handsome features again for as long as she lived.

She wondered if the earl was tired of being undead, and if maybe would like to be permanently un-undead? That would be a good thing. Really, what did one do for surprises in life after one had lived for centuries? It had probably been decades since he’d walked in the bright golden daylight, watched green things grow or birds taking majestic flight, the sun glittering off their wings. The enigmatic earl was probably bored silly, and would quite likely welcome the grave. Well, maybe. If he did, it would certainly ease her guilt, she decided. Her nose became stuffy. Poor,, poor, wicked earl. He would soon be a slushy spot on the terrace.

My, it was hot here, she realized suddenly. As hot as Hades. It would melt her chocolate, if she had brought any. How clever of her to have left her bonbons at home. Delicately, she wiped her brow.

Lord Asher watched in amusement as the tiny woman in his arms clumsily mopped her brow. He wondered if she was more affected by the brandy she’d consumed or by his presence. It would not be the first time or the last he had made a lady swoon, his fiery glance sending their senses and passions spiraling heatedly out of control.

“What need have I to fear hell?” he asked. “I, my dear, have been there so many times that I could make my way out blindfolded,” he went on smoothly.

Jane laughed. “How delightful! We could all play a game of blindman’s bluff and skip merrily to the Devil. And when you felt like it, you could lead us back.” My goodness! What was she saying? The vicar at her church would be appalled.

Asher smiled. This mysterious lady in green, besides being slightly bosky, also had a sense of humor. “Maybe we should start a little slower. I could introduce you to the music of the night. That in itself is daring enough.”

Staring into the earl’s eyes, Jane wanted to fall into those icy blue orbs. Desire swept through her, catching her by surprise with its fearsome strength. She wanted to run into the night with him, to let him show her the heights of the underworld.

Mopping her brow again, Jane fought her attraction. Where had those thoughts come from? Must be his vampiric powers, she decided foggily. But being the Van Helsing that she was, she wouldn’t let it show.

“I’d like to introduce myself,” he said.

“I know who you are. The Earl of Wolverton.” Jane hiccuped delicately, pondering her strange feelings for this fickle fiend of forever. Perhaps she had sipped a bit too much brandy.

The earl bowed elegantly, a gesture that was second nature. “Neil Asher, but you may call me Asher. And who are you?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” she responded, wondering why there suddenly seemed to be two earls standing in front of her. “Er, you don’t have a twin, do you?” she asked.

“Pardon?” Asher said, looking surprised.

“It’s nothing,” she managed, waving her hand in the air. “I am not going to tell you my name. You could burn me with fire, cast me into a lake, hang me from ceiling rafters—”

Asher interrupted. “I get the picture.” And he did, Ceiling rafters, what fun! She would be naked, of course, and he would kiss every inch of her delectable body before he had his midnight snack.

The woman continued, “You could drag me behind runaway horses, or carry me into the bushes—”

Asher grinned wickedly. “I could?”

Jane nodded solemnly, standing unsteadily, hoping the room would quit spinning. What vampire magic was this? Still, the crafty, devious undead earl must not find out her real name. That would be a total disaster.

Grabbing her arm, he hurried her out and down the terrace stairway, into the night where the soft glow of the moon had turned the formal gardens into a beautiful fairyland.

As she stumbled down the stone steps after him, Jane realized that her father’s plan might yet be a smashing success—if only the earl would slow down. And the sooner the better. Her stomach was reacting strangely, and she felt very sleepy.

For once, fortune seemed to be smiling on her; she and the earl were alone. All she had to do now was throw the holy water in his face. Well, maybe not his face. After all, he had those remarkable blue eyes. They reminded her of the ice caps, so pure a blue as to be almost white, with a darker hue encircling the pupils. And his smile… Well, that smile could easily speed up a heartbeat—like it was doing now.

She debated whether throwing the holy water on his chest would still dispatch him. Face or chest, face or chest? she asked silently. The decision had to be made.

And soon, from the way things were advancing. The earl had stopped and was pulling her toward him. If only she knew which image before her was the true Lord Asher.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she opened them again to find one of the faces a bit vaguer than the other. The second must be the true earl. “If only the world would stop spinning,” she commented dizzily.

Taken aback, Asher stared at the woman in his arms. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my queen.” Perhaps the night was not going to end as he’d anticipated, with him pumping hard into this sweet Cleopatra’s hot, lush valley of the Nile. It seemed he’d ended up with a sphinx.

Anxiety and guilt ridden, and quite inebriated, Jane jerked the first thing out of her pocket that she could find. Unstoppering it, she closed her eyes and prepared herself to do her father’s task. She flung the contents at the earl. It splashed onto his chest, saturating his superfine jacket.

“Hi-ho!” she exclaimed. Then, opening her eyes and glancing down at the flask in her hand, she gasped in horror when she saw that the container was silver. Her wits befuddled, Jane still knew something was wrong. The holy water was in a brown bottle, not a silver flask. The thing in the silver flask was brandy. Mortified, Jane gaped at the earl as alcohol fumes hit the air. Dark liquid trailed down her foe’s chest.