The Reinvented Miss Bluebeard

by Minda Webber

  So, he was more than fond of her, but how did she feel about him? His touch sent her senses scrambling, and when she looked into that gleam of unbridled passion in his eyes, she felt desired and special. She loved that. But was this only desire? No. She knew now that, in spite of his teasing ways, she liked Adam, really liked him.

  Eve's passionate response to his desire was temptation itself, causing Adam's hands to begin a quest. As he trapped her firm breasts beneath his palms, she gasped and he smiled against her mouth. His wordy wife was a hot handful, and she was his forever, even if she didn't know it yet. Perhaps tonight was the night she would learn.

  Tugging down the neckline of her gown, he kissed his way across her silken chest and began to feast on her ripe breasts, the nipples puckering under his assault. He drew back for a scant few seconds to appraise her bounty. Her breasts were softer than the back of a baby duck, and the nipples like plump raspberries.

  Adam's tugging on her nipples aroused her desire, and Eve loosed a heartfelt groan. She was burning up inside. How could she even think when his elegant fingers were doing such magic? Her back arched, and the place between her thighs was aching. She had never felt like this. "Oh, Adam…"

  Eve's arching her back cast her more in the lantern light, and Adam lifted his head and stared down at the firm orbs that had been plaguing his dreams at night. They were as perfect as he had dreamed, all white flesh and deep coral nipples. Underneath those breasts her lacy white slip had bunched, causing the breasts to plump together. Adam sighed lustily. She was his for the taking, and he would take her again and again until he had her with child. Then she would truly be his, he reasoned dazedly. Captain Bluebeard could not object nor expect him to disappear into deathly obscurity if he had fathered a child with Eve.

  She moaned, and Adam tugged on her lacy slip, trying to pull it lower. "Lovely. You're beyond beautiful, my dear." He tugged harder on the slip.

  Ever practical, even in a dense fog of passion, Eve knew she needed to protest. Breathing rapidly, she gasped, "Careful, or else you'll tear it, and it's too costly too replace. It's one of Mrs. Freud's."

  "Ah, a Freudian slip," he growled. He had heard of this from a courtesan or two: that Mrs. Freud from Bavaria was the most sought-after undergarment maker for the ton. She was also the costliest. "I'll buy you another—ten others."

  Those words were like throwing cold water upon Eve. This time her gasp was not passion-induced. "With my father's gold."

  Adam's lust had slowed his brain to a dull plod. "Of course," he replied, continuing to cover her neck and breasts with tiny nibbling bites. She was the queen of all temptation, his Eve. "I'll buy you a hundred of Mrs. Freud's slips," he remarked fervently.

  Eve seethed, her passion turning to anger. Adam would buy her costly slips when the Towers might be closing down? What an idiot! She shoved him away. "You're nothing but a rapscallion and a rogue."

  "And you are a tasty handful," he responded, his eyes glittering in the moonlight.

  Adjusting her gown and costly slip, and stepping back, she glared at him, noting that once again she had failed to discourage him. Just what did it take? He was like some craggy mountain peak: always there, a force of nature to be reckoned with.

  He took two steps forward, advancing on her, his erection more than apparent from the tight fit of his trousers. He ached from unspent passion and wasn't ready to admit defeat. However, he readily admitted he was a fool for having mentioned money. Eve desperately needed funding for her asylum, and he, beset by lust, had stupidly reminded her of the treasure from her father.

  Momentarily, he thought about lying as he stared at her passion-plumped lips and her slightly askew décolleté. He could tell her that the chest her father gave him was now hers. Except the chest now held only a few precious stones, the rest having long been sent to Ireland to buy back the old family estate. Besides, he wanted Eve to love him for himself, not for wealth. He was just arrogant enough to want Eve to want him because he was the only man for her, the only man who would love her forever, warts, Hooks, lunatics, and all.

  "You have absolutely no scruples," she accused.

  "I have scruples coming out my ears. Just none where seducing my wife is concerned. And now, having seen the bounty that awaits, I don't know how I'll survive without tasting you further." He sighed. "And you desire me too, Eve. You can't deny it."

  She gave him a look as she walked off, clearly affronted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Swinging in the Rain

  The next day found Eve anxiously waiting to hear from either Frederick or Dr. Victor Frankenstein. At noon she received a note from the doctor telling her that he'd sent out some of his servants to try to find his adopted son. Dr. Frankenstein had admitted that sometimes Frederick got a screw loose, especially when he was drinking. He feared that, after such an embarrassment, Frederick would most likely go to some of his favorite taverns, and was probably dipping into his cups rather heavily.

  Noting Eve's distraction, Adam had volunteered to go out and search Frederick's favorite haunts. He still wasn't back, and neither had she heard from Frederick.

  Hours had passed since Adam left, and Eve found herself fretting. When he volunteered for monster retrieval, she had gratefully accepted, thinking at the time that having a helping husband wasn't such a bad thing, even if he wasn't real. She had even thought that perhaps Adam would give to her the gold he'd been given by her father. Eve had twisted that thought around in her mind, knowing that he cared for and was crazy for her. The same thought filled her mind now as she started down the hallway into the patients' ward. Would Adam give her his ill-gotten gains for her asylum, or he would keep it all for himself?

  She sighed as she walked down the corridor. The asylum was unusually quiet today, with the exception of the rain that was thundering upon the roof and clinking into the gutters. Many people felt gloomy when it rained, but Eve loved the sound. She also loved the scent of freshness that each storm brought. Many of her patients despised the rain, especially the wereboar's widow, Mrs. Monkfort, who wanted to scrub each drop. Eve chuckled at the notion.

  She had been summoned by her staff earlier to attend to one of Mrs. Monkfort's cleaning tizzies. Eve had put aside her worries and concentrated on helping the poor widow overcome her compulsive behavior, but after a good hour spent talking Mrs. Monkfort out of cleaning her shoes and watching her crochet that huge, white lace monstrosity, Eve had finally sighed in defeat. And when it started raining and Mrs. Monkfort opened her window and began cleaning the drops that landed on her arms, Eve's patience ended along with the session.

  Glancing down at her sparkling clean slippers, Eve couldn't help but shake her head in amusement. Never had the asylum halls looked so clean. Even her footwear was—enough to eat dinner upon. Well, since her feet were so small, you could only fit a snack. The latter thought made her laugh aloud. Perhaps she should just hire Mrs. Monkfort as her housekeeper and relegate Mrs. Fawlty to nursing duties.

  Crossing to the library, Eve jumped as the long mullioned windows shook with the force of the wind, large raindrops beating against the stone house in a loud tat' too. She hoped Frederick would be found soon. If he was indeed falling-down drunk, he could become quite ill if he collapsed in a gutter. Inflammation of the lungs—especially such expansive lungs—could be deadly.

  She found herself startled again as she heard the sudden banging of doors. Since she'd left Teeter upstairs at' tending Mrs. Monkfort, she cautiously entered the library… and found the French doors not only open, but also banging against the walls. The curtains were billowing in the breeze, soaking wet.

  She quickly crossed the room to shut the doors, wondering who would be crazy enough to go outside in this downpour. Then, as she realized what she had just thought, a bark of laughter flew from her lips. "Anyone in this place," she answered herself.

  As she grabbed hold of the French doors to shut them, she happened to catch sight of a flash of color. Curious, she leaned
out the door and looked outside. To her dismay, she found none other than Jack the Rip, tearing off his clothes in frenzied anticipation. Throwing down his shirt and stomping on it, he began to dance a merry jig in front of her rain-drenched rosebushes.

  She shook her head, annoyed. Jack was such a thorn in her side. "I suppose I'll have to send Teeter and Totter to go and haul him in," she muttered to herself. And Mrs. Fawlty would be pulling thorns out of his backside again. And other places, she thought with a shudder.

  Observing Jack bowing to the Marilyn red rosebush, one of her favorites, she sighed in resignation. The werefox was demented. She doubted he would ever get well.

  Planning to summon Teeter, she'd hastily begun to close the door, when suddenly she stopped, her jaw falling open. Then, mindless, Eve walked out into the rain to get a better look.

  She closed her eyes.

  She opened her eyes.

  She closed them again.

  When next she could look, the sight remained: Jack the Rip was not the only lunatic out swinging in the rain. Frederick was there, too, naked as the day he was created, dancing a jig in the downpour, his big body swinging here and there and everywhere. All of it.

  Eve gasped. Never had she seen a man's nether parts so big. Talk about being cock of any walk! Frederick was enormous, and it also appeared that he was blotto. He seemed to be yelling something, but she couldn't hear what.

  Running back inside, she swiftly grabbed an umbrella. She dashed back out, and icy cold raindrops ran down her neck as she hastened to where Frederick was dancing and singing. Eve could hear him now, three sheets to the wind, singing in a loud baritone. His was actually a very beautiful voice.

  As she ran toward Frederick, she didn't realize that her jaw dropped open again and she gaped like a fish. The gentle giant was not alone! Oh, no, Adam was singing and dancing right alongside the merry monster. And while her husband's voice was not as deep as Frederick's, it had a nice husky quality that she admired. Fortunately for her sanity, he was not dancing in the altogether. He was garbed in a pair of doeskin breeches, molded completely to his skin by the pounding rain, revealing his taut muscles and an interesting bulge. He also had on a waterlogged hat, the brim dripping rain.

  "They are totally without the sense God or Victor Frankenstein gave them!" Eve chided, feeling some measure of annoyance. At the same time, she wanted to whoop with laughter.

  She approached, Frederick jumping in rain puddles while Adam swung around one of the tall Grecian columns, his hat pointed at a jaunty angle. Adam was sopping wet, the water droplets covering his chest and gliding down it. Eve found herself licking her lips.

  As Adam swung and Frederick splashed, dozens of frogs joined in their cheerful song, hopping this way and that. Surprisingly, the frog's croaks seemed to harmonize. Eve stifled a giggle.

  Staring at the huge, naked Frederick and her wayward spouse, she shook her head. She really had to run a tighter ship. But then, what fun she would miss. Again, a few giggles slipped past her lips.

  Spotting Eve, Adam let go of his column and splashed toward her, while Frederick began to spin on the opposite column. The heavy marble wobbled with his great weight.

  "Good afternoon, my love!" Adam said, tugging at the brim of his soaking-wet bowler.

  "What are you doing?" Eve schooled her expression to one of mere curiosity, hoping he couldn't hear the amusement in her voice. The silly man was adorable even wet.

  Adam shrugged, a grin on his face. "Nothing important. Merely making a fool of myself," he replied.

  "Oh, what a surprise. I thought you might actually do something different today," she replied. He wasn't falling-down drunk, but he had definitely tossed back a few. She grinned. Why did the very nearness of him make her heart leap? She could not account for it, exactly. Especially since the feelings Adam engendered had sprung up in so brief a time.

  "I see you've found Frederick and some friends," she noted. Her eyes darted to the frogs, which just happened to be happily hopping and croaking, living the high life.

  Adam choked back laughter, but when he spoke his voice was still full of amusement. "Yes. When I found him, he was drowning his sorrows in the Old Kelley Inn."

  Eve held her umbrella over her head and gestured for Adam to share. "It appears Frederick is still drowning his sorrows. I take it you helped?"

  Adam bent down and took the umbrella from her, holding it above both their heads. "So I did—and I must confess I might have had an ale or two myself."

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  "Or perhaps three."

  "Perhaps," she said. "But why didn't you bring Frederick inside when you first got back?"

  "Have you ever tried to get a giant to go somewhere he doesn't want?" Adam asked. "It's a very tall order."

  Eve giggled and shook her head. "You are the most exasperating man I know. Well, come—we need to get both Frederick and Jack inside before they catch their deaths of cold."

  He nodded in agreement, and they started toward Frederick, but before they could reach him the giant fell backward with a splash. He lay there in the middle of a huge rain puddle, arms outstretched. As they hurried over, a big bullfrog hopped on top of Frederick's knee while another, even larger than the first, perched on his giant green head.

  Eve knelt beside the big lout. "Are you all right?" she asked. When Frederick grinned stupidly she sighed. "He's still sloshed to the gills."

  "That's an understatement," Adam said. "Hard to believe that any monster can't hold his liquor, but Frederick here is absolute proof." Casting down their umbrella, he knelt and placed an arm under Frederick's shoulder, coaching the man to his feet. "I want you to sit up."

  Frederick managed to do so, barely.

  "Now, I want you to stand on your own two feet," Adam encouraged in a stern tone. Frederick looked doubtful, but Adam continued pressing. "You can do it. You can do it."

  Eve got on the other side of the huge monster. "Men and their bottles and broken hearts," she grumbled half-heartedly. Really, she was finding the situation too amusing for words. But as Frederick's doctor, she must show disapproval.

  "I'll be all right, Dr. Eve. Dr. Adam put me on the straight and… narrow," Frederick said. "I'll be better in a bit. He said I mus… must take disappointment with a quiet dignity. After all, I am a Frankenstein. We may be…" He hiccupped, gave a great loud belch, then managed to finish: "Frankenstein's are eccentric and scary and sometimes downright mad as hatters, but we do have our dig… nity. Dr. Adam reminded me." He added another loud hiccup.

  Eve was impressed, truly impressed with both her patient and faux husband. She glanced over at Adam. He should have looked foolish in his soggy trousers and dripping hat, but the knave looked dashing and heroic, and she felt quite fond of him—perhaps even greater than fond.

  "What else did you tell him?" she asked as they began to carefully guide Frederick back to the house, the giant balanced between the two of them.

  "I told him that every man makes himself a fool over some woman, often more than once. The trick is to give things your best shot, and if that doesn't work, go on about your life, even if you leave a bit of your heart behind. Crying over spilt milk never proved the pudding."

  "What a crusty thing to say."

  "You should trust your husband more—a lot more," Adam said. "That's what a good husband does: cossets and takes care of his wife. And she cossets him, especially in the boudoir. That is the secret to wedded harmony."

  Frederick groaned beside her, his weight causing her back to ache, and Eve thought of what had just been said. She had never really thought all that much about husbands or what she wanted in one. That was, until Adam had stuck his nose into her life and asylum. One thing she did know, however. Well, several actually. If she were thinking about husbands—which she really wasn't—she would want one who loved her. He would be her helpmate within the asylum, and would think of the members of the Towers as an extended family—an odd family, but a family nonethe
less. Strangely, Adam fit most of those requirements.

  With the rain pounding down upon her head and soaking her to the skin, Eve groaned as the soused Frederick stumbled, almost bringing all three of them to their knees. She wished the castaway creature were at least four feet shorter and easier to help along.

  Reaching the terrace steps to the balcony, she sighed in relief. They'd soon be inside.

  "I love Miss Beal, and I'll show… shower her roses," Frederick slurred. "Shower with roses."

  Eve stuck her head around Frederick's belly, looked at Adam, and said, "Shower with roses?"

  "I told him to send over four or five baskets of flowers for Miss Beal, and apologize in person for his clumsiness. If she doesn't accept the apology, then she isn't worthy of such a fine fellow as Frederick."

  "My, my, Dr. Adam, you do surprise me," Eve conceded graciously as Teeter and Totter came bounding down the terrace steps to help. Relieved of her burden, she stared in admiration at Adam. He might not be trained in psychiatry, but he had a good head on strong shoulders, and a fine instinct about people.

  Frederick stumbled less as her butler and gardener half carried him up the terrace steps. "Dr. Eve, I didn't even get to l-look at all those inky pictures of yours." He finished his complaint with a series of loud hiccups.

  Adam chortled, saying, "Don't worry, the results are spotty anyway."

  Eve scowled. "My ink test is being touted as highly effective, thank you very much."

  Wisely, the butler, the monster, and the gardener all kept quiet.

  Jack the Rip, however, did not. He let loose a sudden bellow of both pain and outrage. Glancing back over her shoulder, Eve sadly shook her head. "Totter, go and get Jack untangled. It appears everything's coming up roses."

  "How very gothic."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Take Two Glasses of Port and Call Me in the Morning

  Eve's carriage was filled with laughter and off-key singing, and the creature crooning was not only slightly off balance but off his rocker as well. Frederick was still sloshed to the gills, and he wasn't even part merfolk! Luckily, Adam had some experience with drunks; after all, he had once worked in a tavern in Paris. So while they traveled along the rutted roads, making their way through the London streets to Dr. Frankenstein's, he restrained Frederick from bellowing at the top of his lungs.