by Minda Webber
"Buck up," Jane mumbled to herself under breath. She intended to be a solicitous wife, even regarding her groom's blood fetish. She just wasn't quite sure how. There was so much about her new husband she didn't know. Did Asher have any mirrors in his house? If not, how would she do her hair and dress for balls? Did he mind sleeping in such close quarters night after night? Perhaps he'd had an oversized coffin made. She hoped so. Did he have a silver tea service and if not, what did he use when entertaining? All the best tea services were silver. Did he track in mud from the graveyard at night? Did he rise at sunset all grumpy and ill-tempered, as her father did upon his morning wake-up call? Would her husband expect her to entertain large nestings of vampires? If so, what was the social etiquette? Did one offer them wine, brandy—your blood?
As she passed the Huntsleys in their pew, Jane took a shaky breath and managed a faint smile for Clair, who was grinning ear to ear. At least someone was enjoying the wedding, she thought morosely. Too bad it wasn't her. At least she would never have to polish her father's silver again.
Where were her chocolates when she needed them? Her life was spinning out of control. Her thoughts were tripping over each other. Would the major discover Asher's secret? She sincerely hoped not. She did look so dreadful in black. What did she really know of the groom besides that he was a notorious womanizer and vampire? Did he like to walk barefoot in the grass, or did he reserve that solely for his crypt? Were monsters' balls solely for monsters? Would Asher keep a mistress now that he was joined in the holy state of matrimony? Probably, she answered herself, since a rake was a rake, even if he had fangs instead of teeth.
Somehow the thought of Asher's mistresses irritated Jane; she realized that she couldn't bear to conceive of him being passionate about another woman. Jane wasn't sure what her feelings were for this tall, handsome vampire; they were feelings she would rather not take out and examine in the naked light of day. But despite her best intentions, her childhood training, and her lack of ability to draw and keep the attention of such a remarkable catch, Jane had felt strong emotions about Asher from the first. He'd called to her in a way no man or creature of the night had ever done. It was as if he had her destiny written upon his face.
Her father had taught her to put her heart into her objectives—an easy feat with Asher as her husband. She intended to cherish him until the day she died, and to one day make him proud that he had married and saved her from ruin. Despite his pompous airs and neck-biting tendencies, her groom stirred a deep pool of emotion that had been tightly dammed inside her.
Finally, the long walk down the aisle was done. She glanced up as her father handed her over to the groom. Asher was a lighter shade than his usual color, and Jane wondered if his injury was bothering him. She managed a weak smile.
"Your bride, Wolverton," the major said curtly. "Take good care of her, if you can."
Asher glared bitterly at his soon-to-be father-in-law and noted the man's stiff posture and sour features. "I will do my duty, Major," he retorted contemptuously. Ian had explained that the Van Helsings knew they had a case of mistaken identity. They also believed he was innocent of being a vampire. Ha! Asher thought morosely—he wouldn't take the Van Helsings at their word. They were a bloodthirsty, vicious, murdering lot. And he was to be related to the whole untrustworthy group. It was a sorry state of affairs that a master vampire should be made to suffer such a horrendous misalliance.
Yes, he could see his future going up in smoke. Married to a Van Helsing, that was certainly a very real possibility. If she didn't stake him one day in his sleep, she might burn him up in his coffin. How could he ever trust her to see to his health and hearth? And look how clumsy she was, scattering orange blossoms from her bridal bouquet as she stood next to him, visibly trembling.
Jane Van Helsing was to wear his name and share a small portion of his undead life. Pie, who appreciated beauty in all its forms, would be married to a diamond of the… fifth water? He, who had sworn never to marry except for love, was bound to a detestable, vampire-slaying Van Helsing. This was irony at its worst. The Fates must be dancing a merry little jig on his ancestors' graves.
"We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman," the vicar began.
With a gesture of indignant tribulation, Asher grasped Jane's hand. Dimly he was aware that it was colder than his own. Perfect, he thought maliciously. The harridan was afraid. And she should fear for her very life, for she had caused disaster with her moronic folly. He would make her short mortal life a misery. In fact, he would make it his duty to make her life miserable for cutting him down in his undead prime.
Glaring down at her bent head, he observed the crown of orange blossoms she wore, interwoven with the short veil that covered her face. The flowers gave off a lush, rich smell. And also was the scent of Jane's essence—fresh and spicy, like her blood. Unconsciously he licked his lips. Unaware, he tightened his grasp on her hand, causing Jane to wince.
Again Asher glanced down at his unwanted bride, abstractly appreciating how the pale green color of her gown emphasized her eyes. The neckline of her dress was low and round, pushing her abundant breasts upward. He recognized that Jane's breathing had increased with her anxiety, causing her bosoms to rise and fall like lush fruits waiting to be sampled. He wondered if the tips were coral hued or rose. He wondered what they would taste like.
Catching himself admiring his soon to be wife, Asher bit back a snarl. Hellfire! It would be a cold day in hell and elephants would fly before he touched this venomous vampire slayer! He hadn't survived this long by underestimating his foes. He would also have to talk to his bride about wearing gowns that revealed too much of her body. Just because he was not going to enjoy two of her finest assets did not mean he wanted other men or monsters to ogle them.
Observing the silent but ominous byplay between the groom and bride, the vicar continued the ceremony. His voice filled the pews. Secretly he prayed that the bride wouldn't faint and the groom wouldn't burst the throbbing blood vessel in his forehead before the I dos were spoken.
Nervously he hesitated, his gaze fearfully searching the small assemblage. "If any man can show just cause why these two should not be lawfully joined in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace."
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!
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.
