The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing

by Minda Webber

  Yes, unfortunately Jane's assumptions had been quite wrong. The Birds of Paradise Club was a brothel that catered to gentlemen with an appalling lack of taste, she thought critically, surveying the scarlet and gold furnishings of the bedchamber she was in. A huge birdcage, empty for the moment, hung from the ceiling. It had bright scarlet cushions and was large enough to accommodate Orville.

  "Yes, definitely no sense of class," Jane mumbled to herself. And these would be gentlemen, if they could be called that at all, who had strange taste in bedfellows. As Jane was unceremoniously dragged into the room, she'd caught a glimpse of a few of the soiled doves, who were probably in this line of work because they didn't have a feather to fly with. Although… one tart was actually dressed as a dove, and the others wore various skimpy costumes that resembled birds, plumage included.

  Jane had spied a Madagascar cock, a form of lovebird, dressed up in white, green and yellow feathers. To the right of her, Jane had seen a robin redbreast—and what breasts she displayed in her tight red costume! Jane next swallowed a gasp upon glimpsing a darkwing duck whose few feathers barely covered her chest and the area just below. The plucky duck's jaunty little costume also revealed long white legs, showcased by the thigh-high cut in her gown, and two gentlemen followed her like it was hunting season.

  Pouring herself a glass of wine, Jane scrunched up her brow. Due to her concern for Asher, Dracul and her brother, she now found herself stuck in a house of dodos, with herself possibly being the biggest birdbrain of all.

  She shook her head and glanced around her, commenting, "Madame Saunders's decorator must have kicked the bucket. How can she use bright purple pillows with a red-and-gold wall and bedspread?"

  Taking a rather large sip of wine, Jane grimaced. The ruby-colored drink had a strange sweet taste. Actually, it was too sweet even for her, who had a sweet tooth. But since Jane was thirsty, she drank more and pondered her regrettable situation.

  She knew exactly what the major would say of her mistake, and it wouldn't be complimentary; he'd be off and running, calling her bird-witted. And this time, he would be absolutely right. She should have realized what this club really was when Madame Saunders smiled that lecherous smile, looking her over from top to bottom. She should have noticed the woman's feathered bonnet and gray down slippers. But no, Jane berated herself, she had continued blindly on when the madam asked her if she was interested in work.

  "Of course. I am quite knowledgeable about these things," Jane had said, thinking that, while working at night, she might find out something more about Dracul. She'd figured she could handle any questions about birds, or even clean out a few cages if that was the type work needed for the vulgarly dressed, over-rouged mistress of the society. "And I'm not afraid to get my hands soiled," she'd added.

  Colonel Saunders had laughed lewdly, saying, "I imagine more than your hands will get soiled, my quaint little pigeon."

  Jane had wondered about that comment at the time. More the fool was she, for on the way to the bedchamber Jane realized exactly where she was. And although she had never seen a brothel in person, it appeared as if she was being held captive in one now. She was stuck here; her chickens had come home to roost.

  What would happen when Asher arrived? she found herself wondering.

  "He's going to wring my neck. No man wants his wife found in a house of ill repute." Although she had heard that Lord Ferguson's late wife was found in one two years ago.

  "Now Asher has another reason to find me distasteful," Jane complained dispiritedly. How would she explain what she was doing here? Her eyes crossed as she tried to come up with a believable and plausible explanation, but it looked like her husband would roast her alive when he found her cooped up here.

  Perhaps, if she was lucky, when they finally let her out of this room to ply her trade, or to do whatever these ladies—or rather birds—of the evening did, she could silently sneak away. Sneak away long before Asher even knew she had set her dainty, ladylike foot in this debauched place.

  "This debacle is just like something Clair would get into. It really cooks my goose that I was so hen-witted to be taken in by those two foxes!"

  Grimacing, she pondered letting Asher simply find her. Maybe it would do him some good. After all, he had been coming here for whatever married couples did behind closed doors, flocking together with all manner of plumed and beaky tarts. His infidelity hurt terribly; it made her so mad, she could actually see a red deeper than the crimson hues of the bedchamber. Jane knew that if she found out exactly which soiled doves had flown on the wings of passion with her beguiling husband, she would swiftly roast them alive.

  Yes, while Jane had been dreaming of Asher's kisses, longing for him to hold her tight in the security of his arms, he had been cooing to some other bird. While she had been garnering courage to be so bold as to touch him, her husband had been flying high with the high fliers in this place. Oh, how she wanted to cry, "Foul fowl!"

  The more she thought, the angrier at Asher she became. He was a cooked goose, and he didn't even know it yet. From now on, the only feathers he would pluck would be hers. Ha! The stupid, vain, pompous cock—bedding everybody in this feathery den of iniquity and leaving her cooped up at home. She poured herself another glass of wine. While she had been trying to be the perfect wife, trying to make him realize he'd wed a golden goose, he had been out cavorting with loose women.

  "I should have been planting a stake right through his black heart," she remarked bitterly.

  Jane drank some more wine, wishing it was brandy. "Well, once bitten, twice shy," she muttered. She hardly noticed her words beginning to slur as the drug in the wine took effect. All this time she'd been pining for his kisses, and her husband was coming to this nest of infamy. Suddenly the thought struck her as funny, and she began to giggle.

  She was still giggling when the bedchamber door opened and a female of questionable repute walked in with a bright yellow costume. "This 'eres for you," the woman remarked, holding out the feathered outfit.

  "Me?" Jane giggled, befuddled by the laudanum in her wine. "What is it supposed to be?" she asked. She examined the plumage of yellow and peach.

  "A golden cherry lovebird," the whore replied.

  Jane giggled some more. If they thought she was going to go out dressed like that, then they certainly had another think coming! "No, I don't think so. I need a costume with a little more covering," Jane said owlishly, holding up the garb. She felt very dizzy.

  "Sorry, ducks," the whore replied. "This 'ere's the costume the madam said you're to wear."

  Jane grinned stupidly. "No! Not enough feathers in the right places." She shook her head.

  The whore dismissed her protestations and helped her into the costume. The gown was cut to display Jane's ample breasts. Peach and green feathers barely covered the low-cut neckline, and it had a plunging V in the back. A peach-colored mask, along with a pale yellow wig of soft curls, covered her features.

  "At least I don't look like me," Jane mused, staring dizzily at her reflection in the mirror. In spite of the shocking amount of skin the costume revealed, she couldn't help admiring the way the gown enhanced her figure. "I look like a real highflier now," she commented woozily.

  "Yes, um, a real prime piece," the whore agreed.

  "I should be disgusted. I should be horrified," Jane stated firmly, then giggled. "But I'm not. Why am I not?"

  The whore grinned, glancing over at the wine. "Madame Saunders always gives the new chicks her special something along with the elderberry wine—to help 'em with the jitters the first few times. Madame likes the new girls not to feel no shyness."

  Jane grinned stupidly. "I've been drugged, then?"

  "You have."

  "Well, what an amazing thing! I feel wonderfully free. Like the breeze. Like a bird flying high." She knew tomorrow she would be mad, embarrassed and quite ashamed. But right now all she hoped was that Asher liked her costume enough to pluck her feathers one by one. "Why, the colors
of the room don't look so garish now," she added in amusement.

  Several nonsensical minutes later, Jane found herself in a room filled with soiled doves of every type, color, size and plumage, the feathers shimmering as the women sashayed about, lifting and flying everywhere. There were short birds, stout ones, thin ones, tall ones, but all were decked out in their fine-feathered best.

  Jane started to giggle, whispering, "Duck, duck, goose."

  There was also a female stuffed into a quail costume, whom Jane figured had a fondness for chocolates like her own. And there was a duck who introduced herself as Ala Orange. The bright color of her feathers stood out starkly.

  There was a woodpecker, a tall, lithe brunette who in the scheme of things, seemed to have first crack at the gentlemen around her. She seductively fluttered her fan and feathers, and was quickly given her pecking orders.

  Another of the exotic birds was warbling a soft, high tune, swaying to the beat of her own music and one glass too many of the rich ruby wine. Two gentlemen stood nearby, ogling her.

  Jane watched it all, a look of awe in her eyes. So this was seduction. She wondered if she could walk the way these ladies of the evening did. Would that attract her husband? Would he even notice?

  Gentlemen of every size and shape were in the room. Some were only gaping at the fancily costumed girls, while others appeared to be sampling. Jane shuddered. She could tell that more than a few were shape-shifters; she could feel their scalding heat warming the room. She could also sense the cold of the grave coming off three of the guests; she just wasn't sure which ones, the drug having clouded her senses. However, she didn't feel as if any of the vampires was a threat.

  "I can't believe the Count of Corruption isn't here. And neither is my bird-wenching husband," Jane said to herself.

  In spite of the tranquility she was feeling, she still suffered a twinge of anxiety. But she was being silly. Even her own father wouldn't recognize her.

  And yet, prudence would be the better part of valor, she decided, as she gazed down at the lack of material on her costume. The Countess of Wolverton could never be caught in such a compromised situation. Asher would never forgive her. The major would never forgive her. Society would never forgive her. Her cousins would think it a great lark and never let her hear the end of it.

  She sighed, the dreamlike quality of being drugged starting to make her feel melancholy, but she saw a tall blond-headed man alone, watching her. The man had come out of nowhere, slipping from the shadows in the corner of the room. His demeanor was intense and unsettling. He was very tall and slender. He wore a mask that covered most of his face, like several other gentlemen in the spacious, garish room. The stranger's eyes were very blue, and they were directed at her prominently displayed cleavage.

  Jane gulped and began to wobble over to a side door she had just noted. The stranger looked like he would eat her alive, and she was positive she'd seen those cruel blue eyes somewhere before. Taking a quick glance back, she noticed he appeared to be studying robin redbreast now, rather than herself. A rush of relief hit her as she thankfully backed into a hallway, leaving behind the chattering magpies and their customers.

  Weaving slightly, she made her way to a room at the far end of the twisting hall. Jane glanced inside. It was a smoking parlor. Jane peered around the corner, trying to see if the room was empty, and if it had a balcony or exit to the outside world.

  The room was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, she noted there were French doors leading to a balcony too. Giddily Jane made her way inside, and had started for the French doors when a sound behind her made her turn.

  "Wait, cherie. Where is my little bird flying?"

  Jane reeled dizzily, almost falling over beak-first. The tall blond stranger stood there. His deep blue eyes were hard and glittering. He projected an aura of malignancy that made her skin crawl.

  He approached so smoothly that it looked as if his feet barely touched the ground, and he arrived before her in all his splendid menace.

  "What a rare bird you are," he said, his voice betraying a foreign accent. "Are you taken for tonight?"

  Jane blushed. "I… I… y-yes," she stammered. This was even more embarrassing than she'd feared. She wished he would quit staring at her as though she was a succulent piece of fowl and he, the fox. She wished Asher would stare at her like this—without the malevolence, of course.

  The stranger glanced around and then arched a brow.

  "I… He'll be here soon," Jane finally managed to say, her heart beating furiously in her chest. This man was grilling her!

  He smiled wickedly, taking her small hand into his. "Who is your protector?" he coaxed.

  Jane tried to think it through. But the drugs clouded her mind, along with a black streak of terror. The man's touch was as cold as the grave. His eyes were strangely alien. Yes, he was a strange stranger. "I… The earl, Ash—" She gasped, cutting herself off.

  Blinking her eyes shut, Jane wanted to pound her head against the wall. He was the man costumed as a dark knight at the masquerade ball. The one who had been whispering with Lady Veronique, who had left with her the night before she disappeared. She hadn't meant to say his name. With an instinct old as time, she knew the man standing before her was a danger to both herself and her husband. Could he be the Prince of Darkness; her quarry? But if he was, then why did her senses keep crying wolf? He gave off the energy of a shape-shifter, while his touch felt colder than the grave.

  "Stupid, stupid," she muttered, criticizing herself. She didn't want this masked man to connect her to Asher.

  It seemed the stranger took offense to her words, for he drew himself taller, and a strange animosity flowed off him, radiating to her in sinister waves. "Pardon," he said.

  "No, it's nothing. I meant the Earl of…"Jane hesitated, her drugged mind scrambling for a name. "The Duke of Earl," she replied at last. Then she wanted to drop down dead. There was no such personage as the Duke of Earl.

  The stranger ignored her, lifting her hand for a kiss. His frozen stare nearly caused Jane's heart to stop in her chest. Vampire or wolf? Vampire or wolf? Where were her stakes? Back at the Van Helsing manor. Humbug! she cursed silently. Where was a good stake when you needed one—or a silver bullet?

  Jane tugged on her hand uselessly, feeling as if it were clutched in a stone vise. The man's strength was greater than a mortal's, but her senses, clouded by the laudanum, couldn't tell any more than that. Finally, as there was such a strong sense of wolf about him, she decided he was a werewolf rather than a vampire.

  "I was correct," the stranger remarked, and oddly he gave a hideous smile full of both beauty and evil. He bent to kiss her hand.

  Feeling a slight sting, Jane gasped as heat flowed through her. Jerking back on her hand, she tried to tear it away from this threatening predator… to no avail.

  "No, my little one. Do not fear. You will be mine," he commented knowingly. Then he leaned in closer to Jane, staring at her neck as if fascinated by the rich blood flowing there.

  He's going to eat me up in one bite, Jane thought with horror. And there will be no one to stop him. I am at his mercy, and I doubt he even knows the meaning of the word!

  But before the stranger could do more than move a step closer, a loud man with a bulbous nose entered the smoking parlor with the Madagascar cock. "I say, the Earl of Wolverton is here," he commented. "Didn't he get married to that Van Helsing chit?"

  "I 'eard 'he was married, but ye couldn't tell it by me. He's been here twice this week, he has," the lovebird chirped.

  The masked stranger lifted his head, his eyes shooting blue fire at the interruption. Bowing gracefully to Jane, he smiled. It was a threatening look. "Until later."

  Startled, Jane found herself suddenly watching the fearsome man exiting by route of the balcony. Dressed all in black, he faded into the night as if he had never been.

  Jane began to shiver, instinctively realizing that she had been the quarry of the tall, eerie stranger. The arri
val of the big-nosed man and his cock had possibly saved her life. But if she weren't careful, she was going to find herself in a quandary with her husband, if she couldn't manage to sneak away before he spotted her.

  Trying to gather her befuddled wits, she fled through the doorway, straight into the arms of a well-muscled gentleman. Unsurprisingly, it was the one vampire in the entire world she was hoping to avoid: her husband, the Earl of Deceit and Lechery.

  "Curses!" She had definitely jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. She wanted to crow to the heavens. This was just not her night.

  The Earl held out his arms, carefully inspecting the feathered female who had run into him while hastily exiting the smoking parlor. Shaking her head, Jane deduced there was nothing to do but brazen it out, to pretend that she was what she was supposed to be and not what she really was. Maybe Asher wouldn't recognize her—if she could find a thimbleful of luck tonight.

  Disguising her voice, Jane remarked, "I've got to go, me lord. I've got a protector awaitin' me."

  Stunned, Neil Asher looked down at the woman in his arms.

  He couldn't believe it.

  He wouldn't believe it.

  The Countess of Wolverton was in the Birds of Paradise Club, dressed as a feathered doxy. He ruled the roost at home, and yet here was his wife in a brothel. What else did he not know about his domestic matters? The question chilled him.

  His wife!

  "If you wouldn't mind letting me go, luv," Jane said, her words slurring slightly.

  Dropping his hands from her shoulders before he wrung her lovely neck, Asher stepped back, getting his first full look at the total costume of this golden cherry lovebird. He narrowed his eyes in anger, yet his mouth watered. His wife was a kaleidoscope of many things: