The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (14 page)

“Did yours?” She returned, making a face at him.

He couldn’t help it; he was so surprised that he laughed. “She tried,” he admitted. “But…”

Jane smiled. “I take it you were an unwilling pupil.”

“Very. I had my mind on other more… interesting subjects.”

“Hmm. I see.” And Jane did see. Neil Asher had been a rake from early in life. “Did you try and seduce your nurse from the cradle?”

He chuckled. “Only to get my rattle.”

“Oh, you are incorrigible,” she said. He reminded her of a peacock, what with his beautiful plumage and harem of ladybirds eagerly following him about.

“Can I help it if women find me irresistible?” he asked. “I would tell you about it, but you would think me vainer than I am.”

Jane snorted. Asher had the face and fangs to suck in any woman. But he was as vain as they came. “How ever do you manage to get a hat on that swelled head of yours?” she asked.

This time, Asher snorted. Miss Paine was definitely a bird of a different feather. For a Plain Jane spinster, she had a wicked sense of humor and an honesty that amused him along with her antics. That was something he hadn’t seen since Clair Frankenstein had haphazardly entered his life.

“Really, my lord, conceit is a bloody humbug,” she said.

“Jane Paine, what a mouth you have on you.” Asher remarked, half-irritated. He wasn’t really conceited. He couldn’t help it if he was close to perfection. “I wonder what I should do with it?”

He studied her plump pink lips. They were wide, and made for kissing. Nervously she licked them, her pink tongue sliding out and across.

He took a step closer, consciously.

She took a step closer, unconsciously.

He cocked his head and studied her. Moonlight became her.

“Have you ever been kissed?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He arched a brow in disbelief, and she looked irritated.

“At least fifty times,” she said.

He arched both brows in patent disbelief.

“Maybe sixty times,” Jane lied again. “Besides, it’s really none of your business.”

Asher lay his hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded. “You think so little of me.”

He held up his fingers, one by one counting off her complaints. “Let me see, I’m puffed up with my own consequence. I’m so vain I can’t put on a hat. I don’t know my Milton. I’m a womanizer and a rogue,” he said. “And I’m also nosy. Did I get them all?”

“Don’t forget rude,” Jane said politely, her eyes twinkling.

Asher was encouraged. Bowing to her, he remarked, “In spite of my faults, I think you would like me to kiss you. If only to compare to those fifty or sixty other gentlemen.”

“A lady would be foolish indeed to admit to such.”

Reaching over, Asher lifted her chin with his fingers. “But then we know what I think about your being a lady.”

Staring at his firm, sensuous mouth, Jane unconsciously licked her lips again. He was a toothsome temptation. His eyes were pure blue, drawing her in, almost drowning her in their glacial depths.

Her heart sped up, beating furiously. Asher’s face was close to hers, his eyes bright with interest. If he moved a smidgen closer, he could kiss her. Would he kiss her? This was a heady experience—erotic, exciting and downright scary.

Asher took her in his arms and smoothed back a curl of hair that had somehow gotten loose from the braids piled upon her head. She was very pretty now, gazing up at him with a sense of wonder. Yes, there was definitely some fairy dust swirling around in the night wind.

“Shall I kiss you now?” he asked.

But before Jane could answer, she felt something crawling up the back of her neck.

Tiny little feet. Spider feet.

She shoved Asher away and began swiping at her neck and jumping up and down. “Oh, it’s on me! It’s on me!” she howled as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels. “Get off! Get off!”

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Asher had heard of nervous virgins before, but this was ridiculous. He stepped back a cautious distance.

She continued to jump up and down like a demented frog, howling, “A spider’s on me!”

“A spider?”

After one last swipe, she sighed in relief. “It’s gone.” Rubbing her neck, she shuddered. “I have a… slight aversion to them.”

“Slight?” Asher asked, dumbstruck. His second impression of her had been right: The woman was touched in the head.

“Well, maybe a bit more than slight,” Jane admitted, glancing around nervously. “I do hope the horrid little thing isn’t planning a second attack.”

“Hmm,” Asher said thoughtfully, feeling full of mischief. “I imagine the poor little fellow was a scout for a much larger army. This cliffside is notorious for spider armies.”

Jane’s face paled. “Spider armies? Here?”

“At least fifty or sixty of them,” Asher continued mercilessly, his expression deadpan as he extended his arm. “Each with their own spider general. I think it’s time I escorted you back inside—away from the battlefield.”

“Fifty or sixty armies of tiny spiders?” Jane repeated belligerently, catching on and ignoring his extended arm. Asher was playing with her fears, just like her cousins did. Just like Count Dracul would do. He was dismissing another’s concerns as if they were nothing more than dust in the wind.

“Your manners are truly appalling, to tease a lady about the slight aversion she might have to hairy little legs crawling all over her,” she snapped, starting up the pathway without him. “So, sirrah, I will escort myself. And I also want to mention that I despise cobwebs and hard-hearted rakes.”

Asher smiled reluctantly as he watched Jane stomp away. He would like to have his own hairy legs crawling all over her—and if that mad thought didn’t beat all, he wondered what did.

“To
stake or not to stake, that is the question,” Jane said, sneaking down the stairway to the library. She wondered if Shakespeare ever had similar problems. “Here I am, a twenty-three-year-old ape-leader, and I’m at a house party with more than a few single gentlemen. Yet, instead of hunting a husband like any intelligent lady nearing the shelf would do, I’m hunting a vampire. A handsome, arrogant, mesmerizing vampire.”

“I dislike it immensely,” she went on, “creeping around in the dead of night trying to do what’s best. Gee, thanks, Clair,” she muttered to herself, wishing her friend hadn’t told her what she had.

After spying Jane returning from her walk along the cliffside, Clair had mentioned that Asher had a habit of drinking brandy in the library after everyone else went to bed. That was why Jane was now tripping about in the dark, hoping no one would discover her. If Asher were there, Jane would pretend that she couldn’t sleep and had come for a book. It was late, and Asher would be drinking, so perhaps she might be able to seduce him into kissing her. And then, after the kiss…

After the kiss was the part Jane was having concerns about. How far should she go in her enticement? How far was too far? She didn’t really know what went on with overheated vampires, or if vampires even got overheated. No one had ever told her what to do with a wolf—not the werewolf kind, but the woman-devouring kind. Well, the woman-devouring kind of vampire with great sexual appetites.

She had changed into a different gown, one with a much higher neckline. It was off-white, with rows of lace at the bodice. (After seeing her reflection, Jane had unhappily decided that she looked like a big pillow. She really was going to have cut back on the chocolate.) It was not certainly evening wear designed to titillate. But it would do what it was designed for; hiding the Van Helsing model-four stake in its pocket.

Reaching the library, she hesitated briefly and took a deep breath. Then she pushed open the large, ornate door and stepped within, efficiently shutting it behind her.

Her target stood a little to the left of some floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He was casually flipping through a volume of poetry. Briefly Jane wondered if he was checking out the quote from Paradise Lost.

Candlelight in the room gave golden tints to Asher’s copper-colored hair. He wore no cravat, and his shirt was unbuttoned, exposing a large portion of strong, smooth chest of a whiter shade of pale. His aura of mystique and masculine beauty called to Jane, stunning her with its magnetism. Her body tingling in strange places, Jane couldn’t take her eyes off this power and strength she had only guessed at. This was one dangerous vampire. Yet watching the muscles in his chest ripple slightly, she felt a happy fluttering in her stomach, as though a hundred butterflies were tickling her insides.

“Jane, what are you doing here?” the earl asked, observing her expression and wondering if she was still mad at him.

He watched the pinkish flush spread from her cheeks to her neck. Idly he wondered if her other cheeks would turn red when lightly spanked. And did she have freckles on her bum? It was an intriguing idea, and one he most definitely wished to explore. But regrettably he might never know what lay hidden under her skirt—virgin territory being priced as it was.

“I wanted to get a book. I wasn’t sleepy,” she explained sheepishly.

“Milton?” Asher asked, studying her. She didn’t appear irritated with him. What was she really doing here? Did she want a kiss, or was it truly a book she was after? Could she not sleep because she was thinking of him—as he had been of her, much to his discontent.

“Dante.”

She grinned impishly. He found himself grinning reluctantly back.

Asher stood up and walked over to the bookshelf, and pulled down a thick black volume. He strode over and handed it to her. “Dante,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Jane looked uncomfortable and out of her depth. Asher decided to admit something that had been plaguing him. “Oh, you were correct. I looked up that quote and it was Milton.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know earls knew how to apologize.”

He smiled at her wickedly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. We earls only apologize late at night, when we are alone with a lady who intrigues us.”

“Then you must be saying it three hundred and sixty nights a year.”

Asher laughed. “Touché.”

The earl’s warm laughter and the smile in his eyes disconcerted Jane. She immediately turned her attention to the floor, where she just happened to notice a piece of fur stuck on the front left foot of the green brocade settee. Absentmindedly she remarked, “It sure is hard to get good help these days.”

“What?” Asher asked, looking confused.

Glancing up, she felt her blush deepen. “Nothing.” Ninny! Birdbrain! she berated herself silently. She should be batting her eyelashes or hanging on his arm. She was a total disaster at seduction. She should have had some training in the amorous arts. Instead her lessons had consisted of learning how to kill two vampires with one stone, and to never attack two vampires with one stake—or was that to never attack one vampire with two stakes? Jane sometimes got the rules confused. There were so very many, and they were so very varied. Who would have thought that the training manual for undead-slaying was over twelve hundred pages of dead weight, all in small print?

“I take it you avoided any marching spider armies,” Asher said, unable to resist.

Jane shook her head ruefully. Her temper fit had long passed. “I apologize for being such a… ninny.”

He smiled. “I find you rather adorable.”

She frowned slightly, silently begging, Don’t let him be charming now. No, not now! She didn’t want to hurt Asher; she’d rather kiss him silly and do those other things people did in the dark behind closed doors. But what choice did she have?

The earl moved closer, stopping but a few scant inches away. His nostrils flaring, he breathed in her unique scent—the scent of jasmine and misty woods in the rural mountains of Germany. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart, sense her blood pulsing just beneath the skin of her neck.

His hunger had grown ravenous. In point of fact, he thought of drinking from her with a growling anticipation, somehow sensing that she would be good to the last drop. Just like that Swiss miss he had sampled while touring the Alps several years ago. Perhaps even better, if his pulse rate was any indication.

He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. The flickering flames in the nearby stone hearth highlighted her figure, revealing her rounded hips and full, rather remarkable breasts.

“When you were kissed before, by your legion of men, did you enjoy it?” he asked, his hunger changing slightly. He wanted her desperately. He needed her desperately. He was aching to sink himself into her— and not his teeth. He hadn’t felt lust this strong since he was a mere stripling of a vampire, one hundred and one years of age.

“It was nice,” Jane said shyly.

“Nice?” Asher repeated, shaking his head to clear away the lust. He scolded himself silently. He couldn’t take her virginity—but he could take a taste of her breasts and neck.

“Oh, Jane, I can do so much better than nice,” he boasted, pulling her swiftly into his arms, bending his head and kissing her passionately. Her lips were very soft, and he savored their sweetness.

He could hear the blood rushing through her veins. As a child his mother had scolded him not to play with his food. As a fully functional adult, playing with his food remained half the fun. And what fun this morsel would be!

He deepened the kiss, and she opened her mouth to him. He used his tongue to ravish it thoroughly. She tasted wonderful, like golden honey after the bees had feasted on orange blossoms in the late spring. Her smell was almost as good, reminding him of hot, sultry nights and sweet kisses beneath the moonlight.

He had always enjoyed kissing and extended foreplay. But kissing Jane was an elevation to a primal experience of raw lust that he had never before experienced. He wanted to rip off her clothes and plunge into her wet, hot body. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to simply wrap her in his arms and hold on tight.

Waiting to exhale, Jane savored her first kiss. She tasted the dark depths of the earl’s mouth, the sweetness and the tart tang like apple cider wine. It was a heady experience, like a walk in the clouds. Asher’s kiss was better than brandy, better than strawberries with fresh clotted cream, better than chocolate and even better than spotting the yellow-bellied sapsucker. She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, running her fingers through the silky smoothness of his burnished hair as he yanked down her gown, revealing her breasts.