Asher grinned. He had needed to expend barely any effort in his seduction of the beautiful Lady Daffney. The woman had given him heated encouragement, her gaze flicking from the top of his breeches to the terrace and then beyond, and now here she was not ten minutes later standing among the dark gray, monolithic stones of the Huntsley property. Tonight, it seemed, he would have his drink on the rocks.
Suddenly the thick cloud, which had half hidden the crescent moon, shifted, revealing not Lady Daffney but Jane Paine in her pale green silk gown. Asher's grin faded. Miss Paine seemed to appear wherever he did, again and again, rather like the ten plagues of Egypt.
He hated having his plans for a moonlight tryst with a skilled female interrupted, especially by a silly virgin.
And especially when he was so thirsty.
Cocking his head to one side, he studied the forlorn figure, noting how her abundant cleavage was visible in the pale glow of the moon. After a moment he shrugged philosophically; it appeared fate had different ideas for him than he'd had for himself on this dark night. His stomach was beginning to growl, and that meant it was time for dinner.
Jane didn't hear his approach. She was quoting to herself, " 'What in me is dark, yet from those flames, no light, but only darkness visible. The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.'"
Asher stepped forward. "Dante."
Startled, Jane gasped. She quickly glanced up at the tall, formidable figure, but immediately she knew it was the earl, which eased her fears. Somewhat. Foolish, yet she really wasn't afraid of being alone here with the Prince of Darkness. Partly it was because she knew Clair would exterminate Asher if he exsanguinated her. Of course, Clair might also scotch Jane if she slayed Asher.
"It's Milton," she corrected.
Asher looked stung. "I beg to differ. I believe that particular quote is Dante," he remarked curtly.
Jane squared her jaw. "Milton," she repeated quite firmly, annoyed. She was something of a scholar, and knew her quotes backward and forward. And the earl was just a little bit too smug.
"No, it's Dante. I know it's Dante. And I'm never wrong," he argued.
"Well, this time you are!"
"No, I'm not," he replied tersely. Who did this country-bred chit think she was, Plato?
"Yes, you are," Jane said waspishly. Who did the toplofty earl think he was, Socrates?
"It's Dante."
"It's Milton—and we sound like two nursery children arguing over who gets to play with which toys."
"I am never childish. And it's Dante."
Jane snorted in disbelief. Then, very quietly, she muttered, "Milton."
Asher's patience was fraying fast. He said, "I am extremely well-read, Jane. And I recognize that quote from Dante." He growled, losing his last modicum of civility.
"Then you recognize it incorrectly," Jane repeated stubbornly, her smile fixed. The man might be an earl and a vampire, but his knowledge of the classics was a comedy. A divine one. "It's from Paradise Lost."
Asher's brow furrowed. The little Philistine was standing up to him, telling him that he was in the wrong! What was wrong with her? "Don't you realize that you're arguing with an earl?" He took a posture of extreme arrogance, his feet braced apart and his broad shoulders squared.
"Earl, shmearl. I have many faults, but timidity isn't one of them. When you are wrong, you are wrong. You can battle with me over the quotation for a decade and will still be in the wrong. And I would argue with the king himself if he were silly enough to say Milton was Dante, when anyone with half an education can tell the difference."
Asher's heart stopped. As much as an undead heart could. This chit was unbelievable! Didn't she recognize his august personage, and always-correct nature? He didn't think she did, not by the way she was glaring at him. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds with silver fires inside. Miss Paine was a thorn in his side. No, make that a stake. Yet she was certainly pretty out here in the moonlight. There was much more to Miss Paine in the Neck than first met the eye, it seemed.
"My, my, a bluestocking—how intriguing."
Jane frowned. "I know it's not the thing to be: a woman with intelligence." She shrugged. "But I won't hide the fact."
"And well you shouldn't. Stupidity bores me greatly."
She smiled. "What an enlightened attitude."
"Of course. I'm an earl. What did you expect?" he asked, surprised that he had repeated his thought out loud.
She moved out of the shadows into the direct glow of the moon. "Pomposity does not become you."
He grimaced. "Bloody hell, did your mother teach you nothing of ladylike manners?"
"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.