The theatre was crowded with society's elite, who were sparkling and shining in their jewels and rich clothing. With so many present, the noise was like a thousand wasps trapped in a bell jar. Now some were discussing Lady Veronique's mysterious disappearance, and the missing prostitutes that the newspaper had been writing about. Twelve were now gone, vanished. Normally newspapers wouldn't take note, but with the total so high, the public's interest had begun to stir.
Ian, Clair and Jane had discussed it in the carriage earlier, wondering if supernatural species were involved. Jane hadn't revealed that she thought it was Dracul. She'd save that for later.
They all sat in Baron Huntsley's box, waiting for the play to begin. Clair and Jane had been discussing the first week of wedded bliss—or rather, the lack thereof. Ian observed the crowd.
"Asher doesn't trust me. He doesn't want me," Jane complained. She didn't want to speak ill of the dead, but Neil Asher was impossible. He made her so mad at times, she wanted to spit Neils.
Clair patted Jane's hand, commiserating. "But I've seen the way Asher looks at you. He wants you, all right. He's just too stubborn to act. But he will. Men like to sulk a bit. I imagine the earl will sulk a bit longer."
"If I were a man, I'd never sulk and treat my wife shabbily," Jane declared. "I'd be free to do as I please. And I'd punch Asher in the mouth."
Clair laughed.
Jane sighed. After a week of marriage, she was still a virgin. And the way things were progressing, she just might die one. Imagine, being married to one of the biggest rakes in London, being the envy of all women, and yet she slept alone, untouched and unwanted.
There were good things, however. For the first time in her life, Jane was free not to be a Van Helsing. She was free to do the things she enjoyed, to be herself and not have to tote stakes, formulate battle strategies or be around blood and gore. For the first time in her life, Jane was mostly happy. And she was falling in love. She felt excited, agitated, hurt and a little sick. Shaking her head, she wondered why people raved about the experience.
"I just know everything will turn out well. I believe when Asher comes to his senses, he will realize what a wonderful wife you will make. He will fall down on his knees and declare utter love and devotion to you," Clair confided confidently.
"I wouldn't hold my breath, Clair. I rarely even see my husband. He has quite the aversion to me," Jane said. "He didn't want a wife. And if he did have to marry, he would have much preferred someone else."
Clair shook her head regretfully. "Who? Jane, you have a beauty that shines forth from your lovely eyes, a brave heart, a good nature and a bright wit. You have a beautiful neck, the envy of any woman, and especially desirable to a vampire. And your bosom is large—larger than my own!" Sneaking a peak at her husband, Clair blushed, adding, "Believe me, the bosom being big is a big thing for men, be they mortal or immortal."
"I wouldn't know," Jane remarked despondently. She glanced down at the plump fullness of her breasts, displayed quite deliberately and prettily by her low décolletage. "But I could be the very loveliest lady and Asher wouldn't care. You know he is in love with you." Jane said the last with a hint of jealousy in her voice. She couldn't help it; she loved Clair dearly, but some small part of her resented her friend's hold on her husband. It made her feel small, but she felt it just the same.
"He thinks he is, or was. But you love many people and many things in life," Clair stated firmly. "The heart is a most wondrous organ. It is big enough to love deeply and passionately more than once in a lifetime. Asher will realize that. He has loved before me, and he will love you. I know this, Jane. I know this with all my soul."
Jane's eyes misted, and her misery lessened just a tad. She gripped Clair's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Yet… we have so much against us, Clair, for him to love me."
"You, my dear Jane, are well worth loving. Never let a little thing like you having been a vampire-slayer and him being a vampire spell the end. Such small things in a marriage can set it on a rocky course, but you have the power to overcome."
Jane hid her smile. Only Clair Frankenstein Huntsley would think that their problems were small things, easily overcome. "So, do you take your own advice?" she asked, her tone light. "Ian being a werewolf doesn't bother you at all?"
Clair laughed. "Of course not! It's bloody marvelous. My supernatural research has never gone so well. And never has it been so much fun. Having your own private specimen to study in the flesh… it's quite invigorating."
Jane blushed, a quick visual of what Clair meant flashing through her mind. But it was a dark visual. It was so unfair! She had been married a week and still was ignorant of what went on in the bedchamber at night.
"I've quite given up my Bunsen burners," Clair said slyly. "Ian was tired of getting singed."
Jane laughed this time, but the laughter died abruptly as she saw her husband enter a box directly across the theater. On his arm was a stunning woman with dark hair piled high upon her head. Her scarlet gown was daringly cut, revealing a large cluster of rubies and a rather impressive bosom. Jane frowned, thinking that the so-called lady looked as if she knew exactly what went on behind closed doors between a woman and a vampire.
Seeing the distress on her friend's face, Clair turned her attention to the box. "Drat! Drat! And double drat!" she exclaimed. Nudging her husband none too gently in the ribs, she indicated that he look across the crowded theatre.
"What the bloody hell is Asher doing with that wicked bitch of the west?" Ian asked.
"I thought she was being punished," Clair retorted.
"She is supposed to be locked in her coffin," Ian agreed in a bewildered tone. "I like this not."
Regaining her composure, her hands fisted in her skirts, Jane asked, "Who is she?" But she knew: The woman was an encroaching tart, and her husband was a contemptible cad.
"An old friend of Asher's," Clair answered. "Lady Montcrief." Her lack of elaboration spoke volumes.
Jane read between the lines. "You mean his old mistress."
Clair remained silent, but Ian nodded.
"She is very beautiful. And, I take it, she is one of the undead?" Jane recognized the pallor and predatory look that some vampires could not hide from her expertly trained eyes.
"Yes," Clair said, her eyes blazing. "And at one time she tried to kill Ian, Asher and myself. What the fool is doing with her now is beyond me."
Glancing in the direction of Asher's box, Jane saw her husband leaning over the voluptuous lady, staring down her gown. "He appears to be looking into her heart," she remarked, hoping her droll wit would cover the sound of her own heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
Ian gave a sharp bark of laughter, but quieted when Jane and Clair glared at him.
"He also appears to be trying to humiliate me before the tow," Jane went on coldly. And he had. She was hurt, humiliated and angry that Asher would bring his old lover to such a public place where all eyes would be upon them. Especially since he was so newly wedded.
She wanted to pull out the brunette's hair by the roots. She wanted to claw her tooth and nail. She wanted to wipe that lascivious smile off her arrogant face. She wanted to plant a fist in his.
Frowning, she looked away. Lady Montcrief and Asher made a very handsome pair. The vampiress was very beautiful. Again, jealousy raged through Jane's system, making her want to kill her opponent. It wasn't fair for the vampiress to be so lovely, while she was nothing more than plain. Where was a Van Helsing model-four when you needed one?
Breathing deeply, she fought the feelings of betrayal, anger and jealousy that made her want to screech like a fishwife and act like a true Van Helsing. But just because she was married to a monster didn't mean she had to act like one. One soulless fiend per family was more than enough.
"Perhaps I should go to Edinburgh and buy a love potion from Dr. Jekyll," Jane muttered morosely.
"All the way to Scotland for a love potion is a bit extreme—even if Henry Jekyll is quite brilliant with magic potions," Clair said. "Besides, you don't need magic potions to win Asher's love. All you need is your big heart and a lot of patience. The idiot."
Just then Asher threw back his head, laughing at something his companion said. Jane gritted her teeth. She was so furious, she could chew Neil. She wanted to scratch out his leering eyes. She wanted to lock him in his coffin for a month.
Taking another deep breath, she tried to calm herself, to recall her mother's lessons in deportment. If she were a true lady, she could pretend that nothing had happened. If she were a better Van Helsing she would go home and make good on her threats.
"Smile," Clair warned, glancing around the theatre . and noting that the members of the ton were craning their necks for a better view. They looked from this box to Asher's and back again.
Taking Clair's advice, Jane managed a passable smile. She couldn't let society know how hurt she was; they would rip her to shreds. She couldn't let her husband know how much his actions had done to wound her, either. She bravely faced Ian and Clair, whose eyes held a wealth of sympathy as well as anger.
"I am fine," she stated firmly.
Across the theatre, one of Lady Montcrief's followers, Sir Rowton, had joined Asher and Lady Montcrief in the box. "I say, Asher, isn't that your wife over there?—the Van Helsing chit?" he asked with his usual hint of ennui.
Asher nodded curtly.
Sir Rowton shook his head. "She isn't your usual style. Pity."
If Asher hadn't spent the last two centuries being civilized, he would have snapped Sir Rowton's fat neck. Instead he gave the man a glare filled with fires of hell. No one insulted his wife. "She is Lady Wolverton to you!" he snarled.
Turning toward the box where his wife sat, Asher regarded her closely. She was dressed in a gown of deep green. He knew that up close it would enhance the beauty of her eyes. The gown fit to perfection and displayed her great assets. He scowled. Her breasts were exposed to the view of other men of the ton. He made a mental note to himself to have some new gowns made up for her, with the neckline raised at least several more inches.
His wife seemed oblivious to his scrutiny, looking around the rest of the theatre. He would have the dressmaker raise her neckline a good three inches. No, make that four.
Seeing Ian Huntsley, Asher nodded in the man's direction. Briefly and stiffly the baron acknowledged the gesture, then quickly turned back to the two ladies he escorted. But Asher had seen disgust in the werewolf's eyes.
Slightly chagrined, Asher admitted he deserved it. He had seen his wife the moment he sat down. He berated himself for not asking what her plans for tonight had been.
Despite what Ian obviously thought, Asher would not have escorted Lady Montcrief here if he had known the Huntsleys and Jane were coming. He could easily have taken the scheming tart someplace else to work his seductive wiles upon her, to find out just who had released her months early from the silver-chained coffin into which he had forced her after her attack on Clair. He had to know who was brave enough, or foolish enough, to release Lady Montcrief from her just punishment. There were few vampires strong enough to break the spell placed upon the coffin, and none of them should be in London—not without letting him know that they were visiting his territory. It was a serious breach of etiquette, and a deadly one, that he'd only discovered last night upon spying Lady Montcrief out feeding.
He feared he knew who the dark intruder was. It was his archenemy, Dracul.
At that moment, Lady Montcrief broke into his dark thoughts by stroking his thigh, her long red fingernails tracing erotic patterns on his leg. Asher ached to remove her treacherous hand, but knew he must play the part of devoted lover to entice her into revealing the name of her rescuer. It was a delicate game of cat and catty mouse, one which Asher had played a hundred times before.
"I really can't believe you married that creature," Lady Montcrief commented, pertly pursing her lips. "She is so common. And then there is her unfortunate heritage. But perhaps she is good enough in bed to compensate. I would not have thought it, but then Van Helsings would make strange bedfellows."
Asher smiled, hiding the blow she'd dealt to his pride. "I find special delights in my wife that you might not understand."
Lady Montcrief leaned closer, her breath whispering on his face. She smiled. "She could certainly not be better than me in the bedchamber, mon ami? Or perhaps you play those games with whips, stakes and silver chains. That would explain why you married one of those horrid Van Helsings. Strange, that type of bed-sport was not to your taste before."
"You know I like pleasure more than pain," he agreed coolly, hiding his anger. How he hated this scheming jade!
Unconsciously, he searched the other side of the theatre with his eyes, watching his wife become paler as Lady Montcrief caressed his arm. But he had no choice except to ignore the brief flash of hurt he saw—just as he ignored the slight pain in his stomach that felt like guilt. He was probably just hungry; he hadn't fed tonight. Why should he care what his wife felt or thought? She was a burden forced upon him.
Yes, he should feel relieved and proud that he had humiliated his wife by not presenting her to society before being seen with his ex-paramour, he told himself. She would be on the tongues of all the gossips tonight, and tomorrow too the vicious tongues would be wagging, all making sport of the new Countess of Wolverton. Just as the few vampires he had encountered recently had spurned or made sport of him. One of those vampires was still at home recuperating, while the other two had fled to Paris, intending to wait until Asher's temper had cooled.
Jane deserved this treatment, he argued silently. She, her dog and her big bird were albatrosses around his neck. Yet, he couldn't help but admire her fortitude. She was laughing with Clair and Ian now, ignoring him completely, and acting as if he were no more than a fly upon the wall. She was magnificent, not showing the ton any hint of vulnerability.
Surprising himself, he leaned over and whispered something to Lady Montcrief. Angrily, her red lips clenched tight, and she got to her feet and followed him from the box, leaving a trail of whispers in their wake.
"Well, I'll be damned," Ian said to Clair.
"Never," Clair teased, watching her husband watch Asher exit. "Why?"
Noting that Jane was also watching, Ian whispered, "I concede that you might be right about Asher's feelings toward Jane. He has left the theatre tonight before the play even started. I might also add, he had a slightly guilty expression on that arrogant face. Asher never feels guilt. I wasn't even aware he knew what the word meant."
"Good!" Clair stated harshly. "I hope he drowns in guilt." Then, thinking on her words, she asked her husband curiously, "Can vampires drown?"
Jane answered. "Only in their own blood," she said, clenching the highly polished wooden armrests of her chair like she would a Van Helsing model-three stake.
If only she had a real one.