"It was unexpected," Adam explained. "I do so love to surprise my devoted wife."
"You can say that again," Eve muttered. Only Adam's sharp ears caught it.
"How wonderful for you both," Lady Jane said. "Together again after such a long separation. It must seem as if every day is a brand-new world."
"Oh, happy days," Eve agreed, with only a faint hint of mockery. But espying Adam's mirth-filled expression over Lady Jane's head, she had to count to ten to suppress her desire to boot her hysterical husband out the front door.
"Since your situation has changed, Dr. Eve, you simply cannot refuse my and Asher's invitation to Vauxhall Gardens on Thursday," Jane spoke up. "I've invited you to the gardens several times, and you've refused each time because Dr. Griffin was away. Last time you told me that you couldn't come because the romance of the gardens reminded you too much of Adam and your honeymoon." Jane clapped prettily. "Now that Dr. Griffin is here, he can escort you. You can re-create your honeymoon! I won't take no for an answer."
Which she didn't, no matter how many times Eve tried. The Countess of Wolverton clearly got the results she wanted when she desired; Eve had no doubt it was due to her Van Helsing heritage. And she could also tell from the determined glint in Adam's eye—and his vociferous acceptance—that she had little choice. They were going to attend Vauxhall Gardens with the Ashers.
As Lady Jane exited the front door with a smile and it closed with a bang, Eve turned to Adam. "Sirrah, you forget yourself! How could you accept?" she snapped waspishly, her chin out and her back rigid. "Why did you say we would attend?"
"I had little choice," Adam replied with a grin. "You kept inventing excuses. Besides, Lady Jane's request was just what the doctor ordered." For him. He would get to spend more time in a romantic setting with his beautiful, belligerent bride. "We wouldn't want the world to think our marriage is in trouble before it's really begun. Remember, we're supposed to be a happily married couple."
"Oh, you are just impossible!" Eve hissed, wishing that his little dimples didn't make her feel rather shaky inside. "You brigand. You delight in putting me out of countenance!"
Staring at her, he shook his head, his eyes riveted to her lips. "I'd much rather get you out of something else. However, I have an ulterior motive. The Countess of Wolverton is quite well-known. I encourage the connection. She thinks we're united in wedded bliss, and thus so will the funding committee—if they don't think so already. They should. Your patients are joyous at our matrimonial state, as are your servants," Adam explained patiently. "It's good for your business. Now, my little admiral, tell me what Lady Jane was speaking of when she mentioned all that about gardens and our honeymoon? Was that where we held it?"
"Rubbish, rubbish, and a rubbish pile! We never had a honeymoon, you stupid, stubborn-as-a-mule pirate."
"The countess seems to be under the impression we did," he retorted.
Eve sighed, realizing that the very attractive but infuriating man standing in front of her would fail to leave her alone until she confessed this tiny white lie she had told to decorate the story of her fictitious marriage. But "I don't trust you," she said.
He cocked a brow and shrugged. "Remember you have no choice. And, by the way, though I have been a pirate and a rogue, I am both trustworthy and loyal."
Eve looked up at the high vaulted ceiling, searching for divine inspiration. Her life was in shambles. She should be marching this rake by swordpoint to the top of the Towers and making him walk off. Instead, she found herself explaining her little fibs. He listened patiently, his head cocked to one side, an amused glint in his eyes.
"I merely mentioned to Lady Jane that we spent our honeymoon in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon."
"I see," Adam said, a grin spreading across his face. He shook his head wryly. "Although I do believe that the Hanging Gardens were destroyed during biblical times."
"Oh, well… I'm a doctor of the mind, not of history," she snapped.
"Apparently the Countess of Wolverton is neither," he replied, then threw back his head and howled with laughter.
Before Eve could let loose a string of curses that would do her scalawag of a father proud, her medical assistant, Pavlov, arrived with baggage in hand through the open front door. Pavlov had been in France for a short trip to attend the wedding of a close cousin who happened to be one of the undead.
"Bonjour, Dr. Eve, it is good to be back," the young Frenchman said earnestly.
An ugly dog following Pavlov spotted Eve and leaped toward her. His fat speckled tongue hanging out, the dog charged up to her, then immediately plopped down and rolled over at her feet, waiting to be petted and adored, his body wriggling. Adam wasn't able to recognize the breed. Its color was a blend of spotted black, red, and gold. It had long hair around the face, and a tail that curled upward, which at the moment was wagging furiously like a demented flag. It was the ugliest mutt Adam had ever seen.
Bending over it, Eve began to stroke the mangy mutt. She greeted her assistant by asking, "Pavlov, how was your trip?"
"Paris was lovely, the wedding such an affaire de coeur—and my family was quite happy to have me there for a visit," her assistant replied. He pulled his faithful companion to its paws and then straightened his pristine velvet gold jacket with a flourish. "But now I am eager to get back to work. I have missed the Towers. In spite of all its quirks, it's become home. I hope you have missed me just a bit, oui?"
Adam watched this exchange, a little chagrined to note that the young Frenchman was not an unattractive man—although much too young for Eve and much too foppish, what with his gold jacket, lime green vest, and the dark curls all over his head. Just who was this preening peacock, and what was his relationship to his wife? Surely he didn't live here with Eve. Surely Adam's baffling bride wasn't involved with such a foppish fellow and his ugly mutt. He wouldn't stand for it!
Firmly grabbing Eve's hand, Adam pulled her to his side and staked his claim. "She has been much too busy to miss you, now that I am home. And just who in the bloody hell are you?" There was no mistaking the possessive quality of his question, or the mocking threat in his eyes.
Taken aback, the man questioned hesitantly, "Just who are you, monsieur?"
"Dr. Adam Griffin. Her husband," Adam retorted, ignoring Eve's attempts to loosen her hand from his. She was his wife, and she had better become quickly adjusted to the fact. She really had no idea how lucky she was to have him for a husband, pretend or otherwise.
"I'm her assistant," Pavlov answered, noticing Eve's flashing blue eyes. Ignoring the muscular frame of the man, he asked bravely, "Dr. Eve, is this true? This is your mari? Am I finally to meet Dr. Adam Griffin? Oui, he is finally here in the flesh?"
"Oh, he's here, all right," Eve said, as Adam squeezed her fingers in warning. "Interfering flesh and all." The last was said in a whisper.
"Non. But you are not happy," Pavlov guessed, a bewildered look on his face. Dr. Eve rarely spoke of her husband, but when she did, she was always respectful and cheerful. She was not so now.
Eve started to reply, but realized that she didn't want her assistant to discover the true state of affairs. Pavlov was a brilliant assistant, and he had been very helpful in her work. His behavior patterning had great merit. He also had a humorous bent, and had trained his faithful canine to sit in a chair at the table and eat whenever a dinner bell was rung. It was quite amusing to watch, as long as the demented Hugo didn't get loose. Sometimes the hunchback would ring the bell and no food was served the long-suffering dog—a good dog who always sat patiently waiting in his chair.