"No, everything is fine, Pavlov," she said. "Dr. Griffin and I had a difference of opinion over something at breakfast," she added as Adam squeezed her waist and pressed her closer. His actions had her feeling rather tingly.
"Ah, a lovers' quarrel?" Pavlov remarked thoughtfully. "If you were French, I would advise you to kiss and make up."
Adam perked up. "I'll take that suggestion, even though I'm not French," he said. He pulled Eve into his arms before she could react, and kissed her greedily. Her mouth tasted of honey, and her lips were soft. She was heaven on earth—and sun-kissed raspberries. She was perfect.
Caught up in the kiss, Eve found herself too stunned to protest. The heat from Adam's body and the warmth of his lips seduced her senses. This kiss was quite different from any that she had ever received. As he kissed her, she temporarily became insane. Regardless of her best intentions, Eve found herself heatedly returning the embrace. She wanted his lips to devour hers. This fiery feeling was akin to her burning up in flames, becoming a phoenix reborn. She had experienced nothing like it in all her twenty-seven years on earth or at sea.
Pavlov cleared his throat, interrupting. Embarrassed, Eve pulled back, but Adam held tight to her, his smoldering eyes regarding her with amusement.
Pavlov said, "By the way, Dr. Eve, where is Teeter? He is the butler, oui? Shouldn't he be opening the door—or at least Mrs. Fawlty? Aren't they being rather lax in their duties again? I have bags that need to be taken upstairs, and I also purchased some new lab equipment. It's in the carriage and needs to be attended immediately."
"I heard that," a harried-looking Mrs. Fawlty snapped as she crossed the marble floor. "So, you're back from your foreign country with your foreign ways, eh, Pavlov? Humph. I see you brought that foreign nuisance of a dog back, too."
"I beg pardon. My dog is part English setter," the assistant replied.
"Well, be getting on with ye to your room. You'll have to carry up your own bags, since Teeter is chasing that daft dwarf and his marbles, and the footman is filling the hole in the wine cellar where Fester was digging," Mrs. Fawlty chided. "And you know I'm too frail to be carrying your bags up meself."
Pavlov shook his head, murmuring, "Quelle dommage. But in this fou place, what else can I expect?" He wore a slight hint of disgust on his face as he picked up his heavy bags and began hauling them up the main stairs, complaining every few steps.
"You'll have to excuse his manners, Master Adam. Pavlov's. French, you know," Mrs. Fawlty whispered with disgust before scurrying away.
Eve finally managed to break out of her husband's heated clutches. She snapped, "You despicable, depraved, and dangerous dastard! Don't you ever kiss me again!" Then, sucking in a sharp breath, she fled the great pretender—and even better kisser. She really hated having a husband, with the exception of his kisses. Those she'd quite enjoyed. So her betraying father was going to pay for his folly with blood.
Chapter Twelve
East of Eden, and Way Beyond
Though Eve left in a decided huff, Adam didn't take it personally. She had every right to be angry. But he knew that part of her anger hinged on the fact that she didn't understand how he could help her with the unhinged. Although at the moment he didn't know a whole bloody lot about her insane business, that didn't mean that he couldn't learn. Adam had realized long ago that life was a balancing act, especially whenever he took on a new role. And being a doctor would be only slightly more unbalancing than trying to get Eve with child. Which was the only way the cunning Captain Bluebeard would forgive his double-dealing and be content at having a grandchild, even if it was Adam's. Adam shrugged. All life was basically a risk, and this risk was well worth the gain. For over a decade he had floated along like a piece of driftwood, willing to let life's currents take him from shore to shore. No more. Eve had met her match, and so had Captain Bluebeard. They just didn't know it yet. And so had the patients in this house of the deranged.
"Time to get down to business," he said. A visit to the loony ward was in order.
As he approached the arched entranceway to the patients' ward, he ran into Eve's assistant. Behind the Frenchman was his ugly mutt, bushy tail wagging and wearing a goofy doggy smile.
Pavlov nodded at Adam, curiosity evident in his expression. "Bonjour, Dr. Griffin. I had not thought to see you again so soon. Are you going to start evaluating patients now? Non, I thought you might want to rest after your long trip."
Adam knew opportunity when it knocked—or, as the case might be, when the dog licked. The pooch had slurped on his hand. Leaning down, he patted the homely beast on its massive head and said, "I thought I would take a quick peek around and immerse myself. I think I should study each patient's history before I begin treatments."
"Oui. I'd be happy to introduce you to some of the patients and their folk—madness—if you'd like." Seeing his dog delivered into ecstasy by Or. Griffin's deft touch, Pavlov added, "Let me introduce you to my furry assistant, Junger. He's part mastiff and part English setter—with a hint of corgi, I believe."
Adam nodded as Junger sat up straighter and then happily lifted his paw to be shaken, at which point Adam grinned. The dog was certainly no beauty, but it did appear well trained and intelligent.
"Junger helps a great deal in my research."
"How?" Adam wondered aloud. Did it chase the loons about the place, or find them if they became lost?
Pavlov started to walk down the limestone hallway. "Well, I am working on a therapy about managing behavior, and I practice on Junger. I hope to help patients overcome addictions to rum and opium by retraining their impulses. Can you imagine trying to stop drinking when all you desire in life is a drink? Impossible! Drink becomes everything—lover, friend, all your desires. My therapy, I call behavior patterning. I hope someday it will help many. Perhaps even those with strange compulsions such as repeatedly washing their hands or reorganizing their wardrobes. Dr. Eve hopes to be able to use my research for vampires with oral fixations. Currently I am trying to get Junger to associate pleasure with the sound of a bell, to reinforce good behavior and punish the bad. Addiction can be so… tragic."
Yes, Adam had seen firsthand the wicked wages of addiction. They not only stole life; they stole hope as well. Though he wasn't fond of this little Frenchman, his goal did sound impressive. "Very worthwhile, I'm sure. Have you met with much success?" His opinion of the little frog was changing slightly. In fact, if Pavlov wasn't interested in seducing Eve, he could grow to like the little fellow.
"I've only began working with the dog. Junger now eats whenever he hears a bell. Unfortunately, with Hugo Lambert ringing bells day and night, Junger has put on a bit of weight."
Adam didn't try to hide his amusement. "I'd like to meet this Hugo character. He sounds like a noisy, nasty little plague—a character straight from Bedlam."
"Cela va sans dire. That goes without saying. He is fou—crazy, Hugo, but he's asleep now, and trust me, we don't want to wake him up." The Frenchman actually shuddered at the thought. "Hugo was picked up off the streets when he was eight for picking pockets. From there he was sent to an orphanage, where the monks let him ring the bells, making him their unofficial bell ringer. He became obsessed with bells, so the good monks sent him here. This turn of events was fortunate for Hugo, but unfortunate for us, since this old house has a bell tower."