The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing Read Online Free PDF Page A

He was truly temptation on the hoof, since he affected her Van Helsing sense and sensibilities.
    She sighed. It was a shame that he was a vampire. It was even more of a shame that she was a plain Jane, vampire-hunting Van Helsing and could never attract a man of Neil Asher’s ilk. The earl was a connoisseur of all things bright and beauteous, all things lush and lucre-ful. Asher couldn’t abide anything less than perfection in his well ordered, beautiful and hedonistic life. That shouldn’t surprise her. That was a long-standing character trait of the forces of Darkness. And of men in general.
    Once again, the two young ladies behind Jane made comments. “I hear Asher delights in all things great, though rarely small. Especially in the bosom area.”
    The other woman gasped in shock. “Charlotte, how could you know that?”
    The first young lady lowered her voice, making it hard for Jane to catch her words. “My brother told me. It’s whispered among the demimonde of London.”
    Clair Huntsley finally spotted her husband, waved, then turned back to Jane, noting her friend was once again eavesdropping—a deplorable habit that Clair herself had proudly taught her. Observing Jane’s distraction, Clair turned in the direction her friend was staring, watching the Earl of Wolverton’s grand entrance. Jane was apparently captivated by the handsome vampire, which was very good for Plan Z. Clair wondered if Jane had guessed that the earl was one of the Nosferatu. She didn’t think so. And Clair hadn’t yet confided in her about it. She would leave that little detail for later.
    Studying Asher’s face, Clair frowned. “Asher is paler than usual.” She remarked. She truly valued the man’s friendship, in spite of his high-handed arrogance. She owed him a debt that would take a great deal to repay.
    “Perhaps he’s overextended himself,” Jane commented thoughtfully. Being Dracul would put a drain on anyone’s energy—all that debauching, drinking and despoiling virgins, she thought to herself.
    “Perhaps,” Clair conceded worriedly. She harbored a deep guilt over Asher’s unrequited feelings for her. She knew she had hurt him deeply by not returning his affection. But how could she when Ian was the love of her life?
    It didn’t matter that reanimated dead flesh fascinated all Frankensteins. It didn’t matter that Asher was an alluring, intelligent vampire, a shade made up of the cold touch of the grave, the call of night breezes and twilight hours. She hadn’t fallen for him. Her love was Ian alone.
    Asher was mystery, mist and predator. He was filled with ghosts of the wind, memories of royal courtiers with elaborate lace cuffs, finely dressed ladies in wigs and loose court morals. He was of a people long gone, people who had worn shiny armor, held swords lifted high as their battle cries filled the air. Honor and the bonds of blood had bound him then as they bound him now. Asher was centuries old and aging, though he looked forever young. But while for many years the urbane Asher was sharp of both tongue and teeth, lately his razor wit had borne a venomous twist that Clair disliked.
    “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Asher’s eyes seem rather more haunted than usual.” They were stark, sad eyes, all laughter appearing to have fled into some murky darkness in the depths of his soul. That was why, in her typical Frankenstein fashion, Clair had decided to do something special for Asher to cheer him up. Something most wondrous, like finding him a wife: someone with a nice figure and wonderful silver-green eyes. Someone who was both compassionate and feisty when roused—a trait Asher would definitely need in a mate, especially with his own toplofty view of himself. And who could be feistier than a vampire hunter? Never mind that Asher wouldn’t want a wife, and most assuredly not a vampire-slaying Van Helsing.
    “Jane dear, Ian and I are having a house party at Ian’s estate in Wales next weekend. I would