The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Minda Webber
wolf in question would be her husband, Ian.
Asher grimaced, uttering disgustedly, “Well, they say love is blind. It would have to be for Clair to prefer Huntsley to my own renowned personage.” He shook his head and wondered: How could she prefer a lycanthrope to a vampire? After all, everyone who was anyone knew his species was superior.
For over three hundred years, Asher had been looking for a nameless face in the night, was always searching out souls and places. Suffering long, dreamless days of sleep, awakening at night, he longed for something more, some warmth lacking from his exalted world. Peers of the Realm and vampire princesses, nothing meant anything. Then, less than six months ago, Asher had almost grasped his dream. Regrettably, she had fallen in love with Ian Huntsley. And even more sadly, wolves mated for life. Asher clenched his fists and watched Ian Huntsley protectively usher his wife out of the ballroom.
Watching Asher, Jane Van Helsing stood across the room in an alcove surrounded by ferns. She was for all purposes invisible to the other members of the ton where she stood, and she studied Asher watching Clair and Ian exit. The earl, unaware that he was being observed, let down his guard and briefly revealed his broken and bleeding heart.
An student of both human and vampire natures, Jane was surprised. Vampires were notorious for their deadpan expressions. That the earl had revealed emotion meant that what he felt was intense. Clair had told Jane that Asher had some misplaced affection for her, but…
“Clair’s wrong. This is no misplaced affection. Asher is in love with her,” Jane realized, suddenly filled with disquiet. “But how can Dracul love anything? He’s too mean. Yet, I can’t blame him for loving Clair. She’s adorable.”
As she spoke, a slight twinge of jealously pricked Jane’s heart, surprising her. She knew the earl was a handsome man—only an idiot would fail to see that. But as her mother always said, handsome is as handsome does. Sucking someone dry of all his or her life’s fluid was not her idea of polite society. And even if the earl weren’t in love with Clair, he wouldn’t be interested in someone as mousy as herself.
Besides, Jane had a scheme to bring to fruition, just like all the other Van Helsings marching through history. They all stopped to the beat of a different drum. It didn’t matter that she preferred the flute.
It was time to firm up her resolve. In spite of her many years of practice on vampire dummies, Jane had never made a true vampire kill, even though she was twenty-three years of age. This galling fact was an unheard-of and shameful precedent in Van Helsing history. It was why her father was so annoyed with her. Still, Jane couldn’t help her squeamishness. She got sick when she saw little dogs run over by carriages. She felt nauseated when she saw burns on the little boys who were chimney cleaners, and she had stolen one away from his master. Now Timmy worked in the stables at her family’s country home.
Shaking her head dolefully, Jane remembered her first staking. She’d been sixteen and scared. She had closed her eyes and staked the pillow in the coffin instead of the vampire. Her father had finished the task with one quick stroke, using the Van Helsing-brand, #4 mallet. Blood had sprayed everywhere. Jane had gotten sick all over the major’s favorite hunting jacket. To say her father was not pleased was a major understatement. It had been a day to live in family infamy. Especially since her uncle Jakob and six male cousins had also witnessed her deplorable lack of killer breeding. She had also learned the lesson that day: Everything in life is location. A lady just needed to know where to stand.
Her disastrous and humiliating second attempt at staking had occurred at age twenty, with even less success than her first. This vampire, a newly made fledgling, quite muscular and attractive, had definitely not been an old bag of
Asher grimaced, uttering disgustedly, “Well, they say love is blind. It would have to be for Clair to prefer Huntsley to my own renowned personage.” He shook his head and wondered: How could she prefer a lycanthrope to a vampire? After all, everyone who was anyone knew his species was superior.
For over three hundred years, Asher had been looking for a nameless face in the night, was always searching out souls and places. Suffering long, dreamless days of sleep, awakening at night, he longed for something more, some warmth lacking from his exalted world. Peers of the Realm and vampire princesses, nothing meant anything. Then, less than six months ago, Asher had almost grasped his dream. Regrettably, she had fallen in love with Ian Huntsley. And even more sadly, wolves mated for life. Asher clenched his fists and watched Ian Huntsley protectively usher his wife out of the ballroom.
Watching Asher, Jane Van Helsing stood across the room in an alcove surrounded by ferns. She was for all purposes invisible to the other members of the ton where she stood, and she studied Asher watching Clair and Ian exit. The earl, unaware that he was being observed, let down his guard and briefly revealed his broken and bleeding heart.
An student of both human and vampire natures, Jane was surprised. Vampires were notorious for their deadpan expressions. That the earl had revealed emotion meant that what he felt was intense. Clair had told Jane that Asher had some misplaced affection for her, but…
“Clair’s wrong. This is no misplaced affection. Asher is in love with her,” Jane realized, suddenly filled with disquiet. “But how can Dracul love anything? He’s too mean. Yet, I can’t blame him for loving Clair. She’s adorable.”
As she spoke, a slight twinge of jealously pricked Jane’s heart, surprising her. She knew the earl was a handsome man—only an idiot would fail to see that. But as her mother always said, handsome is as handsome does. Sucking someone dry of all his or her life’s fluid was not her idea of polite society. And even if the earl weren’t in love with Clair, he wouldn’t be interested in someone as mousy as herself.
Besides, Jane had a scheme to bring to fruition, just like all the other Van Helsings marching through history. They all stopped to the beat of a different drum. It didn’t matter that she preferred the flute.
It was time to firm up her resolve. In spite of her many years of practice on vampire dummies, Jane had never made a true vampire kill, even though she was twenty-three years of age. This galling fact was an unheard-of and shameful precedent in Van Helsing history. It was why her father was so annoyed with her. Still, Jane couldn’t help her squeamishness. She got sick when she saw little dogs run over by carriages. She felt nauseated when she saw burns on the little boys who were chimney cleaners, and she had stolen one away from his master. Now Timmy worked in the stables at her family’s country home.
Shaking her head dolefully, Jane remembered her first staking. She’d been sixteen and scared. She had closed her eyes and staked the pillow in the coffin instead of the vampire. Her father had finished the task with one quick stroke, using the Van Helsing-brand, #4 mallet. Blood had sprayed everywhere. Jane had gotten sick all over the major’s favorite hunting jacket. To say her father was not pleased was a major understatement. It had been a day to live in family infamy. Especially since her uncle Jakob and six male cousins had also witnessed her deplorable lack of killer breeding. She had also learned the lesson that day: Everything in life is location. A lady just needed to know where to stand.
Her disastrous and humiliating second attempt at staking had occurred at age twenty, with even less success than her first. This vampire, a newly made fledgling, quite muscular and attractive, had definitely not been an old bag of