"A parrot?" Ian asked again, trying to wade through the confusion of Frankenstein logic.
"Yes."
"Uh… did you know this parrot well?"
"Never saw her before in my life. Although I did hear she had paranoid tendencies. Afraid of people stealing her crackers, you know."
Ian shook his head, a strange expression filling his green eyes. "Then why is the funeral at your home?"
Clair smiled as the baran stood in the doorway, hat in hand. "Aunt Mary does pet funerals. That is her specialty. Last week we had a funeral for Charleston the monkey."
Ian bowed at once and left, escaping into the cool light of lucid day. Pet funerals! He had heard it all now. He grimaced. He was on the planet Frankenstein, and it was a madhouse.
To Be, or Not to Be, a Frankenstein
Later that afternoon, Clair studied the tall, brooding figure of Baron Huntsley. He was a commanding presence, tooling his flashy green high-perch phaeton toward Hyde Park. The horses' hooves made a smart rapping on the cobblestones. They arrived a little before the fashionable hour—the fashionable hour being a time for promenading every type of conceivable carriage with teams of matching horses all decked out in their Sunday best, and the occupants of every carriage dressed in finery, wanting to see and be seen as they made slow progress along the countrylike lanes.
The brisk wind whipping about, Clair adjusted her bonnet, glad that Baron Huntsley had picked her up early. She enjoyed having the man to herself. He was such an intriguing specimen, even if he wasn't a vampire.
This afternoon, the baron was dressed in the height of fashion, in a tailored riding coat of dark gray superfine which only enhanced his very broad shoulders and slender waist. With a hungry glint in her eyes, Clair observed how he filled his doeskin breeches to perfection. He was very muscular, and the breeches were very tight.
Clair bit her lip, beginning to feel like a Peeping Tom or a trollop. She had never noticed things like this before the darkly intriguing baron. Normally breeches were breeches and men were men, unless those men were werewolves or vampires. But the baron made her sit up and take notice. He made her feel distinctly feminine.
Slyly, she studied him. His ebony hair was tousled by the wind, and his cheeks were red. There was a nervous energy about him that she quite liked. He was brimming with life and with something wild that reminded her of primeval forests in the dead of night. She could easily see how she had made her mistake in thinking that the baron was one of the seductive Nosferatu.
"I can see why I thought you were a vampire." She spoke her thought aloud. "It is a shame. You would make a most distinguished one. You are so dark and… I don't know. There is something wild in your bearing. And you have such big white teeth."
Ian slowed his matching team of chestnut bays, thinking how pretty she was in her blue velvet pelisse with dark gold braiding on the collar and cuffs. Clair was also wearing a saucy poke bonnet in the same blue hue. The white feathers fluttered in the breeze. The clothes deepened the color of Clair's gray eyes, making them appear a smoky blue, and gazing into them, Ian could feel himself getting lost.
"You have mentioned the teeth before." He grinned, showing them off. "All the Huntsleys have them—broad, strong teeth, that is."
He would have loved to tell her what else he had that was overly large, but figured that would pop her cork. In spite of her scientific bent, which appeared to lead the little imp into areas other ladies feared to tread, Clair Frankenstein was still an innocent.
For personal safety, it had been a long time since Ian had wooed a virgin. He was considered a prime catch on the marriage mart, which was a fact overanxious mamas and drooling debutantes reminded him of often. That had kept Ian away from innocence untried, for if he took a lady's virginity, he would be at the wedding chapel at the drop of a hat as honor and society demanded.
"So your teeth are a family trait, like a large nose or thin limbs?" she teased.
"Something like that." He glanced back to the road leading to the park. "Are you terribly disappointed I am not a creature of the night, drinking blood and sleeping in coffins?"
Clair laughed. "Last night I was devastated. Today I am more resigned. After all, if you were a vampire, then we would not be having this drive in the park. I think I shall count my blessings."
"Yes, the bright light of day does often bring sanity. And logic and most certainly reality."
A beetle landed near his boots, and he glanced around. To his left a blackbird took flight to here, there, and everywhere. A few noted Corinthians on horseback pranced in the Norwegian Wood just off the park. Four brightly colored curricles filled with couples drove slowly down the long and winding path nicknamed Penny Lane. Their laughter was often false and forced, he noted. So many nowhere men with the world at their command, each human life touching no life but his own.
Strangely, Ian felt a stirring of pity for all the lonely people. Where did they all belong? Yesterday he might have been one of them, until he saw Clair standing there, like a taste of honey. He reached for her hand, wanting to hold it.
"Miss Frankenstein, the reality is that I have questions." In spite of his growing attraction to Clair, they didn't call him the spymaster for nothing. Ian would uncover her secrets—and uncover them quickly.
Clair's heartbeat picked up as she stared down at her hand in his. She had to admit it looked altogether perfect. His hand was hot and comforting.
There was something in the way he moved and something in his smile that touched her.
He made her skin tingle. He made her nervous. He made her think of things behind closed doors. She was afraid she was quickly becoming a woman of loose morals, thirsty for things she didn't understand. Yet her body at the cellular level was primed and ready to go. Her hormones were on the hunt. "Yes?"
"Who told you that I hid during the day?" He had to know who in his employ or acquaintance had noted his recent odd habits.
"Please, let it be."
"I can't."
"No one in particular," she lied.
"This is important, or I wouldn't ask you to betray a confidence. But a man like myself has many enemies, and secrets can hurt me." His tone was grim, his look stern. "Please. It is a word I don't often use." Truer words were never spoken. Ian Huntsley was a formidable man of many talents, some deeply hidden. He did not suffer thwarting lightly.
Yes, he was a complex man, loving few things. But those things he loved, he loved deeply and forever. Life had made him both strong and self-reliant. No matter how many times he got knocked down, he would always jump back up, swinging. And the perpetrator would end up being much, much the worse for wear.
Clair turned her attention back to the road in front of the carriage, watching how the bays moved in perfect tandem. They were an exquisite pair, with sleek coats and sooty-trimmed manes flying in the wind. She could see why the baron owned them. Even his mistresses were prime specimens, women most beautiful and accomplished. And thinking of mistresses, Clair recalled their words extolling the baron's lovemaking techniques.
She blushed. She was becoming a lascivious, licentious, lusty, and lewd lady. Hmm. She hadn't realized so many negative words began with the letter l. This won't do, she mused, concentrating on scientific l-words, like laboratory, lithosphere, the Luckenback Principle and lubrication. Oh dear, wrong l-word. She was already feeling a bit of moisture between her thighs. She certainly didn't need to be reminding herself of lubrication.
Ian interrupted her thoughts. "It's truly important to me, Miss Frankenstein. I must know who has been gossiping."