In a pig's eye he'd thought it her foot; Clair thought crossly. The man was a randy goat through and through. And she was stuck in a wardrobe with him for God knew how long. Hmm, she changed her tune, what a lucky lady she was.
"Bounder," she whispered. His hand now held all of her breast, his thumb circling the nipple. She shifted uncomfortably, wanting something indescribable, for it was something unknown to her.
"Sneaking snoop," he whispered back.
"Lusty libertine."
"Nosy Nellie," he murmured, leaning close to kiss her.
She held her hand up, stopping him. "This isn't the time. I need to see Wilder feed."
"This should be some trick. Has your uncle Victor designed some sort of gadget that sees through wood?" Ian mocked.
"Hush," she whispered. Quietly, she turned the handle on the door. "Bloody hell. It's stuck. Of all the luck," she grouched.
She had made it unseen inside Wilder's red bedroom, and now she couldn't see the sight she needed to see. She was beginning to wonder if Ian Huntsley wasn't rather the opposite of a good luck charm.
Ian gave it the old Oxford try. The result surprised him. "It does appear to be stuck. What an interesting situation. We could stay in here until we rot or I could bang on the door and plead with Wilder to let us out."
His anger was slowly building. Once again, Clair had run headfirst into disaster, this time dragging him with her. In all his days of spying, he had never ended up in the untenable position of being stuck in a wardrobe. What was worse, Clair didn't even realize what a disaster she truly was or the danger she was in!
Ian drew Clair nearer, his hot breath on her ear. "Of course, when Wilder asks me why you and I are in his wardrobe, I will have to tell him that we were spying on him. Then I imagine I will be meeting him with pistols drawn at dawn," he finished grumpily.
"Don't be stupid. He can't meet you at dawn. The sun would fry him to a crisp."
Though neither could see the other, each knew they were glaring furiously.
Reaching into the pocket of her breeches, Clair retrieved a slim pick. A moment later, Ian heard a slight click.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"What else? Picking the lock."
"My, my, is there no end to your nefarious talents?"
"Put a sock in it, my lord," she snapped.
As the latch gave, Ian hissed. "Don't push on the door." The words of warning came too late, and both Clair and Ian were dumped unceremoniously on the carpet.
The tableau was straight from a tawdry farce, Ian thought. Wilder was literally caught with his pants down, a shocked expression on his features. Dressed in nothing but black garters and nature's grace, Lady Montcrief was on her knees, worshiping Wilder with her mouth.
"My stars, Ian! I got it wrong again. Wilder's not biting her. She's biting him!" Clair gasped.
It was more than Ian could bear. It was classic Frankenstein. He fell to the floor, howling with laughter.
It was an hour later—filled with sermons, curses, and one or two dubious explanations, all of them coming from Ian—before Clair was returned home to her bedchamber.
Dispirited, she glanced around. The room was decorated in Wedgwood blue and creamy white, with chairs of similar hue, while the settee and window seats were all upholstered in a delicate floral pattern. Well-stocked bookshelves lined the walls and a fire flickered in the blue-marbled hearth.
The logs in the fireplace shifted, causing tiny sparks to shoot outward into the thin mesh screen. Clair stared gloomily at the flames, recalling with shame Ian's lengthy and virulent lecture on the way home.
Ian had been fierce in the closed coach, trying to impose his will upon her. But no matter how he lectured, threatened, or cajoled, she wouldn't give up her dreams of winning the prestigious Scientific Discovery of the Decade Award. She wouldn't give up her chance to be a published scientist of renown, no matter what Ian growled and no matter how many harsh lectures he subjected her to.
She could still hear his stern tone, telling her that she needed to live in the real world and give her scientific research a rest for a while. But he didn't realize that science was her life on every level.
She remembered the look Ian gave her, which had scorched to her very soul. She was terribly afraid that she was falling in love with the devious wretch. But she would stick to her guns. She didn't care how hotly Ian looked at her with his passion barely banked. Or how his dark green eyes blazed as fiercely as the flames in her hearth. Or how long he pleaded and threatened her to stop work. She wouldn't give up her quest. She was first and foremost a Frankenstein and a seeker of the truth.
Aunt Mary, sitting beside her in a white cotton nightgown, finished pouring some tea. "Now, dear heart, care to tell me about it?"
"It was an unmitigated disaster of the first degree," Clair replied mournfully. "And worse, I made a complete jackass of myself."
She winced, remembering her words about Lady Montcrief's bite. Ian had scornfully explained that Lady Montcrief might be a vamp, but she was no vampire. He went on to explain in a rather formal, clinical manner just exactly what Lady Montcrief was doing to the Honorable Christopher Wilder—an act Clair felt wasn't very honorable in the least.
Clair bit her lip, thinking that she would rather suck on a lemon than do that to Wilder's male member.
Lady Mary patted her niece's hand companionably. "Did I ever tell you about the time Victor was seventeen years old?"
Clair shook her head.
"Well, you see, Victor got a rather inflated opinion of himself, and decided he could challenge the Fates and win."
"What did he do?"
"He chained himself to the gables of the roof during a nasty electrical storm, threatening the lightning to strike him."
"What happened?" Clair asked. This was a story about her uncle that she had never heard before.
"What do you think? The fool boy got struck by lightning. It was rather amazing that he lived."
"Of course!" Clair squealed, her eyes alight with excitement. "I always wondered where he got the idea for using electrical currents to stimulate dead cells in the reanimation of dead flesh. I asked often enough, but he would never tell me."
"Of course not. Your uncle Victor is a proud man and he lives on your hero worship. He would never want you to see him in the guise of fool."
Tenderly Clair hugged her aunt, the woman who had been like a mother to her ever since her parents were killed in a boating accident when she was four. She understood the moral lesson her Aunt Mary was imparting: Everyone makes foolish mistakes, but only the foolish give up their dreams. "Thank you, Aunt."
"Good. Now, no more mopes. You merely had another case of mistaken identity. You will just have to buckle down and dig deeper. I have complete faith that you will find that nasty nest of vampires."
Picking up her teacup, Clair sipped thoughtfully. "Aunt, I thought you weren't too fond of my vampire study."
"Heaven knows I'm not, but it's important to you. You are too much like your Uncle. If you stopped what you were doing, it would kill off a part of that marvelous creative spark that is so integral to your makeup. I wouldn't want that. You wouldn't be Clair Frankenstein anymore."
"I know you have been afraid of the dangers I might face, but truly the only danger I have been in is making a fool of myself."
Lady Mary giggled. She knew Clair was beginning to feel better. It was due of course to her indomitable Frankenstein spirit, a force with which to be reckoned. "I must admit I have worried much less since Baron Huntsley entered the scene."
"Hmm. I am beginning to think he is unlucky for me."