And she wouldn't, Clair thought smugly. Jane had been sworn to secrecy.
Seeing her sly expression, Brandon snorted again. "Keeping secrets, are we?"
She nodded. "We Frankensteins can be just as secretive as you Van Helsings."
Brandon laughed out loud. "Right. A seven-foot monster is certainly not fodder for gossip."
"Humph!" Clair responded, and she walked away. Sometimes Brandon Van Helsing was too big for his breeches. Really, Clair thought, at times men were such… men. They were infuriating, aggravating, unworthy, and irritating.
"Now where are you, Ian?" she muttered, trying not to care if he had noticed her in conversation with Brandon, who was an eligible bachelor if you didn't mind him out running around cemeteries poking the undead with sticks in the dead of night.
She spotted him a second later, leaning back against a wall and watching her. Smiling to herself, she went about her business of driving Ian crazy. Perhaps her friend Arlene could give her some helpful hints about making him pay for his crimes.
Ian watched Clair stoically, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the wall. He had noticed Clair conversing with the younger Van Helsing. He had watched Clair and her friend Arlene dance and flirt with various town fops. He would have been livid with jealousy if he hadn't known her heart really wasn't in this pettish display. He hid a grin. His Clair was an independent woman, rebelling against his masculine authority and the fact that he had spoiled her less than scientific fact-finding mission.
He wanted to ask Clair to dance, but he knew with an instinct born of years of experience with feminine pique that she would rather chew nails than comply. She was an entity unto herself, an odd angel whose fluttering wings breathed fresh air into a world which had long grown stale for Ian. Her sweet smiles gave balm to his wounded, weary spirit, just as her kisses sent him soaring heavenward. It was fascination, he knew, that old black magic she did so well, which made her unforgettable.
Ian recognized their relationship had little future, most especially if one or both of them ended up vampire food. The rational part of his brain sternly advised that he wasn't ready for a leg-shackle anyway—anytime, anyhow, and in any form. Marriage was a trap which, once well-sprung, could catch and capture his heart and tear it out if he ever lost Clair. Knowing Clair's penchant for trouble, the scenario was entirely too possible. Besides, he was too wily a hunter to see himself caught.
But then, he contemplated, when was he ever wily around Clair Frankenstein? When was he even rational with her? She could ask for the moon and, if he happened to be in one of his stupid modes, which was generally when he was staring at her breasts, kissing her lips, or even listening to her metaphysical prattle, he might just try to move heaven and earth to get the damn thing.
Yet he was being rational now. While he was drooling over Clair, Ian was also keeping a wary eye out for Asher, pondering what he could do about his conundrum. He hoped fervently that Clair hadn't already captured the crafty earl's nefarious attention.
As the night sky changed from the ebony darkness of midnight to the more somber hues of early morning, Ian received an urgent message. He had no choice but to leave, since the note called for his immediate and personal attention. Reluctantly he left, placing a well-advised word of warning in Lady Mary's ear to keep a close eye on her niece. The message thrilled Lady Mary's little matchmaking heart. Another was thrilled as well, but for different reasons. A figure standing in the shadows of the upstairs gallery's balustrade shrewdly watched Ian's departure. The tall man smiled fiercely, his sharp teeth glistening in the semishadow.
"Hold on to your hats. This could be a very bumpy night," Neil Asher gloated as he made his way down the staircase, his prey ever-present in his sight.
Oblivious to the earl's interest, Clair stood by the punch bowl watching Arlene dance, thinking that she had been remiss in writing to her friend Jane. It had been too long since the last update.
Unexpectedly, she felt a tingling foreboding. Glancing about, Clair felt her chest constrict. The Earl of Wolverton was beating a direct path toward her. He moved with a fluid grace, his hair the color of roast chestnuts, gleaming like copper in the soft glow of the chandeliers. His broad cheekbones and firm, square jaw hinted at his Germanic heritage, while his coloring was claimed by his English ancestry. Yes his exalted lineage was evident in his proud manner. And anyone who dared approach him was halted by the earl's disdainful sneer.
In an abstract way, Clair noted he was a good two inches taller than Ian, and Ian was a tall man. "Must be all that raw meat he eats," she murmured, the scientific part of her brain registering his flawless characteristics while the womanly part registered his magnificent sex appeal.
Asher smiled again, this time with unqualified carnality. His prey was near. He pounced.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Neil Asher, tenth Earl of Wolverton."
Like quicksilver, Clair comprehended that the earl wore his exalted ancestry like invisible armor, girding himself against annoyance by the lesser beings of the world. "My lord, you must excuse me, but we haven't been formally introduced," she said stiffly, turning to leave. His words stopped her abrupt departure.
"Miss Frankenstein, I didn't think such formalities need exist between the two of us. In fact, I feel as if we are already on intimate terms. At least, you certainly know some intimate details about me."
Clair's curiosity got the better of her. "And those details are?" She noted that the color of his eyes was like chipped ice, with a darker blue around the edges. She also noted that he was watching her as if she would make a tasty treat. In a strange way, that was excellent. It was more fodder for her werewolf theory.
"Come now, don't play coy with me," Asher remarked patronizingly as he looked his fill. Clair Frankenstein was a rare beauty, exotic in spirit and unmatched in eccentric ancestry. Alone she would have interested him, but with Huntsley recently sniffing at her skirts, her value increased tenfold. He couldn't and wouldn't resist tweaking the baron's nose by stealing this lady out from under it.
"I assure you, I'm not," Clair rebuffed, looking into his eyes. Suddenly, she felt as if she were rappeling down the face of a glacier into the deep unknown. She blinked.
"Hmm," he said. "We'll see about that. It would seem that you know personal things: when I get up, go to bed, what I like to dine on…" He hesitated, building the suspense. "My illustrious techniques in the bedchamber. Indeed, tonight it seems you got a personal view of my seduction skills, with the Lady Montcrief playing a rather key role."
Clair gasped at his indiscretion. "You, my lord, are no gentleman."
Asher laughed, the sound chilling her to the very core.
"And you my dear, are no lady, in spite of the impeccable packaging." Pulling out his quizzing glass, he looked her up and down. Then he smiled lasciviously.
Clair's eyes flashed. Ha! The old wolf wasn't nearly as smart as he thought. She would soon see him howling at the moon. Haughtily she remarked, "And you, my lord, are a wolf in sheep's clothing. One with too fine of an opinion of yourself. In fact, you're so top-lofty, it's a wonder you don't tip over."
A flash of surprise crossed his features. Asher narrowed his chilly blue eyes. "Pardon?"
In spite of his irritation, Asher found that she fascinated him. He was used to being adored and feared, or having others fear him. This Miss Frankenstein was a different flavor altogether.
Clair wanted to pinch herself for stupidity. She needed to befriend the earl, not vex him. "Please excuse my ill manners," she apologized.
The earl continued to study her, his gaze leering. "I could excuse a pretty little morsel like you many things."