Still, Ian would have killed her if she'd been caught in Asher's room. No, she thought sarcastically, Asher would have killed her. Or it would have been a toss-up between the three men.
And what was she supposed to do about Asher's feelings for her?
Thirty minutes later, with the clock ticking, Clair finished her search of the earl's library. She knew Ian would be coming to her room soon. She barely had time to go back upstairs and get dressed.
Shutting the desk drawer, Clair sighed with disappointment. So far her search had come up empty. She had found nothing but an old portrait of an ancestor of Asher's dressed in an outdated coat and floppy black pirate hat. He really was a handsome wolf. If she hadn't been in love with Ian, Clair really would be tempted to take a chance on the Wolfman. After all, she did love puppies.
Just as she shut the drawer with a snap, Clair once again heard the unmistakable sound of Asher's voice. Panicking, she slipped underneath the huge cherry desk.
Asher escorted Lady Montcrief inside his library, his sharp eye searching the room. Wearily, he shook his head. There. He'd spotted a flash of green peeking out from underneath his desk. Clair, again.
"Asher, you are not paying attention to me," Lady Montcrief complained. She pressed herself against him, running her hands through his burnished chestnut locks. "Come, darling, let's play a bit."
Yanking her hands from his hair, he forcefully turned the lusty lady around and escorted her back out the door. He gave no explanations, only shook his head at Lady Montcrief's antics. But outside he grinned, his white fangs sharp. Clair Frankenstein was like a dog with a very big bone. And she could chew on him anytime.
Rhymes of the Ancient Predator
"Humans, humans everywhere, and nary a drop to drink," Asher commented dryly to Ian as he surveyed the assembly of houseguests for his two-day party. The guests were scattered throughout the large music room, each in some variety of activity. Some were playing cards at the far end of the chamber, some were gossiping in small groups, and a few of the ladies read while one played a soft tune on the pianoforte.
The room was elaborately decorated in shades of pale wine and creamy white, with glistening wood paneling. Paintings done by Rubens and Rembrandt were interspersed among the bronze wall sconces. A thick Persian carpet was centered on the floor.
Ian scanned the room with a quick glance. There were twenty-one guests, thirteen of them male and four married couples. "I see a few supernaturals interspersed."
Asher waved a hand elegantly. "Too few. The humans here tonight are definitely in the majority."
"It's lucky that the vampire high council put severe fines on those vampires who drain their victims dry."
Asher nodded, his blue eyes frosty. "Yes. Discretion has saved us from being hunted down and destroyed like in the old days. Those were not pleasant for my kind." His eyes took on a faraway look. "To be hunted like rabid dogs by unwashed rabble…"
"If the coffin fits," Ian suggested. Suddenly his attention was drawn by the lovely vision of Clair entering the room. His heart rate sped up and his breathing quickened.
"You know far too much about us," Asher said, his tone irritated. Then, noticing the physical changes in Ian, Asher turned toward the door. He noted Clair. "Ah. So it's like that, is it? You've bedded her."
Though his tone was politely contemptuous, his feelings were anything but. Asher was incensed at the thought of Clair in Ian's grip. Ian touching all that soft, white flesh, those pale graceful arms holding him. Ian being loved by Clair. A pang shot through Asher's heart and he felt a blood-red tear begin to form. Quickly he blinked, showing Ian no weakness. Clair was truly lost to him now. He wanted to lie down and die, except he was already dead.
Asher's words had captured his attention, so with a glower Ian turned to face him. "Careful, Asher. I don't care what you are, but talk rudely about Clair and I will personally stake that black heart of yours."
Asher raised his upper lip in scorn. "Calm yourself, Huntsley. I concede the point and the game. You have won the fair Clair, although you do not deserve her. She is too special for you. Or, for that matter, for even my grand personage. But it appears she has made her choice," the vampire went on his voice husky with an unrequited longing that would never be satisfied.
He watched the way Clair was looking at Ian, love shining in her stormy gray eyes, and said, "Yes, you are a lucky man. But if you hurt her, you will answer to me!"
Cocking his head, Ian studied his opponent. "A conscience, at this late date?"
"It happens every hundred years or so. It seems we live not as we wish, but as we must."
"I intend to marry her," Ian admitted.
Asher looked surprised. "I heard you say once that you wouldn't get married until hell freezes over."
"I guess I owe the devil a winter coat."
Asher nodded, his eyes a glacial blue. "Has she said yes?" he asked. He felt morbidly curious as he observed Clair speaking with the Duke of Ghent and her aunt. She was a vision in her deep bronze gown of pale silk with tiny satin roses of green interspersed among the bodice and sleeves. Her hair was pulled into a sleek topknot with only a few curls left down to grace her face. The style showed off not only her delicate features but also the elegant lines of her neck. Asher felt his pulse quicken and the fiery rush of hunger.
Ian snorted. "Not exactly." Then he smiled at Clair, his features fierce with pride and possession. "But she will."
This time, Asher was the one who snorted. "You have your work cut out for you, Huntsley. That woman has a mind of her own."
Ian shook his head. "What's mine, I keep. And make no mistake, come heaven or hell, Clair Frankenstein is mine."
"A threat?" Asher's tone held both amusement and contempt.
"You concede graciously?" Ian was shocked.
Asher nodded. "I am many things, but not blind. She loves you. Not a particularly bright choice, I am thinking. Especially since she could have had my superior personage."
"Well, I'll be bloody deuced and damned! You're in love with her too." Ian felt flabbergasted.
"An unfortunate occurrence, I can assure you. It certainly wasn't in my plan."
His mind spinning, his fists clenched, Ian glared at the master vampire who stood so tall, elegant, and handsome. He was furious that Asher loved Clair. Clair was his true love and his territory. But at the same time, Ian's common sense told him that Clair was safe from any threat from Asher or his nest. Asher would fight to the death to protect Clair, just as Ian himself would. "Then she is safe from all threats," he muttered, speaking his thoughts aloud.
Arching an eyebrow, Asher glanced at Clair. "She is safe from all threats," he repeated. "However, I do reserve the right to wring her pretty neck if she doesn't stop snooping about the place. I have had a bloody hard time not stepping on her while she searched my house on her spy mission. She's like an albatross about my neck."
Ian chuckled. "That's my girl. But have no fear. After she attends your ball tomorrow night and sees you hale and hearty on two legs—not on four and snarling at her—your problem is solved. She will admit she has been wrong in her deductions and leave you alone."
"Alas, both a pleasure and a penance."
Before Asher could say more, Lady Montcrief arrived, escorted by a reluctant Galen. Ian's cousin had seen Ian's stiff stance and realized by the tense expression on Asher's face that the conversation was one filled with danger. Galen had also deduced that the conversation was about Clair.
Lady Montcrief, ignoring the volatile atmosphere, tapped her fan on Galen's arm and stopped before the earl and Ian. Her beauty was like that of a coral snake—shiny and colorful, but deadly to the touch, Galen saw. He watched her bat her eyes at both men, interrupting their conversation, and smiled greedily.