"Why, Miss Clair, what are you doing here?" Brooks asked curiously. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"
"Brooks, what a horrid thing to say to me! You make it sound as though I go around courting trouble," Clair retorted.
Brooks put on his long-suffering expression. "Trouble is your middle name," he said.
"No, it's Elizabeth. And this time everything is my husband's fault. The baron is a…" She cleared her throat and tried again. "Ian is a…" She trailed off in a fit of coughing, unable to denounce her husband for the werewolf that he was. She didn't understand it, but somehow the words lodged in her throat.
Brooks raised a brow. "Yes?"
"Oh, never mind. Where is Aunt Mary?"
"Lady Mary is in the Blue Salon. She is going over a funeral service for the hamster, Stedman." Brooks gestured the way politely, his curiosity running rampant. Why was Clair home from her honeymoon minus one groom? He started to follow her, but she pointed to the stairs and her baggage. "I can find them myself, Brooks."
He picked up her portmanteau and sniffed. "I can take a hint," he groused.
Clair shook her head, following the hallway toward the Blue Salon. She knew Brooks was curious, but she had other things on her mind right now—like the sight of her naked husband growing extremely long claws and fangs.
Entering the Blue Salon, Clair spied her aunt immediately. Lady Mary was talking to a thin older woman with red eyes and nose. The woman was dressed all in black. Clair recalled her briefly. She was a widow by the name of Bonni… something or another. Clair moved to the receiving table and waited as the older woman spoke.
"Yes, I think I like the relaxed pose that frog is wearing," the woman said, pointing to one of her aunt's favorite specimens, a large green frog wearing a red ascot and reclining on a lily pad. The frog's legs were crossed. "Yes, give Stedman that pose. He was always so busy in life, scurrying here and there, biting at his cage. I think he deserves a rest in the afterlife."
Glancing around, Clair noted the small box on the receiving table. Stunned, she blinked her eyes and looked again. Still stunned, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Opening them, she found that she hadn't been wrong; the box held a very large, very ugly rat.
Brooks walked up beside her and noticed her expression. He smiled slyly.
"I thought you said this was a hamster. This isn't a hamster. It's a big fat rat," Clair whispered. A big fat rat just like my husband.
"Lady Bonfield thinks it's a hamster," Brooks replied, unruffled.
"But it's a rat," Clair argued.
"To you and me, yes. But Lady Bonfield has bad eyesight. And she is too vain to wear spectacles."
In spite of her troubles, Clair had to stifle a chuckle. This was a first for her aunt: stuffing a rat and giving said rat a funeral service.
She shook her head. "Brooks, tell my aunt I'll meet her in the library when she's finished here."
The butler nodded.
Clair made her way to the library, and there she sank down wearily onto the rose brocade sofa. Why hadn't Ian told her the truth about his supernatural lineage? All those weeks of running around and worrying over her research, and everything could have been greatly eased by the knowledge that Ian was a wolfman. It would have also helped in those first days, when she was trying to track the London nest of vampires, if she had known Ian had otherworldly powers. But rather than studying the supernatural, she had been the victim of a super hoax! It was not to be borne!
Face clasped in her hands, Clair wrinkled her brow. She needed to formulate a plan, something where Ian got down on his knees and crawled to her—in human form, of course, preferably through hard gravel and pleading for mercy. Mercy which she would not grant. Mercy which she would absolutely, positively not grant.
The picture of Ian clear in her mind, Clair added more. Maybe he should crawl naked to her, his broad shoulders and arms rippling, his thick thighs bulging with muscles, and just above his thighs, standing at full attention…
Clair fanned herself. No, not naked. Ian should definitely not crawl naked to her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her aunt entering the room. Glancing up, Clair noted vaguely that Lady Mary's expression was worried.
"Clair, what are you doing here? This is your honeymoon."
"I've left Ian," Clair replied, her eyes sparkling with gray fire.
"But it's been less than two days," Lady Mary remarked, shocked to her gentle soul.
"I know. But I had no choice. He's a wolf." This time, the words came clear and free. Odd, Clair thought. I can reveal Ian's werewolfism to my aunt, but not to my butler.
"Dear, you knew that when you married him. Ian is a handsome rake, and the ladies have always found him attractive. Besides, they say reformed rakes make the best husbands."
Clair rolled her eyes. She loved her aunt, but sometimes the dear lady could be a tad dense. "Not that kind of wolf, but a real wolf. A furry, big-toothed werewolf." Her words hung in the air rather like a big stink.
Lady Mary's eyes became as round as saucers. Then, after several seconds of silent contemplation, she remarked, "Clair, nobody's perfect."
Clair's eyes widened with disbelief. "He's a liar and a werewolf. He is so far from perfect as to be completely imperfect."
"They say love is blind," her aunt retorted.
"It would also have to be deaf in this instance, Aunt. Ian actually howls at the moon."
"Well, dear… that's what wolves do. I guess even wolfish husbands," Lady Mary replied, her brow furrowed. "I was going to ask you if you were sure about this, but I can see that you are."
"Yes. Ian transformed into a wolf for my wedding gift."
"Well, dear, you have to admit that is an original wedding gift. Won't your uncle be thrilled? Think of all the scientific questions he'll get to ask."
It had been a stupendous sight, Clair recalled. So awe-inspiring that she had cried soft tears of wonder. But she was not about to let her aunt know that. Ian deserved no defense from her.
Instead she said, "Ha! He lied to me. All that time I was investigating the vampire nest here in London, and he was one of the supernatural creatures I was looking for. You know I thought he was a vampire pretending to be a man. Instead he is a werewolf pretending to be a man, wooing me with those hungry green eyes." Clair was furious. She hated being lied to about anything. It went against her grain and of course the family motto: The truth at all costs.
"He knew how important my work was to me, and that prestigious award. Yet Ian straight-up lied when I asked if he was a vampire."
"But he isn't a vampire, dear. He's a werewolf," Lady Mary reminded her.
"But he knew that I thought that he was a supernatural creature, and he is a supernatural creature—just not a vampire."
"But you didn't ask him if he was a werewolf, only a vampire. You thought the Earl of Wolverton was a werewolf."
"Don't remind me. Yes, I was the girl who cried wolf. But Ian was aware that I thought the earl was a were. When I needed to know where the weres were, Ian knew the whereabouts of the weres, because he is the were," Clair finished dramatically.
Lady Mary's head was spinning. Her niece was a genius at times, but this wasn't one of those times. "Ian didn't lie. He just didn't explain his ancestry. I admit it is an unusual heritage. But think how lucky you are. You needn't ever run out of fresh meat."
Clair crossed her eyes. Leave her aunt to find something positive in this situation.
Seeing her niece's annoyance, Lady Mary added, "Besides, now you have your supernatural subject right at your front door. In point of fact, your research of preternatural predators can take place in your very own home. And may I remind you what a nice home it is, the ancestral Huntsley baronial estate."