"If you told them we were here alone, then I would be compromised by you and—"
Ian interrupted. "You compromised me."
Ignoring his remark Clair continued, "You would either have to marry me, leave me to be ruined, or tell them I was here searching for your daytime hiding place. And I am positive that you don't want anyone to know where your resting place really is. After all, I assume that is a vampire's cardinal rule. And if you ruined me, I could reveal your daytime sleeping quarters. So you would be forced to marry me… if you were to tell anyone I was here."
Ian shook his head. "Ah, a fate worse than death to be sure."
Clair frowned, wondering what he meant: others finding out about his coffin, or marrying her?
He took two steps toward her, a roguish gleam in his eye. "I could just have my wicked way with you and make you my vampire queen," he suggested.
Clair didn't find that amusing. "I would make a terrible queen, and besides I detest the color red. It looks ghastly on me."
He couldn't help himself. He had to ask. "Red?"
"Hmmm?" Clair murmured, once again hunting through her big black cape. "Yes, well, all vampire queens wear red."
Ian turned his back to her, hiding another grin. "Did you happen to notice what color I am wearing?"
"Black. But I mean at nighttime. You know—bedtime, I mean. Sleeping garments. Vampires wear red to go to bed. I mean, to go to their coffins. Or when eating."
Ian turned back around, staring in fascination. "And how did you arrive at this conclusion?"
"It was my uncle Victor's theory. Less wear and tear on the clothes with all the bloodstains. My uncle is so brilliant, he simply astounds me at times. I am very fortunate to have him for my relative. When other children were being told about sugarplum fairies, my uncle was discussing with me how electrical impulses can regenerate dead flesh."
Ian shook his head. This tiny, possibly batty female astounded him. "And your uncle Victor came up with the red-clothing theory?"
Clair nodded.
"I rather thought vampires retired without their clothes, au naturel," Ian said slyly, watching her rummage through her cloak. He had always enjoyed cloak-and-dagger stuff before, but tonight he was positively thrilled at the prospect of discovering just what lay beneath the cloak.
Clair chose not to hear him. "Aha!" she said. This time she pulled out a fairly decent-looking stake, approximately ten inches in length, oak and very sharp.
One of Van Helsing's models, Ian noted, if he was not mistaken.
"I knew I had it somewhere," Clair added brightly.
"Now, what do you intend to do with it?" Ian asked.
"Why, win my way free of you, of course."
"You are going to stake me?"
Clair shook her head. "No, only frighten yon." She didn't really think she could stake the handsome baron, no matter how much time went by. He was much too good-looking. And then there had been that kiss, a kiss which made her think of red clothing and and love bites and bedtime in vampire-land. That kiss had not been just a kiss, on that she could rely. She sighed.
Holding the vampire stake upright in her hand as though she were holding a candelabrum, she motioned the baron forward. She was very proud of herself. She had been face-to-face with a master vampire and survived. Clair hoped her aunt Mary was still awake, for she had a tale or two to tell of the crypt tonight.
"Please, my lord, would you lead the way out of here?"
Ian nodded, thinking she was either the bravest woman he had ever known or the craziest. He gallantly did as she requested.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped. "Miss Frankenstein, you do realize that the vampire is only a creature of legend?" He held his hand up when she tried to argue. "In spite of what your uncle Tieck wrote, in spite of your uncle Victor's paranormal research, there are no such creatures as vampires. Do I make myself clear?"
"I'm sorry, but I beg to differ with you. My studies into the arcane world indicate—rather emphatically I might add—that there are such creatures. You, my lord, are one of them. And I will prove it with or without your help," she sallied. She pushed open a heavy door leading into a long hallway behind the main stairs of the main foyer. Stepping through, she and Ian startled a serving maid walking by with linens in her arms.
"I am sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Clair apologized. The young Welsh serving maid's eyes went round, her mouth a perfect O as she gaped at the stake Clair held in her hand.
"Rats," Clair temporized. "Big rats." The maid scurried away as fast as her feet would take her.
Ian sighed as he watched the maid go. It looked as if he would have to find a replacement. "Keep this up, Miss Frankenstein, and you will find that you have bitten off more than you can chew," he warned.
"I rather thought that was my line," she said haughtily. Then, with a swish of her skirts, she stormed regally off. It would have been a great exit, Clair later commiserated with her aunt Mary, if she hadn't dropped another piece of garlic on her way out the door.
Early to Rise and No Vampire Ashes
"The rumors of my being undead have been greatly exaggerated," Ian stated formally, his green eyes glinting with mischief.
"It's impossible," Clair said, clasping a hand to her breast. "You are not a vampire!" Stunned, she stared at Baron Huntsley, who stood in her morning room alive and well and certainly not bursting into flames. Not even one ash was upon the fool man. Didn't he know the rules of vampiredom? A vampire burned to a crisp in broad daylight.
"When my butler, Brooks, announced you, I thought he had misheard," she said to herself. Drat the blasted reprobate. She fumed, feeling like her friend Alice, who had fallen down a rabbit hole. How was the impossible possible? She was hallucinating, perhaps due to burning the midnight oil once too often.
She blinked. No, Baron Huntsley was still there. She glanced outside the bay window, scarcely noticing how the bright sunlight lit the evergreens. Yes, it was indeed morning. She glanced at her pocket watch, noting the time: two hours until noon, a time when all good vampires were home in bed and sleeping the sleep of the dead. Yet all evidence to the contrary, vampire Huntsley stood firm and handsome before her, a mocking grin on his aristocratic face as he watched the thoughts tumbling through her mind.
Clair shook her head in disbelief. "How is it possible? Do you have a twin? Am I dreaming?" She quickly pinched herself. Ouch. No, she wasn't dreaming.
"How could I be wrong?" she contemplated pettishly. "Such diligent, brilliant research. So very much time and effort wasted… wasted!"
The family butler stood nearby, the epitome of the well bred English butler. He was in his early fifties, though sometimes looked like he was sixty, and was a slight figure of a man with dark brown hair. One silver streak ran through his thinning tresses. He had learned early on in his life with the Frankensteins to never act unduly surprised. Nowadays in particular, he never revealed his high anxiety, especially over Clair's blazing escapades.
"Perhaps the baron would care for some refreshment?" he asked stoically, a long-suffering look on his face. He knew his mistress's moods and quirks too well, and right now she was in her "I can't believe I've wasted all my time for nothing" mode.
Clair glanced at Brooks, nodding at the suggestion, then zeroed in on the baron. "Sir, you are no gentleman. How could you let me believe that you were a vampire? It was not well done of you at all. I was up half the night recording our meeting in my notebook."
Ian raised a dark eyebrow. "I never claimed to be a vampire, Miss Frankenstein, if you will only recall." He shook his head slightly. What a little minx! She was miffed because he wasn't a bloodsucker. Yet if he had been one of the undead, her life expectancy would have been greatly reduced that night.