The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein (21 page)

Clair felt a sudden brush against her sleeve and a cool wind on her neck. Startled, she turned to find Asher watching her with a proprietary look, his teeth white and gleaming.

“I should have known,” she said. Drat! Ian still wasn’t here.

Asher leered at her. “It must be my lucky night.”

“Are you following me?” Clair asked, somewhat amused. Since Ian wasn’t here, she might as well pursue her werewolf research.

“To the ends of the earth, Clair, the ends of the earth.”

She laughed, the sound light and tinkling, causing Asher to smile. He could listen to her laugh forever. And he would, if he had his wicked way.

“Do you know, you are the first person to laugh at me in a very long while.” It was not a question.

“How long? Ten years, twenty years? Hmm… a hundred?” she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back. It was a pretty weak ploy, but still she had to try.

In the pursuit of science, it was far better to try and fail than never to try at all.

The earl chuckled. “Come now, surely you don’t think I am as old as that? However will my ego take this new insult?”

“With your consequence, I imagine you’ll survive infamously well.”

“Clair, you are a delight. Come away with me. We’ll go to Paris and drink champagne in bed.”

“Champagne gives me hiccups,” she countered, keeping an eye out for Ian. Surely he would track her here, and soon?

Eyeing Asher, Clair got the feeling she might have bitten off more than she could chew. Especially when he said, “All right then, come away with me to the country.”

When she gave him a frosty look, he added mischievously, “I am having a house party at Wolverton Manor from this coming Tuesday through Thursday, with a small ball being given on Wednesday. Would you and your aunt Mary do me the honor of attending?”

Clair wanted to jump for joy. The wolf was inviting her to his den! She could almost feel the plaque given for the Scientific Discovery of the Decade.

Yes, she would gain her proof, Clair thought, her mind spinning. But she had to admit to some surprise, in spite of her inner victory dance. Wednesday night was the full moon. All shapeshifters would shift into animal form during the full moon. How on earth did Asher plan to host a ball all furry and fanged?

The crafty earl must be plotting something. There was no way Asher could host a party Wednesday night, unless he planned to scare his guests to death with a demonstration of metamorphism. However, knowing the wily earl, Clair felt sure that Asher would come up with some emergency to leave his guests by themselves that night. But that would not stop Clair from getting her information.

“I would love to attend. However, I have a small problem. I have invited the Duke of Ghent for dinner on Tuesday and would hate to rescind?” Clair made it a question, hoping Asher would respond appropriately. He did.

“I would be delighted to extend the invitation to His Grace also,” he replied gallantly.

“Then my answer is yes. Thank you.” Clair beamed. Finally! This time, she was invited to a house and didn’t have to break and enter to gather information. As an added bonus, Aunt Mary and Ozzie would have a chance to rekindle their old flame. And to top things off, Ian would be livid.

As casually as she could, she asked Asher if Ian would be attending.

“Over my dead body,” the earl teased. Or was he teasing? “Speak of the devil, here he is. And yes, an invitation has been regretfully extended. One can always hope he will break a leg or neck before then.”

Clair gave Asher a disapproving look, then peered around his shoulder. She spotted Ian making determined course toward them, his face the perfect picture of displeasure.

Asher studied Ian’s face, registering the cold fury there. Bowing to Clair, he commented dryly, “I believe it would be in both our best interests for me to decamp.” He gave her hand a courtly kiss. “But never fear, sweet Clair. I leave the field of battle tonight to return in victory tomorrow.” Her fresh scent lingered in his nostrils as he walked off into the crowd.

Clair barely noticed Asher’s departure as she watched Ian approach. Ian’s face could be the pattern for a mask of wrath. His jaws were clenched, his lips pinched in a tight, fine line, and his eyes blazed like green coals. Heat rolled off him in fierce waves. Perhaps, she judged silently, she had pushed him a bit too far—just a tad. Perhaps Plan B was not quite as brilliant as she had thought.

Before Clair could even greet him, Ian grabbed her arm—none too gently—and hurriedly escorted her around the perimeter of the dance floor. He moved like a man on a mission, never giving his love a chance to speak.

Reaching the balcony doors, he pushed Clair outside and dragged her over to a dark corner on the far side of the massive stone terrace. Large ferns and other potted plants completely hid the place from prying eyes. There Ian glowered at Clair, barely keeping his already too heated feelings from boiling over and scalding her.

“I’m surprised I didn’t catch you waltzing with the earl, arm in arm, cheek to cheek,” he snapped.

Sniffing, Clair replied politely, “I wasn’t in the mood to dance with wolves.”

Ian shook his head. “Bloody hell! Enough is enough, Clair! I said I was sorry, damn it!”

Before she could utter a word in anger or defense, he grabbed her roughly by her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. She struggled, but to no good gain as his lips crushed against hers. Ian forced his tongue inside her mouth, breaching those sweet depths as he initiated a wild, plundering rhythm and held her in a bruising embrace.

His kiss burned Clair all the way down to her soul, setting her aflame. Cursing herself, she let the kiss continue, knowing that the lies had not been resolved, but she was helpless beneath the onslaught of his passion and her own. She could do no less than respond, since she stupidly loved this man—the betraying reprobate.

As experienced as he was, Ian recognized the exact moment Clair capitulated. In some dim part of his brain he knew he should stop kissing and start explaining while she was in a complacent mood, but he didn’t. Asher’s poaching had set forth a primal urge to make Clair his own. Ian ravished her mouth, taking her ample breasts in his hands.

By God! he thought lustily. Her bosoms felt as magnificent as they looked. Clair arched helplessly into his hands, powerless under his flaming kiss. She moaned softly, feeding his need to be deep inside her. Ian had never wanted anything as desperately as to make Clair his in both word and deed. Her fiery response had his body swelling near to bursting.

Grabbing the skirt of her gown, he pulled it to her knees and settled her on the terrace edge. Her skin was smooth as silk, he mused, as his fingers worshiped her thighs. Inching closer, he edged his way into the slit of her undergarments, groaning. She was wet and hot. Bloody hell, he needed to bury himself in her hot sweet place.

The touch of Ian’s fingers on her cleft made Clair shiver. The feelings washing over her were like a tidal wave. Colors flashed in her mind’s eye—colors of deep purple, amethyst, and lilac. She wanted to scream with pleasure. She wanted to shout with joy. She wanted to lie down and make love right this moment on the Benningtons’ terrace. They could charge admission.

That single wanton thought brought Clair to her senses. Good grief! She was fornicating with Ian on the Benningtons’ terrace with Aunt Mary and over a hundred guests in the ballroom less than five yards away!

Drat, drat, and double drat! Her lusty, wanton, red-blooded nature was going to get her sent to hell on a fast-moving train. She wrenched her head away from Ian, her breath coming in short jerky spurts.

“Ian, stop it,” she warned, pushing against him. “Get your bloody hand out of my drawers.”

Clair’s words brought him to his senses. Breathing hard, Ian stepped back, straightening her gown. “Damn, Clair. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“To what? Make love to me on the Benningtons’ terrace?” she asked archly, her heart racing and her stomach churning, her body quivering with unfilled desire. She pointed a finger. “The Benningtons’ terrace!” she repeated.

Frustrated at the reaction of his body, at Clair, and at himself, Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to get carried away…” He trailed off, his chest heaving.

“On the Benningtons’ terrace,” she said again.

“Damn it! Can’t we get past the Benningtons’ terrace?” he asked. “I said I was sorry.”

She slid down and onto her feet. “Sorry for trying to make love to me on the Benningtons’ terrace?” she repeated a fourth time, wanting to smile at the irritated look Ian shot her. “Or sorry for sending me on a wild goose chase to the duke’s? You lied to me, Ian. You looked me straight in the eye and lied.”

Ian tightly clasped both her hands. “Tonight I got carried away. I would do nothing to harm your reputation or you. I told you what I did about the Duke of Ghent to keep you away from Asher. He is a dangerous man. I didn’t want to see you get hurt, and yet I ended up hurting you. If I could take the lies back, I would.”

Clair searched his face, seeking the truth. “You betrayed me. Would you do it again?”

He kissed her gently on the forehead. He knew her belief would either set him free or apart from Clair forever. “I will never betray you again, Clair. In any form or fashion.”

Clair gasped. Coming from one of the ton’s greatest rakes, here was an oath tantamount to a vow of fidelity. She hated to admit it to herself, but she had been worried about Ian and his reputation as a rake. If she ever gave her heart away, it would be forever. Fidelity was something crucial to Clair. Staring up into Ian’s beloved face, she asked cautiously, “Including other women?”

He nodded solemnly. Clair hugged him tightly.

“I will also try to tell you the truth at all times if I can.” Ian knew deep in his soul that there was no other woman for him. He had found the perfect mate in an imperfect setting.

The second avowal she wasn’t too thrilled with. She dropped her arms. “ Try to tell me the truth?”

Ian touched her nose with his finger. “Try, you minx. Sometimes truth is a relative thing. It’s the best I can offer.” He turned to go. “Sleep on it?”

Chewing her lip, she nodded as Ian walked away. It had been an exhausting night. But her investigation had taken a mighty leap forward. And all in all, Plan B had been one of her most inspired plans of all time, a plan that actually worked brilliantly.

Strange how the bee of jealousy had stung Ian. Rubbing her lips, Clair felt as though she had been stung herself. She grinned, remembering the old saying about the birds and the bees.

“
‘Does the imagination dwell the most upon a woman won or woman lost?’” Asher asked Renfield as he stood in his bedchamber and waited for the valet to finish tying his cravat.

“Tennyson, my lord?” Renfield asked politely. He had been the earl’s human servant for over sixty years. With a flourish he finished tying the Oriental, a clever new twist in a long list of cravat styles, at all of which the valet knew he was the master.

“Yeats.”

“I take it Baron Huntsley is the reason for your question?”

“As always, you are correct. How does this look?” Asher asked as he glanced into the oval gilt-framed mirror, studying his reflection.

“Outstanding, my lord,” Reinfield replied somberly, brushing a speck of lint from a black superfine evening jacket. “I take it you are still annoyed about the opera singer and that unfortunate wager several years ago.”

Asher scowled, soothing back a tangle of chestnut hair from his forehead. “She should have been mine. Bloody embarrassing losing the chit to Huntsley, especially after half of White’s knew of the wager. Who knew the silly creature would prefer to give her favors to Huntsley rather than me? I had no idea the hussy had such deplorable taste.”

“I can’t understand it, Master,” Renfield replied dryly. He put down the coat and held up two jeweled stickpins. “Diamond or ruby?”

“Ruby, I think, tonight.”

“You know, sir, you could have cheated on the wager and mesmerized the singer.”

“That, Renfield, would not be sporting. A wager is a wager.” Placing the ruby pin in his cravat, Asher turned to face his valet. “How does this look?”

“Perfection, my lord.”

Turning back to the mirror, Asher waited for Renfield to slide his evening jacket over his shoulders. “This time, Huntsley will be the one with egg on his face. The baron will be devastated to lose Clair Frankenstein to my sweet seduction. It is the perfect plan. What makes it even sweeter is that Clair is special. She has a quality I’ve not seen or tasted before.” After he uttered the words, Asher felt again just how true they were. Clair was unique, and she would be his. And somewhere deep inside his glacial heart, a tiny sliver of ice melted, warming him. He knew instinctively that Clair would never bore him. She had a passion for life that would remain long after her death and quite likely would spice up their mating rituals.

Renfield made a final yank on Asher’s jacket, smoothing its line. “Ah yes, the Frankenstein female. Isn’t she the one that chases pigs? Are you sure you want her, my lord? Eternity is a very long time.”

Though the valet spoke in a flat tone, Asher could sense the man’s disapproval. “Quite.” He gave Renfield a thoughtful look. “I am only giving Clair her first mark tonight.” He knew his valet was not sure about the upcoming addition to their household. A new mistress would change the routine and rhythm of the house. Renfield would not take that lightly, being the old stick in the mud that he was.

“Hmm… The first mark. That will enable you to read any intense feeling she might have.”

“Yes. It will enable me to tell just how passionately she feels for the baron.”

“And the other six marks which will enable you to make her your consort? When will those be given?” Renfield asked stiffly.

“Do not fear yet, Renfield. I will give her marks two and three at the house party, but the rest will have to wait a month at least. You know it is dangerous to bring a human over too quickly,” Asher said, thinking of the methods of marking a mortal for eternity. Mark two would enable him to read her dreams. Mark three would make her susceptible to his will. Marks four and five would make her stronger, sensitive to sunlight, and entirely under his control. The last two marks would make mind communication between the two of them possible and complete her transformation to the living dead.