The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein (23 page)

Clair glanced in the direction Asher indicated, seeing nothing really, just a slight movement of shadow. She turned back to Asher only to find him gone, vanished into the night like woodsmoke.

Before Clair had a chance to catch her breath, Ian appeared. He loped toward her, a fierce expression on his face.

“Bloody hell, Clair,” he roared. “Have you lost your mind! You could have been ravished! You could have been…” He trailed off, unwilling to say what Asher could have done to her alone in the dark.

“Where the hell is the pompous bastard?” He scoured the area with an eagle eye. Espying no movement, Ian grabbed Clair’s arms and began to shake her. His heart had stopped in his chest when Lady Mary told him where Clair had gone tonight and with whom. It was at that moment he’d realized how he loved Clair: with an intensity so bright it might burn his soul to ashes.

“Asher’s gone. The earl left right before you got here. He heard you coming.” She was confused by Ian, by Asher, and by Asher’s kiss. She loved Ian, this man whom she’d once thought was a vampire. She was attracted to Asher, a werewolf, pretending to be a man. It all had to be a huge cosmic joke. Whoever said love was easy was not seeing her life.

“Did my aunt tell on me?” she finally managed to spit out. “Ian, stop shaking me. You’re hurting me,” she chided sternly.

“Bloody hell! I’ll do more than shake.” With ruthless intensity Ian crushed Clair to him, taking her mouth with a raw hunger that left her breathless. It was a greedy kiss that both aroused and ravished, and he tasted her deeply.

Briefly, he let her up for air. She inhaled sharply. Now that was a kiss to raise the dead. Quickly, she glanced around. No one was climbing out of his or her grave. Her mini-inspection done, she turned her attention back to the very angry man in front of her.

Ian was staring at her with raw male hunger. Her heart danced in her chest as she felt hot wetness between her legs. Before she could say a word, he began nipping at her neck, sending little flickers of fire up and down her spine. She sighed, a sound that apparently drove him wild. He bore her to the damp earth, which smelled of damp leaves and rich soil.

The passion flared hotter between the two lovers as they kissed, almost bursting them into flame. Clair felt as if she were being consumed. Her love for Ian fed the fires of this great desire. She wanted Ian in the way a woman wanted a man. She wanted to give Ian the greatest gift she could give him, besides her love. She wanted to gift him with her virginity.

Grabbing his shoulders, she arched her back as he bit and kissed her neck. She had never known her flesh was so sensitive to the touch of warm lips. Liquid fire was streaking down her veins, making her feel alive and loved. Moaning, she whispered his name, “Ian. Oh, Ian.”

The sound of his name from her kiss-swollen lips sent Ian over the edge. Desire flared through him.

Jerking her gown, he pulled it to her waist and tore off her fine lace drawers. He was beyond thinking. This was war. This was hunger. This was primitive, basic lust. He had to have her now, to place his mark on her for all time. She would belong to no one but him from today onward.

Her naked splendor unveiled to him, Ian growled at the sight of the golden triangle of curls between her shapely thighs, his carnal hunger burning away his sensibilities. Hands shaking, he touched her sweet, hot cleft, groaning at the wet dew there. Without the leisurely petting he had oft dreamed for this night, without the words of love he had once imagined he would speak, he unbuttoned his pants, shoved them halfway down and pushed her legs apart. He was wild with desire, his flesh so hard he literally ached with the force of his erection.

He rolled over on top of her, resting on his elbows as he moved into position. He wanted to be able to see her face at the moment of possession. Holding her head between his hands, he stared into her smoky eyes, eyes that were heavy-lidded with lust. How he loved this woman!

Clair moaned, arching beneath her true love, struggling to get closer, needing to be one with him. Her insides ached with want for this wild beautiful man who lay atop her, looking down at her with such need and tenderness in his eyes.

“Please, Ian…” Clair hesitated, unsure of what she needed to stop the fierce ache between her legs.

But Ian knew. With one push, he embedded himself within her, breaking through her maidenhead and seating himself to the hilt. It was the most primal feeling he had ever experienced. She was his! Let no man put them asunder. Let no man try. Let no vampire try. He would kill any or all that would attempt to steal this wondrous woman. She was now his. His future. His destiny.

Caught in such overwhelming feelings of pride, possession, and lust, he sensed tears in his eyes. Then he felt Clair quiver, a whimper escaping her. Feeling the beast, he lowered his head to hers.

“Forgive me, Clair. I meant to go slower. I know it hurts, my love. But give it a minute,” he gasped. She was the white to his black, the sun to his moon, and the youth to his aging responsibilities.

“God, Clair, how I love you,” he said. He felt her lush breasts against his chest, the nipples hard little circles. He felt the heat and tightness of her sheath, and he smelled the fresh scent of her woman’s arousal and virgin’s blood. He wanted to lick her there, taste her, and make her scream with ecstasy.

Dazed, Clair freed her hands from beneath his chest and, placing one on each cheek, she raised his head and gazed deeply into Ian’s eyes. They were burning with a rawness she had never seen before, the green sparking like emerald fire. His jaw was tense, his neck corded. Tenderly, she kissed him on the lips.

“I love you too, Ian Huntsley,” she murmured. She arched against him, tears staining her cheeks, a bemused expression on her face. This was what she had dreamed of in the long-ago dreams of a foolish young girl: love, pure and simple and true.

With the damp, cool earth beneath her and the midnight velvet of the night above, the stars were her guide. Clair arched up against Ian. She had to feel him move within her secret core now that the pain had faded. Her body was throbbing—hot, aching with an intense desire she didn’t understand but instinctively knew only Ian could satisfy. Her movement triggered something inside him as Ian began to plunge his hips wildly back and forth. His movements became more forceful as Clair lifted her hips to meet his in a dance of love as old and fierce as nature and time.

Suddenly, Clair felt a building of some momentous force within her. Deep purple filled her mind with flashes of white lightning. The feeling built… built… built until it burst forth with a brilliance that left her frozen and in awe. She screamed a cry against the night.

The sound fired Ian’s own primitive response. He shouted as he thrust hard twice more and released his seed, claiming Clair as she held him in the cradle of her arms, clasping his head. With a lightened heart, he whispered words of love to her, some English, some in Welsh. His long days’ journeys into lonely nights were now over. He had come home.

“Oh Clair, you are truly a miracle in my life. Are you all right?” he questioned anxiously. “I didn’t mean to be so rough. I meant to wine and dine you, to kiss every delicious inch of your body. It was your first time and I should have been more circumspect, more a gentleman.”

Clair laughed, the musical sound filling his heart. “I am living up to my family name. My first time making love and it’s in a cemetery. You do know how to spoil a girl,” she teased, kissing him lightly on the lips. “I think I rather like you wild and untamed,” she decided after a moment. She brushed a dark, damp curl off his forehead. “No wonder no one tells us young ladies about this… this incredible, mind-altering, marvelous, earthshaking experience. If they did, we would all become wanton hussies with swollen bellies nine months out of every year,” she finished enthusiastically.

Ian threw back his head and laughed a laugh of pure joy. He was free at last from the tribulations of his youth. He felt young for the first time since being a cub of fourteen, before his father’s death and his mother’s overshadowing grief, before the winds of time had blown his hopes into the dark abyss. “Marry me,” he said.

Clair’s head shot off his chest. “What?”

“You heard me. I want you to marry me. I would get down on my knees and ask, but it appears I’m already there,” he remarked drolly as he twitched his legs, which were entwined with Clair’s.

She shook her head, her palm against his cheek. “Ian, you don’t have to do the honorable thing. I am almost twenty-five years old. I am not some young innocent.”

“You were a virgin, Clair.” He frowned. This was not going at all as he’d planned. She was supposed to be excited. She was supposed to be kissing his face in happiness, squealing with delight. She was supposed to be discussing her wedding dress.

“I know this sounds silly, but I am still not as innocent as some innocents truly are. I am a—”

Before she could finish, Ian interrupted her, impatience clear in his tone. He knew what he wanted. He wanted her.

“I know, I know. A Frankenstein. But I want to make you a Huntsley. Besides, together we are the perfect example of a covalent bond.”

“Oh, Ian. You’ve been boning up on your science.” Clair sighed admiringly.

He chuckled. He’d been boning up on something, all right. “Be my baroness. The Baroness Huntsley.”

“But that is the point, Ian. I am a Frankenstein. I will be published. I will continue my research. I will win the prestigious Scientific Discovery of the Decade Award. And after that I will still be involved with my scientific research. How will you feel about me running all over God’s green earth, chasing vampires and werewolves?” She asked as she must, her heart breaking. Ian would want her to give up her adventures; she just knew it.

“I wouldn’t care for it too much. I would rather you run around God’s green earth after our children. That will keep you busy and fulfilled,” he added pompously.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I want your children. Yes, being a mother and wife will keep me fulfilled. But I won’t give up my scientific ambitions. I just won’t, Ian. Not for all the tea in China.”

“Or for being a baroness, either, I guess,” he replied, stung. “I love you, Clair. We can work something out. Besides, you could already be pregnant.” He put a hand possessively on her stomach. How he hoped she was. The thought of Clair carrying his child, suckling his child, stirred him deeply. He would teach his child the mysteries of living and giving. At such a dream, his heart swelled with love and a deep sense of abiding fulfillment. His John Thomas, who’d always had a head of its own, was once again ready and rearing to go.

Ian deliberately moved his hand to Clair’s chest and began taking off her gown, which was crumpled around her waist. He hadn’t gotten to important parts in his first round of lovemaking, such as the big one—nudity. Slipping the gown off her, he stared down in rapt fascination at the luscious bounty beneath him. Here was a feast fit for a king.

“If I am pregnant and that is a big if, then we’ll cross that particular bridge when we come to it,” Clair stated firmly, her eyes narrowing on Ian’s playful fingers. They were now plucking at the nipples of her breasts. He was hoping to distract her, the bounder. She hoped he wouldn’t stop.

“Marry me, Clair,” Ian coaxed again as he began to nibble and suck on her breasts. He was getting distracted, and that wasn’t good. Clair had to marry him, in spite of her indomitable spirit, which was apparently bred into the Frankenstein genes, and the sooner the better as far as he was concerned. There was no help for it. He would have to develop another bloody plan! For a military genius, his strategies were less than a stellar success around Clair. He was already on the third letter in the alphabet.

“Let’s discuss it later, when we have all our clothes on,” she said. Her body was heating up too fast. She squirmed.

“No. Now!” he commanded, reveling in the lush softness of plump, white breasts.

She moaned. He laughed.

Two can play at this game, Clair mused, taking his hot, hard arousal in her hand. He felt like smooth silk, his tip wet and glistening. She could barely close her fingers around it.

“Are all men this large? I know Frederick is enormous, but then Uncle Victor created him. Are their bollocks all this heavy?” Her curiosity was once again running amok.

Ian shifted slightly, beating his head against the ground in amused mortification. “Clair, my Clair, what am I to do with you?”

She grinned mischievously. “You could do that thrusting thing again with your hips. It drives me wild.”

The look he gave her burned Clair to cinders. “It will be my pleasure,” he replied. Then he was as good as his word. They both almost expired from it.

“Now
that’s what I’d call the house of a werewolf,” Clair stated with conviction, her head bobbing outside the carriage window. She was scrutinizing Wolverton Manor, an imposing and sinister-looking structure of granite four stories in the air, the accumulation of several centuries’ worth of architecture, gothic being predominate. Clair knew with one look that she had found the vampires’ and werewolves’ nefarious nest.

Ian sighed, glancing out the window at the massive structure high upon a grassy hill. He estimated they were still a good two miles away. He had tried to talk Clair out of the earl’s house party, but to no avail. Since she refused to stay home, he’d refused to stay home. He couldn’t just leave her to the wolves—or to the vampires, as the case might be. And no way was he letting his beloved travel to the earl’s countryseat alone. Not with Asher on the prowl.

“Really, dear?” Lady Mary asked. She shifted on the soft leather seat and poked her head out the window. “How can you tell? It looks like a dozen other estates I have seen.”

“I just can,” Clair answered stubbornly. “This is the residence of the werewolf and his cohorts. This is the nest where he and his vampire cronies meet for plotting, blood-sharing, and orgies.”

Ian rolled his eyes.

“My hypothesis won’t be wrong this time,” she snapped. Her pride and prejudice against the earl aside, all indicated Neil Asher was not what he seemed. Her sense and sensibilities all screamed that the earl was a supernatural creature. “It’s even named Wolverton Hall. How much more blatant can one be?”