The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein (3 page)

Clair smiled smugly, her fright easing. The baron had not rushed her. He had not attacked her, leading her to believe that he probably wouldn’t. She felt fairly safe—as safe as one could feel in the presence of a crusty, mad vampire. And though he was a handsome devil, he would still have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool a Frankenstein. And he went to bed in the mornings.

“Yes, that coffin.” She pointed primly to the massive stone monument. “ Your coffin.”

“Actually, that’s my ancestor, the second Baron Huntsley’s coffin.”

She snorted.

The unladylike noise from the woman caught Ian unaware and had him staring at her transfixed. He arched a brow as he observed the way the candlelight highlighted the golden strands of her hair. Parts of it had become undone from her braid, giving her a wild, tousled look, as though she had just stepped from a lover’s bed. He wanted to be that lover, although he couldn’t tell much about her figure with that grotesque cape she was wearing. Still, that didn’t stop the flow of blood to his groin.

She actually gave a little laugh then, the sound chiming in the darkness like the brisk bells of St. Matthew’s Chapel. “Baron Huntsley, somehow I knew you would say that.”

Ian cocked his head to study her. “If you knew the coffin was my great-great-grandfather’s, why pretend it’s mine?”

Again she snorted. “No, I know it is yours. Your coffin. Although I do find it odd that you are returning to it so soon, after only leaving it a few hours ago.”

He’d been right. She was mad. What a pity. Such a beautiful woman to be raving. “Returning to it? Do I look like a corpse to you?”

“Not now.” She stopped, groping in her pocket and pulling out a watch. “But in six hours you will be.”

“I will be what?” Ian asked with the barest modicum of civility, wondering why he was still standing there arguing with a Bedlamite.

“You will be a corpse.”

Ian smiled. It was a smile devoid of all warmth and humor. “I do so love challenges. Are you planning on killing me?”

He should be concerned, he supposed, but instead he was simply intrigued. It had been a long time since he had felt this way. Life had become a blur of days and nights, blending into one stark shade of gray. Nothing was special anymore, or remarkable; all was mundane.

Lately he had wondered if something essential in life had passed him by some afternoon when he was hunting or playing cards. For the past five years, the joys of his life had faded into the vague nothingness of memories. That is, until tonight, when he had been alerted by the sound of footsteps making their way to his basement and he had silently followed. Suddenly the night had seemed more alive than it had in years, as if a fresh stiff breeze were blowing away the cobwebs in his mind. Unfortunately, it appeared his savior was a loon.

She stared at his mouth. “Do you plan on biting me?” she asked.

Ian looked her up and down. “I can’t tell in that awful cape. Are you good enough to eat?”

Clair cocked her head, glaring at him. “No.” The baron really was too saucy for his own good. But then, she reasoned, vampires were masters of manipulation and seduction. Still, she would be no one’s puppet, even if this vampire did make her heart almost stop with his rich, husky voice and his attractive features.

“Then why would I bite you?” he asked.

She gave him a look which named him stupid. “You’re a vampire, of course.”

Ian Huntsley, fifth Baron of Huntsley, threw back his head and laughed. Long and hard.

“I see no humor in this remarkable and riveting discovery,” Clair said haughtily. “After all, it took great skill and courage to track you to your lair.”

He chuckled. “My lair… ?” Suddenly the chuckles faded and he growled, “Madame, I do believe you have a screw loose. Maybe more than one.”

Clair glared at him. “How dare you presume to say such a thing? I, sirrah, am a scientist!”

Ian eyed the woman, a scowl darkening his features. “That makes little sense. No sane person I know, a scientist especially, would enter the… what did you call it? Ah yes, the lair of a vampire alone, at night, with no protection!”

She could be killed pulling such stunts as this, he knew. London was a dangerous place, especially at night. All kinds of creatures were lurking about. And this small woman was out seeking bloodsucking demons and God knew what else. In addition, as bad luck would have it, she was seeking them in his home. The group of men with which he sometimes did business, would not be pleased if they found out about this night’s adventure.

“I am not just anyone,” the woman stated dramatically, her nose stuck proudly in the air. “I am Clair Elizabeth Frankenstein, niece to Dr. Victor Frankenstein and niece also to Dr. Johann Tieck.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Ian groaned. “You are niece to both a quack and a deranged writer.”

Until that point, Clair had been cautiously keeping her distance between the devil and the deep blue sea, mainly this baron of vampires. But hearing the unkind remarks the man made about her uncles, Clair threw caution to the wind. Dashing forward, she closed the distance and slapped Ian smartly across the face.

“How dare you demean my uncles? They are great men, worthy of the Frankenstein name!”

Ian looked down at the furious spitting kitten and had to clench his teeth to stop from grinning. “I am sorry, Miss Frankenstein. I lost my good manners at the surprise of your illustrious family heritage.”

She eyed him suspiciously. He was staring at her neck and he had all those white teeth. Those big white teeth. THOSE BIG WHITE TEETH!

“Stop staring at my neck,” she demanded bravely, feeling far from courageous, wondering how those big white teeth would feel in her neck. She bet they would hurt tremendously. Then her mind spun down other scientific avenues. Would she like sleeping underground… so far, far underground? If she became one of the undead, would the dastardly baron let her have a nightlight in her coffin so that she could continue her research after-hours? She would insist upon it. After all, if she were to become immortal, she would certainly take advantage of some fringe benefits.

“My lord, I would appreciate it if you would leave off eyeing my neck. You make me feel rather like a lush roast pig.”

“Your neck? I am staring at your breasts,” Ian corrected devilishly, his eyes devouring how her cloak draped open and revealed the pale expanse of the upper slopes of her generous bosom. Lush was the right word indeed for what he could see of her figure. He licked his lips. He did so delight in large-chested women; there was so much more to nip and suck.

Clair gasped, closing her cloak. “You, my lord, are a bounder. I heard you were a rake beyond reason. I see the rumors are correct.”

“I thought you heard I was a vampire?” Ian reminded her, grinning and enjoying her chagrin.

“Are they mutually exclusive?”

“Probably not,” he retorted. “But, more to the point, who is spreading such rumors, compromising my good name?” Ian asked the question nonchalantly, but it was anything but casual. Whoever was telling such tales must be taken care of, and quickly. All Huntsleys demanded loyalty first and foremost; lives depended upon it. Betrayal was not a laughing matter, and certainly not one Ian took lightly.

Gracing Clair with a look that had scared grown men, he waited impatiently. The stubborn wench remained silent. Ian knew she was afraid—he could smell the fear on her—yet she held her ground like a Spartan.

“Come, who has been telling tales about me?” Ian questioned.

“Who would dare?”

“You are being evasive.”

“You are being elusive.”

“You are prevaricating,” Ian growled, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

“You are posturing.” Clair grinned.

Ian snorted. “Possibly, but then you are staking your life on it, aren’t you? Creeping down my basement stairs, all alone…” He narrowed his gaze, studying her again, fresh anger spurting though his veins and pounding through his body. He had been betrayed, slandered, his sanctuary had been invaded, and worst of all, this beautiful woman had placed herself at risk.

“Staked my life on it? Well, that’s better than being staked,” she hedged. She didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. He looked hungry for something other than her blood. She fanned herself.

He took a step closer. She took a step back. She was no fool. She recognized danger when she saw it; it didn’t have to jump up and bite her on the neck.

“You are a dangerous man,” she admitted, more to herself than to Ian.

“Let me show you just how dangerous…” He trailed off suggestively.

Her mind was a mass of swirling convictions, warnings, and yearnings as she peered up at him from beneath thick brown lashes. Suddenly, she slapped her head with her palm. “You are doing it again!”

“What?”

“Trying to draw my attention away from your coffin.”

“My great-great-grandfather’s coffin,” he corrected.

Clair scanned his body quickly, then glanced over at the coffin. “It looks as if it would fit you perfectly.”

“That’s ridiculous. One size fits all in coffins,” he snapped, wondering what it would be like to taste her. Probably heaven—or, more likely, hell. Getting involved with a Frankenstein would be like standing up to an avalanche: downhill all the way.

“In a pig’s eye, they do.” The way she said it caused the baron to break into laughter again.

Without thought Clair took two steps forward and kicked him in the shin, her eyes flashing fire. “I don’t like being laughed at.”

Realizing what she had done, Clair bit back a groan. She had bearded the lion in his den and then attacked him. Her aunt Mary was right. Her temper was going to get her into serious trouble. And it looked as though tonight was the night, for an enraged vampire could only spell trouble with a big, fat capital T.

Ian noted the variety of expressions crossing Clair’s face. First there was anger, then chagrin, then fear, then remorse, and finally terror. Although Ian generally preferred people to maintain a healthy fear of him, he didn’t like it from this small powder keg. So, before she could run screaming into the night, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She tasted like the first snow of winter—soft, wet, and invigorating. She tasted special, creating in him an addiction that would not soon be satisfied. He felt the blood rushing to his groin, making him as stiff as a poker. This Clair Frankenstein felt just right in his arms, neither too tall nor too short. She made him hunger. She tasted so good that he had to taste her again.

Clair felt the air whoosh out of her lungs as the soft heat of Baron Huntsley’s lips pressed against her and his arms enclosed her tightly. How dare he be so forward? How dare he try and seduce her with his vampire tricks? Her mind screamed these things, but a small voice was whispering how delicious and decadent it all was.

Wanting to push him away, her arms instead ended up wrapping around his neck. She could feel the luxuriant thickness of his hair where it lay over his collar. It was as soft as silk.

And his body felt wonderful. In the back of her mind, Clair decided to put the inertia principal into practice, to take the path of least resistance and just stay in his arms for a bit longer.

A lick of fire shot like a comet from her stomach to her lips, tingles spurting from her toes to other regions. The sensation was astounding. She had never felt the like before. No wonder vampires were the lovers of choice in those gothic stories if they could kiss like this, she mused. Why, it made her blood rush to her head! Her heart beat giddily faster, pumping more of her hot red blood…

Blood! That was the key word, her mind inserted loudly. Her blood was hot and she was hot and he was a vampire hungering for her life’s fluid, wanting to steal it from her! While she on the other hand was rather fond of it and definitely wanted to keep every last drop.

Regaining her somewhat bemused wits, Clair shoved against his chest. Reluctantly Ian released her.

Clair hastily and rather belatedly grabbed her cross, shoving it into his face. Inching away, she warned, “Stay back! I am not afraid to use this.”

Ian merely yawned.

“So much for the cross,” she muttered. Undaunted, she quickly groped beneath her large black cape. “Aha,” she added triumphantly as she pulled out a stick.

Ian had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. She held a small stick not much bigger than his index finger, about four inches long with no sharpened end.

“I take it that is a stake?” he said.

Clair looked at what she held in her hand. “Well, actually no. It’s what I used to pry your window open upstairs.” She dropped the stick and fished around inside her cape again, coming up with a garlic clove.

He sniffed, then shook his head. “Try again.”

Frustrated, she dropped the garlic.

Ian shook his head. If she wasn’t so deliciously scary, she would be dangerous. She gave him a haughty look.

Arms crossed on his chest, he watched her fumble around inside her cloak again and wished it was his hands roaming her body. “I could help.” He smiled, a rakish smile that had lifted a thousand skirts. The effect it had on Clair, however, was somewhat different from what Ian anticipated.

“You have awfully big teeth,” she said suspiciously.

He couldn’t help himself. “The better to eat you with, my dear.” His grin was pure wolf.

“My lord, this is no joking matter! I am human and you are…” She paused. “Well, you aren’t. Control yourself, sir.”

If you only knew, Ian mused. His control was perfect, all he wanted to do right now was lay Clair Frankenstein across that coffin and ravish her thoroughly until she screamed with pleasure again and again and again.

“I would say I am exhibiting remarkable control,” he told her. “After all, I haven’t had you arrested for breaking and entering. What would society say? What would your uncles say?”

“Nothing, for neither rain nor snow nor sleet,” Clair began, then ad-libbed ingeniously, “nor vampires can stop a Frankenstein’s quest for truth. Besides, my lord, no one will ever know I was here.”

“And why is that?”

“If you told them we were here alone, then I would be compromised by you and—”