Clair shivered as a cold blast of wind whipped her cape around her and rustled the skeletal branches of the trees above. It was pitch black at the Eternal Sleeps Cemetery, with the exception of her lantern, which cast a small halo of light to hold back the inky shadows.
Clair was cold, a little frightened, and very curious about Asher's mysterious note. She stood frowning, tapping her fingertips on the tombstone where her lantern rested. Ian would kill her if he knew what she was about. If she were fortunate, he wouldn't find out. She had used all of her persuasive powers to convince Aunt Mary of the need for secrecy, just as the note warned. Asher had stated he wouldn't tell her what he knew if Huntsley were involved.
Clair wished she could have told Ian, but he would either go off half-cocked or else have forbidden her to come. For a brief time she had thought Ian was coming to value her research, but his lie about the Duke of Ghent had proved that theory false.
She sighed, supposing she should be scared of meeting a werewolf in a dark, silent cemetery at night. Luckily for Clair, her many grave-robbing trips with Uncle Victor had prepared her for a scene such as this.
Asher appeared out of the grayish fog as if he had simply materialized in front of her. "You look frightened," he said.
She started at his approach, then raised her chin firmly in the air. She would show no fear. "Frankensteins are never scared. It's not in our blood."
Asher chuckled. "What is, then? Ghoulies, vampires and late-night walks in the cemetery?"
"Apparently so." She smiled slightly.
"I am glad you're here. I wasn't quite sure if you would come to our little tryst."
"How could I not? You knew your note would lure me. Now, what unusual activities have been going on here?"
"My, my, you do cut to the chase," Asher remarked, his eyes drinking in the beauty of both her face and her soul. Noting her impatient sigh, he spoke. "I have heard of some strange activity here at night. Unearthly noises and graves without bodies."
"It could be simple grave robbers," Clair replied cautiously, wondering what exactly Asher knew about her research.
"Or something more nefarious."
"And what would that be?"
"Those blood sucking fiends of the night—vampires. What else?" He waited for her reaction, noticing her fingers twisting in the folds of her cape.
"I see," she said, but she didn't. What was Asher's game? He was talking about vampires. She knew he must believe in them; after all, he was a werewolf. And she knew in a roundabout way they all belonged to the same preternatural club.
Cocking her head, Clair examined the Earl thoroughly. Maybe he was a werewolf trying to pretend to be a vampire trying to pretend to be human. It was a complex riddle, one worthy of the Sphinx. Or was Asher trying to gammon her like Ian had, leading her down a false trail with a false scent? "Vampires. Here at the Eternal Sleeps Cemetery?" she said.
Asher shrugged. "I thought it was a subject close to your heart. Your research into matters of the paranormal, I mean."
"It is."
"It is a very dangerous subject," Asher warned, stepping closer, Clair's spirit drawing him like a moth to flame. He felt his incisors begin to lengthen.
"It's not just my work, it's my calling, my destiny," Clair tried to explain, her voice filled with grim determination. Everyone was always trying to warn her away from what she knew to be right, what she knew to be essential to her mental well-being, what she knew she had to continue to do in order to be who she was and what she wanted to be in the future. She had to win the prestigious Scientific Discovery of the Decade Award.
Asher glided closer. "No, there is no escaping destiny." And you are to be mine, mine, mine, Asher repeated in a silent litany.
Cocking her head, Clair studied him, a slight smile forming as she decided what to say and what not. "Perhaps you do understand. 'The moving finger writes; and, having writ, moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.'"
Asher was moved by the glimpse of sorrow, bliss, and joy she revealed. It was a gift he would always cherish. "Omar Khayyam," he said.
She nodded, raising her face to his. "I have been and will always be Clair Frankenstein, be that a blessing or a curse. I would not change it for all the serenity or ladylike manners in the world."
Moved, Asher turned partially away. Placing his boot upon a tombstone, his eyes searched the night and he changed the subject. "There are shadows dark and low here. The secrets of the graves are echoes of the dying… dying… dead," he remarked softly. "So many dead. So many lovers lost to each other's embrace. So many mothers with hearts turned to dust. Laughing friends whose laughter has been silenced."
Clair focused on the sorrow evident in his eyes. She understood from her research that werewolves were not immortal, but they lived for over a century. It was an intriguing thought, but a melancholy one as well: they knew more than a hundred years of joy and grief, of birthing babies and bidding friends farewell on the journey to the unknown.
Asher turned to Clair, carefully studying her reaction to his next words. "Do you think that creatures of the night could be lonely?"
"I would say we are all prisoners of ourselves, loneliness being one of our worst jailors. If humans can shed tears, why not the supernatural? Yes, I imagine they know a great loneliness, perhaps more than any other."
Asher lifted her chin with his pale hand. He stared into her eyes and gently bent down to kiss her lips. He kissed her tenderly, hiding the raging hunger filling his veins. The kiss stirred his dark soul, reaching into recesses he had long since thought shriveled up and dead from lack of warmth.
Her breath was the sweetest of scents, her taste a tantalizing hint of incredible delight. In the blink of the eye, Asher fell completely in love. Consequent with that love came knowledge. He would not make Clair immortal and risk the warm, generous essence of her human soul. She was too special to make into the chill undead. Although he doubted he could let her go completely. Perhaps if the Fates were kind they could be lovers. And Asher knew, with a smile, he would help Fate along in whatever manner he could.
Stepping back, Clair lifted her hand to her mouth in startlement. That kiss had been riveting. It was lucky she loved Ian, or else she might find herself involved with this attractive arrogant Wolf man of London.
Gently taking her hand from her mouth, Asher pressed a quick kiss to Clair's heated palm, wanting to do much more, when he heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Jerking his head upright, he scanned the darkness. "Expect any minute to have a mad dog at your door," he predicted in annoyance.
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.