"Humans, humans everywhere, and nary a drop to drink," Asher commented dryly to Ian as he surveyed the assembly of houseguests for his two-day party. The guests were scattered throughout the large music room, each in some variety of activity. Some were playing cards at the far end of the chamber, some were gossiping in small groups, and a few of the ladies read while one played a soft tune on the pianoforte.
The room was elaborately decorated in shades of pale wine and creamy white, with glistening wood paneling. Paintings done by Rubens and Rembrandt were interspersed among the bronze wall sconces. A thick Persian carpet was centered on the floor.
Ian scanned the room with a quick glance. There were twenty-one guests, thirteen of them male and four married couples. "I see a few supernaturals interspersed."
Asher waved a hand elegantly. "Too few. The humans here tonight are definitely in the majority."
"It's lucky that the vampire high council put severe fines on those vampires who drain their victims dry."
Asher nodded, his blue eyes frosty. "Yes. Discretion has saved us from being hunted down and destroyed like in the old days. Those were not pleasant for my kind." His eyes took on a faraway look. "To be hunted like rabid dogs by unwashed rabble…"
"If the coffin fits," Ian suggested. Suddenly his attention was drawn by the lovely vision of Clair entering the room. His heart rate sped up and his breathing quickened.
"You know far too much about us," Asher said, his tone irritated. Then, noticing the physical changes in Ian, Asher turned toward the door. He noted Clair. "Ah. So it's like that, is it? You've bedded her."
Though his tone was politely contemptuous, his feelings were anything but. Asher was incensed at the thought of Clair in Ian's grip. Ian touching all that soft, white flesh, those pale graceful arms holding him. Ian being loved by Clair. A pang shot through Asher's heart and he felt a blood-red tear begin to form. Quickly he blinked, showing Ian no weakness. Clair was truly lost to him now. He wanted to lie down and die, except he was already dead.
Asher's words had captured his attention, so with a glower Ian turned to face him. "Careful, Asher. I don't care what you are, but talk rudely about Clair and I will personally stake that black heart of yours."
Asher raised his upper lip in scorn. "Calm yourself, Huntsley. I concede the point and the game. You have won the fair Clair, although you do not deserve her. She is too special for you. Or, for that matter, for even my grand personage. But it appears she has made her choice," the vampire went on his voice husky with an unrequited longing that would never be satisfied.
He watched the way Clair was looking at Ian, love shining in her stormy gray eyes, and said, "Yes, you are a lucky man. But if you hurt her, you will answer to me!"
Cocking his head, Ian studied his opponent. "A conscience, at this late date?"
"It happens every hundred years or so. It seems we live not as we wish, but as we must."
"I intend to marry her," Ian admitted.
Asher looked surprised. "I heard you say once that you wouldn't get married until hell freezes over."
"I guess I owe the devil a winter coat."
Asher nodded, his eyes a glacial blue. "Has she said yes?" he asked. He felt morbidly curious as he observed Clair speaking with the Duke of Ghent and her aunt. She was a vision in her deep bronze gown of pale silk with tiny satin roses of green interspersed among the bodice and sleeves. Her hair was pulled into a sleek topknot with only a few curls left down to grace her face. The style showed off not only her delicate features but also the elegant lines of her neck. Asher felt his pulse quicken and the fiery rush of hunger.
Ian snorted. "Not exactly." Then he smiled at Clair, his features fierce with pride and possession. "But she will."
This time, Asher was the one who snorted. "You have your work cut out for you, Huntsley. That woman has a mind of her own."
Ian shook his head. "What's mine, I keep. And make no mistake, come heaven or hell, Clair Frankenstein is mine."
"A threat?" Asher's tone held both amusement and contempt.
"You concede graciously?" Ian was shocked.
Asher nodded. "I am many things, but not blind. She loves you. Not a particularly bright choice, I am thinking. Especially since she could have had my superior personage."
"Well, I'll be bloody deuced and damned! You're in love with her too." Ian felt flabbergasted.
"An unfortunate occurrence, I can assure you. It certainly wasn't in my plan."
His mind spinning, his fists clenched, Ian glared at the master vampire who stood so tall, elegant, and handsome. He was furious that Asher loved Clair. Clair was his true love and his territory. But at the same time, Ian's common sense told him that Clair was safe from any threat from Asher or his nest. Asher would fight to the death to protect Clair, just as Ian himself would. "Then she is safe from all threats," he muttered, speaking his thoughts aloud.
Arching an eyebrow, Asher glanced at Clair. "She is safe from all threats," he repeated. "However, I do reserve the right to wring her pretty neck if she doesn't stop snooping about the place. I have had a bloody hard time not stepping on her while she searched my house on her spy mission. She's like an albatross about my neck."
Ian chuckled. "That's my girl. But have no fear. After she attends your ball tomorrow night and sees you hale and hearty on two legs—not on four and snarling at her—your problem is solved. She will admit she has been wrong in her deductions and leave you alone."
"Alas, both a pleasure and a penance."
Before Asher could say more, Lady Montcrief arrived, escorted by a reluctant Galen. Ian's cousin had seen Ian's stiff stance and realized by the tense expression on Asher's face that the conversation was one filled with danger. Galen had also deduced that the conversation was about Clair.
Lady Montcrief, ignoring the volatile atmosphere, tapped her fan on Galen's arm and stopped before the earl and Ian. Her beauty was like that of a coral snake—shiny and colorful, but deadly to the touch, Galen saw. He watched her bat her eyes at both men, interrupting their conversation, and smiled greedily.
"Such a luscious contrast. Night and day. Sin and sinful," she remarked, licking her lips and looking them both over like horses at Tattersalls. Then, turning toward Galen, she added, "And noon. You are the midday sun, all glorious in its splendor."
Galen acknowledged her words with a brief tilt of his head, disliking the woman behind the obsequious comment.
Ian stared stonily at her, wondering what he had ever seen in the blowsy brunette. He'd once had a brief affair with her. "If you'll excuse me now," he said, turning and leaving with his cousin at his side. He and Galen quickly crossed the room to where Clair was standing with Ozzie and Lady Mary.
Asher was thinking much along the same lines as Ian and Galen, unbeknownst to Lady Montcrief. On and off, he and Jeanette Montcrief had enjoyed each other's charms for the past five years. A new addition to the nest, she had been a tasty distraction for a time. But the thrill was gone, the flame of attraction burned away to mere ashes.
"I seem to have driven the rakish baron away," Lady Montcrief said, her eyes glaring with undisguised hatred at Ian.
"Perhaps," Asher commented. He regarded Ian and Clair, Ian's possessive hand on the small of her back. "But I rather think he was running to something. In fact, I think he has been unknowingly looking for something to run to for years."
Lady Montcrief sniffed disdainfully. "Whatever can he see in the chit? She's so common. Too pale in her looks and much too mannish in her studies."
"Careful, Jeanette," Asher retorted coolly. "Your claws are showing."
Lady Montcrief turned and placed a well-manicured hand on his arm. "I can scarcely wait for tonight. My body is throbbing for that big, delicious prick of yours to be buried deep inside me."
Asher withdrew his arm from her grasping fingers and gave her a chilly smile. "The night's not done, and my desire is not yet settled on any one lady." He emphasized the last word.
Lady Montcrief caught the insult and would have returned his icy contempt with a blistering setdown had the earl not glided so quickly away.
Her face frozen in a mask of polite civility, she hurried over to a small group of men. She motioned to Christopher Wilder with a discreet gesture, then started for the balcony. Wilder followed, a leer on his delicate, cruel features.
He met her outside, his expression curious. "Well?"
"Something must be done about that Frankenstein cow!" Lady Montcrief said without any preface.
"Hmm. Yes, her." He paused deliberately. "Her udders are mouthwatering. I thought to try them myself. I wonder if Frankenstein blood is somehow different from other mortals'."
"What utter rot! She's nothing! A pretentious little nobody who thinks she is smart," Lady Montcrief hissed, her catlike brownish yellow eyes turning a deep cherry red.
Staring into her eyes, Wilder quipped, "And I thought green was the color of jealousy."
"I am not jealous, you twit. I am merely concerned. She is dangerous to us all, poking that silly nose of hers into things better left alone. Though I grant she is not totally stupid. She could still stumble onto our secrets. Look how close she came to discovering what you and I were doing that night at your house. A few more minutes and my face would have been quite red."
Studying her, he smiled lasciviously. "Yes. Her timing was most unlucky. I was quite overset about it. In fact, Asher and I have discussed the Frankenstein chit for that reason more than once. He, however, assures me that she will be no problem to our nest or race," he went on, his expression bland. He held his breath, waiting to see what Lady Montcrief would do. If he could get her to commit to the removal of the unwanted Clair, that would be all the better.
"She must be gotten rid of as quickly as possible."
Wilder shook his head, his blond curls jiggling. "Asher would be most displeased. Fatally displeased, I am afraid."
Lady Montcrief drew in a sharp breath. "It hasn't gone that far, has it? He hasn't bedded the bitch yet."
Wilder shrugged. "Who knows? You know how private Asher is when he chooses. But I agree, the girl has got to be disposed of in a manner not leading to our front door."
"Tomorrow night," Lady Montcrief advised, calculating all the problems involved with draining and disposing of Clair's body.
Wilder shook his head. "You're mad. What about Huntsley and his cousin McBain? They won't let anything happen to her."
Lady Montcrief laughed. "Ian will be long gone to his estate in Yorkshire, called away by some emergency, I predict. I feel quite sure Galen will follow like the dutiful cousin he is."
Thinking, Wilder conceded that she was right. At times the grasping Lady Montcrief was quite brilliant. But, "That still leaves Asher."
"I will keep Asher occupied while you do the deed."
"Oh no. That dog won't bite. Asher would suspect me right away. He knows I don't fancy the chit. You'll have to get rid of her."
As much as Lady Montcrief wanted Clair gone, she valued her own slender neck too much to expose it to Asher's biting rage. Frustrated, she stamped her tiny foot. "Point conceded." If Wilder wouldn't do her dirty work, she would find someone else who would. Someone she could point the finger at afterward without endangering herself. "The cow will be safe for now."
Her temper momentarily cooled, she reached over and scratched Wilder's chest, tearing his shirt. Her fingernails were needle-sharp, drawing a thin line of blood. Hungrily she lifted up on her tiptoes and began to lick at the midnight snack. "Delicious."
Wilder's body leapt to attention. Regretfully he pushed her away, hearing laughter close by. "You know Asher's rules about eating in front of his guests."
Licking her lips dramatically, she nodded. "I know only too well. Not in front of humans or werewolves. And don't snack on the humans. He can be so frightfully stiff-necked at times."
"True," Wilder agreed, fixing his coat over the tear in his shirt as he led her back into the music room. His quick eyes noted Asher talking with Mrs. Walling, a striking older woman who was a widow, if Wilder remembered correctly.
His gaze settled next on his nemesis Clair and on Huntsley. They were standing in a corner, chatting cozily with the aunt and the Duke of Ghent, who also appeared totally intent upon one another. Wilder shuddered. Birds of a sodding feather, he thought grimly.
Across the room, Ian caught Christopher Wilder's look of revulsion, but he dismissed it as Clair gently touched his shoulder.
"It has been a delightful evening with the most enchanting company. A memory to cherish," Ozzie, the Duke of Ghent, pronounced gallantly as he gazed in fascination at Lady Mary.
Again Clair nudged Ian, her smile blinding as she nodded to Ozzie. Her plan to place her aunt and the duke together was working perfectly. The elder couple were cooing at each other like lovebirds.
"Yes, it has," Mary replied softly, her pink cheeks becoming crimson. "But I think it is time for us to retire." She directed the last words to Clair, her look indicating several other ladies who were taking their leave.
Glancing around, Clair quickly assessed the diminishing number of guests. She acquiesced with a quick movement of her chin.
"I know the hour is late, but if you please, Lady Mary, I would like a few more minutes of Clair's time," Ian requested as he smiled charmingly at Clair's aunt. "I'll see her to your rooms."
Lady Mary nodded and turned to Ozzie, who proudly escorted her from the room.
Clair's eyes were bright with unshed tears as she watched them leave. "Oh, Ian. Isn't it wonderful? I do believe there is a touch of May in the winter air."
"You said they were in love once. I believe it's a flame that never died," Ian observed. "How would you feel if your aunt married?"
Clair laughed merrily and clasped his hands, the sound like the tinkling of bells. "Like it was Christmas. I love her so much. From the time I can first remember, Mary has been mother, friend, and teacher all rolled into one. She deserves to be happy."
Thinking over her words, she corrected her statement. "Actually, we have been very happy in the Frankenstein household. But Ozzie would give my aunt a joy beyond that." She frowned, trying to refine her thoughts. "Like with fresh strawberries, my favorite. I so love them. But when I add cream, fresh strawberries become even more tasty."
Ian chuckled. "I understand. And what of your own strawberries and cream?" he asked, steering the conversation to a more personal bent. This was the topic dearest to his heart.
"Cream?"
"Marriage."
"Oh, I do believe Ozzie will propose to Aunt Mary."
Ian shook his head. "Our marriage, Clair. The marriage that should take place as quickly as I can get you to an altar."
Placing a hand against his chest, she warned, "Ian, we have been through this. I love you, but I can't believe we should wed unless you embrace my studies and accept that they are as much a part of me as the color of my eyes. I won't give up my research."
"Clair, it's not that I mind your research or work, though heaven knows you would never have to work with my fortune. It's the manner of research you undertake. It's too dangerous. I would worry about you all the time." She started to protest, but he held up a hand, stalling her. "Just like I worry now."
"You are being ridiculous. Nothing irreversible has ever happened to me on my forays into the supernatural. Besides, we can work together on my various projects."
Exasperated, Ian frowned. "I have my estates. Look how busy I've been the past few days on small emergencies that spring up from nowhere. And soon you'll be busy with our children." His frown went away at the thought of making babies with Clair.
The look in his eye shouted, "Let's get naked." Quickly, Clair dropped her hand from his chest, taking a step backward. "It's late. Auntie will be worried. I need to go upstairs to bed."
"Without me," he snapped. Then, seeing the irritated look in her eyes, he added sincerely, "I'm sorry. I just want you so badly. I can't wait until this bloody house party is over and I can get you alone and have my wicked way with you. Let me correct that. My wicked, wicked ways with you."
He wanted to tryst the night away in Clair's arms. He was cocksure about it. Yes, he thought grimly, it was certainly sure. Roaring and ready to go. All it took these days was for him to think about Clair and her plump white breasts…
Clair stifled a groan as she presented her arm for him to escort her upstairs. She wanted to count every one of those wicked ways with her fingers. She had become a fornicating floozy. What a naughty thought! She arched a brow. Ian definitely had that kind of effect on her. Drat, it was going to be a long and very lonely night.
Ian sighed. So far Plan C was limping along on three legs. And bloody hell if it wasn't going to be a long wait until dawn. He kissed Clair chastely at her door and left, his breeches uncomfortably tight.
Clair went inside her room. Glancing around, she found no sign of movement. No sign of her aunt. She beamed, knowing just what her aunt was doing and with whom.
But… she and Ian had had little to no time alone together. Her aunt was probably going to be gone for a bit longer. Clair slipped quietly from her room.
Before she could reach the landing to the third floor, she heard suspicious giggles and the opening of a door. Glancing around her for somewhere to hide, she noticed a darkened nook under the stairwell. She slipped inside only moments before she spied the married Mr. Bear sneaking into Mrs. Walling's room, his chamber robe on, a garish creation of bright red. Next she saw Galen McBain lightly tapping on the newly widowed Lady Harringon's door, who was evidently not very bereaved.
She thought she could move out from her hiding place then, but before she could, Baron Golde with his bright golden locks craftily, like a thief in the night, entered Mrs. Edmonds's bedchamber. Then, as Clair was preparing to step out into the hallway again, she observed Lady Montcrief entering Mr. Wilder's room. Much to her disgust and surprise, the baron's wife, Lady Golde, soon followed Lady Montcrief into the not-so-honorable Christopher Wilder's chamber.
"A menage à trois?" Clair was fascinated and affronted at the same time. Soon, however, her scientific little brain was hard at work trying to figure out the angles and acrobatics needed to accomplish such a task. To manage to put one peg into two holes? The visual she constructed made her face turn beet red.
Turning her mind to her own rendezvous, she waited several more moments to make sure the coast was clear. Then she slipped up the staircase, only to nearly be caught by Mrs. Bear. The married lady was engaged in a passionate embrace with the also-married Viscount Edwards. The fact that the embrace was so lusty saved Clair from discovery as she silently darted behind a large Ming vase near the third-floor staircase. After several minutes of heavy petting and embarrassing noises, the couple slipped silently down the hallway and into one of the other guest rooms—probably Mrs. Bear's, Clair reasoned, since Mr. Edwards's room was occupied by Baron Golde and Mr. Edwards's wife.
Clair shook her head at all the bedroom antics. No wonder her aunt had always been so vehemently opposed to her and Arlene attending any house parties in the country. They were virtual dens of iniquity. In fact, she wondered, if she went back to her own room, if she would have to ask, "Who's been sleeping in my bed?"
Her head reeling, she went to step from behind the Ming vase just as her aunt stepped out of Ozzie's room. "Drat! Drat! And double drat!" she shouted silently. There would be none of Ian's loving tonight.
Luckily her aunt was distracted by Ozzie's sizzling kiss and hadn't spotted her. Carefully and quietly, Clair eased from behind the vase and tiptoed back to the stairs. It was lucky that people didn't have eyes in the backs of their heads, she thought. Then she remembered one of Uncle Victor's more dismal experiments. He had once implanted a second set of eyes in the back of an owl's head. The poor thing had gotten dreadfully confused as whether to fly forward or backward, and so the bird kept crashing into chandeliers.
Remembering where she was, Clair took off like greased lightning and slipped down the stairs to her room, barely getting her hair undone before her aunt entered. Both glanced at each other sheepishly. Each lost in their thoughts, they let silence reign.
Much later that night, the stillness was broken by a scream. Both Clair and Lady Mary would find out in the morning that it was Mr. Bear, who had found three to a bed more than a little uncomfortable. Yes, Mr. Bear had found out who was sleeping in his bed: Baron Golde. And it hadn't been, "Just right."