The road to hell was paved with scientific inventions, a vampire, lust for Ian Huntsley, and breaking and entering twice in one week, Clair decided. She was doing Uncle Victor proud, she mused as she glanced up at the night sky.
Slithering clouds of gray covered much of the half moon, which provided Clair with the darkness she needed to scale the ivy-covered walls of the Wilder property. She was in luck. It was a great night for burgling. And she was ready, dressed in tight-fitting doeskin breeches and a black velvet jacket.
Clair checked her mountain-climbing equipment once more, then swung her rope and grappling hook, which connected with the wrought-iron balcony. Quickly she began her silent ascent up the pale brick wall. As she climbed, she grinned, thinking that one could never underestimate the appeal of a hard-fought silence.
Scrambling over the balcony edge, she laid her rope discreetly to the side. Taking a quick glance back at the ground below, she noted nothing but shadow. No movement. Good, she applauded silently. No one was the wiser that she was here.
The open doors of the balcony lured her forward, revealing a bordello-like chamber of appalling taste. It seemed the Honorable Christopher Wilder was enamored of the color red, in particular the very bright hue known as crimson. His carpet was red, along with the walls, not to mention the bedhangings and spread, all done in vivid tint with interwoven tiny gold flecks. His room was enough to give a person a red scare, Clair decided.
In spite of her revulsion at the utter lack of good taste, she smiled. Uncle Victor had hit the nail on the head once more. Vampires did sleep in the red.
Espying the large wardrobe dead center in the room, Clair moved toward it. The perfect hiding place. She would be able to see the Honorable Christopher by leaving a small crack in the door, but he wouldn't be able to see her. She only hoped his feeding habits weren't too messy.
A voice behind her interrupted her thoughts, and she whirled around. She should have been terrified. Instead she was only horrified. Drat! Ian!
"Miss Frankenstein, we do seem to meet in the strangest places, and you always seem to be breaking and entering!"
"Good grief, Ian. What are you doing here?" she asked nervously, chewing on her bottom lip, her heart still racing from the unexpected shock.
"I could ask you the same question," he snapped.
"I asked you first."
Ian counted to ten. It didn't work, so he counted to ten once more, studying Clair. Tonight she was dressed in another of her unique breaking-and-entering costumes. This one was complete with breeches.
In spite of his pique, he couldn't help noting with grand approval how Clair had longer legs for her five-foot-and-not-much-more frame than he would have thought. Very nice legs, in fact. Indeed, legs that looked like they would feel great wrapped around his waist as he plunged inside her.
Reluctantly, he snapped himself back to attention. "Clair, I am here to stop you from your rendezvous with Wilder."
She gasped. "What rendezvous?"
Irked by her mad dash to disaster and her penchant for sticking her nose into things that went bump in the night, Ian alleged, "You aren't here to make mad, passionate love with him?" Knowing full well she wasn't.
"Have you lost your mind? What would make you think a thing like that?"
"What would make me think that? Could it be because you are standing in the man's bedroom? Which reminds me, how in the bloody hell did you get in here?" Ian inquired coldly. He couldn't leave her alone for more than a moment without her courting trouble.
"I climbed."
Strolling to the window, he glanced out at the rope. "That explains the strange getup," he remarked, glancing down at her trousers. "I guess I should add mountain climbing to your considerable list of talents."
"Uncle Victor and I spent three summers in the Alps," she explained softly. "I even climbed the Matterhorn." Ian's forbidding expression worried her. Surely he couldn't believe she was interested in a man with such poor taste in home decoration?
"How did you get up here? I know you didn't come through the door."
He smiled. It was wicked. "I leaped."
"What a bounder," she said, giggling. "In a single bound?"
"Of course."
"My, you must be some sort of superman."
"I would be more than glad to show you some of my other abilities, and as we are in the bedchamber…" His dark green eyes twinkled. "Oh, but I forgot you are to meet Wilder."
Exasperated, she rolled her eyes. "No! No! And double no! I came to watch him slake his vampire thirst. My informants told me he is to be with Lady Montcrief tonight, and you above all people know what an appetite—"
Ian shook his head, interrupting. "Clair, Clair, what am I to do with you?" Suddenly he glanced toward the door. "Right now, I guess I'd better hide you."
"What do you hear?" she asked nervously. She couldn't be caught; that would alert Mr. Wilder to the fact she knew he was one of the undead.
"Footsteps on the stairs." Grabbing her, Ian shoved Clair toward the wardrobe. Opening the door, he speedily pushed her in. He followed quickly behind, closing the door with a snap.
"It's a tad crowded in here," she complained softly.
"It's about to be a tad crowded out there." He smiled in the darkness, breathing deeply. Clair's fresh scent surrounded him, whetting his appetite to taste her sweet, soft flesh.
"It's so dark. I can't see a thing," she complained. "Ian, watch what you're doing."
"Shhh," he whispered. "They're entering the chamber."
"Ian, move! Your hand is on my breast," she urgently whispered.
"I thought it was your foot." He savored the feeling of her plump breast, envisioning it naked. His hunger grew. He wanted her beneath him doing nature's primal dance. Unfortunately he was in a wardrobe, a most undistinguished place for a tryst, especially for a peer of the realm. Clair really was bad for his dignity.
In a pig's eye he'd thought it her foot; Clair thought crossly. The man was a randy goat through and through. And she was stuck in a wardrobe with him for God knew how long. Hmm, she changed her tune, what a lucky lady she was.
"Bounder," she whispered. His hand now held all of her breast, his thumb circling the nipple. She shifted uncomfortably, wanting something indescribable, for it was something unknown to her.
"Sneaking snoop," he whispered back.
"Lusty libertine."
"Nosy Nellie," he murmured, leaning close to kiss her.
She held her hand up, stopping him. "This isn't the time. I need to see Wilder feed."
"This should be some trick. Has your uncle Victor designed some sort of gadget that sees through wood?" Ian mocked.
"Hush," she whispered. Quietly, she turned the handle on the door. "Bloody hell. It's stuck. Of all the luck," she grouched.
She had made it unseen inside Wilder's red bedroom, and now she couldn't see the sight she needed to see. She was beginning to wonder if Ian Huntsley wasn't rather the opposite of a good luck charm.
Ian gave it the old Oxford try. The result surprised him. "It does appear to be stuck. What an interesting situation. We could stay in here until we rot or I could bang on the door and plead with Wilder to let us out."
His anger was slowly building. Once again, Clair had run headfirst into disaster, this time dragging him with her. In all his days of spying, he had never ended up in the untenable position of being stuck in a wardrobe. What was worse, Clair didn't even realize what a disaster she truly was or the danger she was in!
Ian drew Clair nearer, his hot breath on her ear. "Of course, when Wilder asks me why you and I are in his wardrobe, I will have to tell him that we were spying on him. Then I imagine I will be meeting him with pistols drawn at dawn," he finished grumpily.
"Don't be stupid. He can't meet you at dawn. The sun would fry him to a crisp."
Though neither could see the other, each knew they were glaring furiously.
Reaching into the pocket of her breeches, Clair retrieved a slim pick. A moment later, Ian heard a slight click.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
"What else? Picking the lock."
"My, my, is there no end to your nefarious talents?"
"Put a sock in it, my lord," she snapped.
As the latch gave, Ian hissed. "Don't push on the door." The words of warning came too late, and both Clair and Ian were dumped unceremoniously on the carpet.
The tableau was straight from a tawdry farce, Ian thought. Wilder was literally caught with his pants down, a shocked expression on his features. Dressed in nothing but black garters and nature's grace, Lady Montcrief was on her knees, worshiping Wilder with her mouth.
"My stars, Ian! I got it wrong again. Wilder's not biting her. She's biting him!" Clair gasped.
It was more than Ian could bear. It was classic Frankenstein. He fell to the floor, howling with laughter.
It was an hour later—filled with sermons, curses, and one or two dubious explanations, all of them coming from Ian—before Clair was returned home to her bedchamber.
Dispirited, she glanced around. The room was decorated in Wedgwood blue and creamy white, with chairs of similar hue, while the settee and window seats were all upholstered in a delicate floral pattern. Well-stocked bookshelves lined the walls and a fire flickered in the blue-marbled hearth.
The logs in the fireplace shifted, causing tiny sparks to shoot outward into the thin mesh screen. Clair stared gloomily at the flames, recalling with shame Ian's lengthy and virulent lecture on the way home.
Ian had been fierce in the closed coach, trying to impose his will upon her. But no matter how he lectured, threatened, or cajoled, she wouldn't give up her dreams of winning the prestigious Scientific Discovery of the Decade Award. She wouldn't give up her chance to be a published scientist of renown, no matter what Ian growled and no matter how many harsh lectures he subjected her to.
She could still hear his stern tone, telling her that she needed to live in the real world and give her scientific research a rest for a while. But he didn't realize that science was her life on every level.
She remembered the look Ian gave her, which had scorched to her very soul. She was terribly afraid that she was falling in love with the devious wretch. But she would stick to her guns. She didn't care how hotly Ian looked at her with his passion barely banked. Or how his dark green eyes blazed as fiercely as the flames in her hearth. Or how long he pleaded and threatened her to stop work. She wouldn't give up her quest. She was first and foremost a Frankenstein and a seeker of the truth.
Aunt Mary, sitting beside her in a white cotton nightgown, finished pouring some tea. "Now, dear heart, care to tell me about it?"
"It was an unmitigated disaster of the first degree," Clair replied mournfully. "And worse, I made a complete jackass of myself."
She winced, remembering her words about Lady Montcrief's bite. Ian had scornfully explained that Lady Montcrief might be a vamp, but she was no vampire. He went on to explain in a rather formal, clinical manner just exactly what Lady Montcrief was doing to the Honorable Christopher Wilder—an act Clair felt wasn't very honorable in the least.
Clair bit her lip, thinking that she would rather suck on a lemon than do that to Wilder's male member.
Lady Mary patted her niece's hand companionably. "Did I ever tell you about the time Victor was seventeen years old?"
Clair shook her head.
"Well, you see, Victor got a rather inflated opinion of himself, and decided he could challenge the Fates and win."
"What did he do?"
"He chained himself to the gables of the roof during a nasty electrical storm, threatening the lightning to strike him."
"What happened?" Clair asked. This was a story about her uncle that she had never heard before.
"What do you think? The fool boy got struck by lightning. It was rather amazing that he lived."
"Of course!" Clair squealed, her eyes alight with excitement. "I always wondered where he got the idea for using electrical currents to stimulate dead cells in the reanimation of dead flesh. I asked often enough, but he would never tell me."
"Of course not. Your uncle Victor is a proud man and he lives on your hero worship. He would never want you to see him in the guise of fool."
Tenderly Clair hugged her aunt, the woman who had been like a mother to her ever since her parents were killed in a boating accident when she was four. She understood the moral lesson her Aunt Mary was imparting: Everyone makes foolish mistakes, but only the foolish give up their dreams. "Thank you, Aunt."
"Good. Now, no more mopes. You merely had another case of mistaken identity. You will just have to buckle down and dig deeper. I have complete faith that you will find that nasty nest of vampires."
Picking up her teacup, Clair sipped thoughtfully. "Aunt, I thought you weren't too fond of my vampire study."
"Heaven knows I'm not, but it's important to you. You are too much like your Uncle. If you stopped what you were doing, it would kill off a part of that marvelous creative spark that is so integral to your makeup. I wouldn't want that. You wouldn't be Clair Frankenstein anymore."
"I know you have been afraid of the dangers I might face, but truly the only danger I have been in is making a fool of myself."
Lady Mary giggled. She knew Clair was beginning to feel better. It was due of course to her indomitable Frankenstein spirit, a force with which to be reckoned. "I must admit I have worried much less since Baron Huntsley entered the scene."
"Hmm. I am beginning to think he is unlucky for me."
"I see," Lady Mary murmured mysteriously. "He is not quite as handsome as some of the other young men of the ton. I believe his jaw is too square, his nose a trifle too long."
"Oh no, Aunt, you're wrong. He's truly gorgeous in a wild and handsome way."
"He is rather arrogant at times," Lady Mary proposed. She carefully regarded her niece's reaction.
"Not at all. Well, only to toad eaters," Clair defended devoutly.
"I heard that he is a seducer of innocents." Lady Mary suggested, her tone bland. Now she was getting to the heart of the matter.
Clair blushed. "He has been a perfect gentleman to me," she began, then stopped, remembering his hot, strong hand on her breast.
Watching her like a hawk, Lady Mary pounced. "Clair, is there something you'd like to tell me?" She didn't quite approve of the old ruse of getting a man to the altar through a compromising situation, but if the compromising did occur, then the compromiser was most definitely going to marry the compromisee.
Warily Clair eyed her aunt. She knew that tone. Mary Frankenstein was plotting something, probably something to do with wedding dresses and wedding cakes and a certain crafty baron. But while Clair desired Ian to be in love with her, she would not force him into an unwanted leg-shackle.
She leaned over and kissed her aunt's cheek. "No. Ian and I have done nothing to be ashamed of. I wish I could say the same for the not-so-Honorable Christopher Wilder. I would like to tell Arlene and Jane about what I saw. But it wouldn't be proper. Besides, they probably wouldn't believe me."
Her aunt diverted, Clair went on to describe the scene which had occurred upon her emergence from the wardrobe. Much to Clair's chagrin, her always-dignified aunt ended up in much the same position as Ian: rolling on the floor, shaking with laughter.
"If Great-aunt Abby were here right now, she could appoint me her court jester," Clair remarked rather stiffly. That only sent her Aunt Mary into another fit of laughter.