The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein

intimidating. When Ian was tall, Galen was well over six feet by at least four inches. He had arms the size of small tree trunks and his shoulders were formidable. His hair was a pale wheat color, his eyes a stormy dark blue. They reminded Clair of dusk, after the oranges and pinks of the sky made their appearance and signaled night fall.

Soon she forgot his size and concentrated on what the two cousins were saying. She could tell by their attitudes and tone of voice that they were close.

The conversation flowed easily, since each had a sharp wit, but Clair made a blunder which took the conversation to a more somber tone. Mistakenly she inquired if Ian's mother had remarried. Ian's features seemed to contort as he told her most emphatically his mother had not and would never remarry.

'My mother almost died of grief when my father was killed in a freak fire. If not for my sister and myself, I believe my mother would not be alive today. She loved my father dearly. Theirs was a great love story and, as with all great love stories, it ended quite tragically.'

'I am so sorry. I lost both my parents when I was quite young also. I do understand the sense of loss and aloneness,' Clair responded. She leaned over and tenderly patted Ian's arm.

It was a move which did not go unnoticed by Galen. The man wasn't sure how he felt about the attraction between Clair and his cousin. Ian was a hard man, but even hard men had been known to break, especially when a lovely lass was involved.

Clair's sympathy touched Ian. He squeezed her hand. 'Thank you. It has, been a long time.'

'Grief knows no hourglass,' Clair added.

Galen broke the spell by saying they were all growing maudlin, and he began regaling Clair with a few stories of he and Ian growing up. She learned that Ian had been quite the mischiefmaker, slow to learn a lesson and passionate in his pleasures. One of the best stories was of questing for honey after seeking the bees' nest for two days.

Galen's eyes sparkled with mirth as he related the tale. 'Both Ian's parents had warned him repeatedly not to attempt to rob the bees. But Ian knew best. He conceived a plan to distract the bees so he could gather the honey. He wore a bee disguise that he had created with false wings, and painted his shirt yellow and black.'

Clair started giggling. She could almost see Ian in his striped shirt. 'What happened?'

'The bees didn't recognize his kinship. Ian returned home empty-handed with a swollen nose. However, his adventure did have a moral.'

Clair was laughing hard, tears running down her cheeks. 'What?'

'A fool and his honey are soon parted!' Galen howled with laughter.

Ian took offense, his dignity wounded. 'Don't you have someplace to be, Galen? Someone to pester besides myself?' He stood in the carriage, staring down in the perfect picture of the aloof aristocrat. 'Or do you intend to follow us to Miss Frankenstein's home?'

Galen took the hint. Cantering off, he decided to reserve judgment on the Frankenstein and Huntsley union. He left, his husky laughter in his wake.

Sitting back down, Ian flicked a wrist and his bays leaped forward, eager to be on the go after their lengthy immobility. Clair wiped her eyes, deciding wisely to keep her amusement to herself. Men could be so touchy when teased.

As the phaeton lurched forward at a fast clip, Clair clutched the railing with one hand and her bonnet with the other. After they drove in silence for some minutes, she commented on how much she liked his cousin.

'Just don't like him too much,' Ian warned lightly, wondering as he spoke where that remark came from. He didn't get jealous. Women were generally possessive of him. He also knew that his cousin was less handsome than himself. Yet that had never halted most females of the species from falling at Galen's feet. Ian knew most assuredly that he wouldn't like it one bit if Clair joined their fawning ranks.

'You're teasing,' Clair said, blushing, looking at Ian and hoping that he wasn't. No one had ever been jealous of her before. It was a remarkably stimulating feeling.

Ian shrugged. 'I don't think I am.' And with those telling words, he turned his attention back to his driving. He was mostly silent after that, a dark look marring his arrogant yet handsome features.

Clair beamed. She could hardly wait to tell her dear friend Arlene, and to write Jane Van Helsing with her inspiring news. She did so later that night:

Dear Jane,

Despite the infamous pig incident at the cemetery, which no one has let me forget, I am continuing toward my goal of achieving the prestigious Scientific Discovery of the Decade Award. My supernatural studies that we have previously discussed led me to believe that Baron Ian Huntsley was a vampire. Unfortunately—but fortunately for me—I made a slight miscalculation.

Yes, the rumors of Baron Huntsley's undeath were greatly exaggerated. He is not dead, and in fact is quite handsome. However, I shall prevail. I have leads on another vampire subject, who this time I just know is a vampire. Soon I will watch him feed. As your father, Major Van Helsing, always says, 'A vampire tooth in hand is worth two in your neck.'

I hope all is well with you, and I look forward to your return from the country. Take good care of yourself and I shall let you know how my research turns out. More on Baron Huntsley to come. Be sure to tell Major Van Helsing, if he asks, that Baron Huntsley IS NOT A VAMPIRE. I wouldn't want the baron to be mistakenly staked, especially if the mistake were made by me in the form of mistaken identity. There's too much at stake. Did I tell you that the baron took me riding in his carriage this afternoon? He really is quite handsome for a man I believed to be a bloodsucker pretending to be human.

With sincere affection,

Clair Frankenstein

Love at First Bite

The huge chandeliers glittered like diamonds, casting a soft glow over the brightly colored assemblage. The women were dressed in their most vivid colors, flitting about the room like butterflies in the wind. The men, not to be outdone in attire, also glided this way and that, leading their partners in dance. On the edges of the ballroom floor, members of the ton—the upper, upper crust of British society—stood talking and waiting for scandal to erupt.

Ian took it all in stride, searching for Clair as he entered the throng. She had mentioned the day before on their ride home from the park that she would be attending this, the Faltisek Ball, the next night.

As he strode past a large marble column, Ian was halted with a touch on the arm by the Honorable Christopher Wilder. 'Huntsley, good to see you,' the blond, curly-haired man commented, his brown eyes narrowed.

Ian nodded warily. Christopher Wilder was a force unto himself. His affections were all reputedly feigned, his eyes cruel, his debauches legend. 'Wilder,' Ian acknowledged coolly.

'I heard you were escorting the younger Frankenstein female yesterday.'

Ian scowled, recognizing that the only thing in London more pathetic than the ton's affinity for gossip was its limited attention span and even more limited ability to tell truth from fiction. 'This concerns you how?' he growled.

Wilder's smile was anything but friendly. 'What maggot's in your head? It was only an innocent comment. I had just remarked upon it because she's not your usual fare.'

The man glanced over to where Ian saw Clair holding court with two elderly gentleman, one slender and silver-haired, the other balding and plump of both pocket and figure. Ian also noted that Clair was dressed in a dark green gown, so dark it almost appeared black, over a tawny golden slip. Tiny puffed sleeves decorated in gold were attached to a décolletage which showed off bare shoulders and much of her pale breasts. Too much of her breasts for a public place, Ian noted darkly.

Watching Ian watch Clair, Wilder commented slyly, 'Although she is a delicious piece of womanhood.'

'I've killed men for less,' Ian snapped, his fists clenched, his eyes flashing green fire.