Which led him to now, when he was standing alone at the rout hosted by the Rogers family, wondering dismally how his Plan B had failed so miserably and hoping desperately to see Clair. He knew she was angry with him for his deceit, and he'd expected that, but he really hadn't expected her to be so furious she wouldn't let him explain. And to be honest, he really hadn't expected her to be able to break into the duke's domicile. He had been spectacularly wrong on both accounts.
Gloomily, he leaned against the wall. He spotted Clair flirting with a pink of the ton. As always, she was ravishing. Her hair was pulled high on her head in a Grecian knot, with floating tendrils around her shoulders, and it shone brightly in the light of a dozen candles.
She was wearing a gown of silver-blue satin interspersed with creamy lace. The lace circled the dress's hemline and puffed sleeves, and edged the deeply scooped neckline, which more than showcased Clair's splendid bosom. Ian wanted to worship at the shrine of those magnificent breasts. Bloody hell, he cursed to himself. The way his luck was running, he would be more likely to suckle a pig's tits than Clair's.
Scowling, he noted how the young buck with Clair was trying to stare down her dress. He was going to kill the stripling, and definitely planned a word with Lady Mary on her niece's risque choice of gowns.
Feeling Ian's gaze upon her, Clair looked up. She donned a mask of cool disdain and pointedly ignored him. But with lashes lowered, she observed him discreetly.
She hid a gleeful smile, silently congratulating herself on her luck. How delightful that Ian was staring at her, and from the expression on his face, he was no happy gentleman.
Yes, this was her lucky day. She had finally found the exact color of green ribbon to match her poke bonnet, which she had been searching for the past two months, and she had won ten quid while playing whist with Great- aunt Abby. She never won playing cards against her great-aunt; Clair reasoned it was because the woman spent so much time with tarot cards.
Risking another peek at Ian, who was staring at her grimly, Clair raised her chin in the air a notch higher. Yes, she mused, this was her lucky day. Ian was miserable—which he should be, the conniving, callous cad. He was a cad who had betrayed her, made her look a fool. He wasn't fit to kiss the toe of her shoe. He wasn't fit for human company. How dare he tromp on her precious dreams? How dare he make a mockery of her research? How dare he judge her aspirations to be less worthy than a man's, and then play her false? The bounder! He probably didn't share a single hope in her chest.
Brandon Van Helsing interrupted her silent ranklings. 'Clair, how pretty you look tonight! Like a budding rose, picked fresh,' he flattered.
Clair smiled. 'My thanks, Brandon. And you look quite the man about town yourself,' she praised, noting that his dark gold jacket went well with his dark brown hair. 'I have written to Jane recently and am awaiting her reply.'
Brandon nodded. 'I hope all is well with my younger sister.'
'Yes. I hope she quite enjoys her visit to Holland, although nursing the injured can be less than exciting. Still, I'm sure Jane will come back with some marvelous sketches of birds.' Clair noticed a slight tightening of Brandon's jaw, knowing birdwatching was proscribed among the career-oriented Van Helsings, with their black capes, black bags, and cemetery fetishes. How dear Jane with her love of birds and artistic temperament had ever come from that deranged clan was a question Clair had asked herself more than once. Jane was truly a bird of a different feather.
'True. She has quite the talent for taking an object and making it appear to come alive on paper,' Brandon remarked, thinking how his sister's bird-watching tendencies greatly disturbed their father, who would much rather Jane turn her bird-watching into vampire bat-hunting. 'I will be visiting with Jane in a few days, for I am leaving for the Continent on the morrow,' he stated.
Clair cocked her head, studying him. The man was on the hunt. What vampires was he tracking? 'Business, or making the grand tour?'
'The tour,' Brandon said, with only a slight hesitation.
Clair knew it for a lie. Rather than making the grand tour, as many of the sons of the aristocracy did— visiting museums, music halls, brothels and gaming halls—Clair would bet a quid that Brandon's tour would include cemeteries and mausoleums. 'I see you take after a certain baron here tonight.'
'Pardon?' Brandon asked, perplexed.
'Oh it's nothing,' Clair remarked sweetly. Men could look a lady in the eye and tell such big fat lies. She wondered if it was inborn to the male nature or if they attended some class on telling fibs.
Before Brandon could respond, Claire's bosom friend Arlene Garwood joined the group. Pleasant hellos were exchanged; then Brandon took his leave. Clair gave express instructions for him to tell his sister that she was missed.
As soon as Van Helsing left, Arlene commented on Ian's and Clair's locations—far apart. 'So you two haven't reconciled yet?' she asked. She kept glancing back and forth from Clair to Ian; she had heard the whole sordid tale of Ian's treachery when Clair arrived on her doorstep at the unheard-of hour of nine in the morning. 'After all, he did try to explain. And he gave you those lovely roses.'
'Hmmpf.' Clair snorted, unmindful of decorum. 'No. And I won't reconcile with him. Not yet. There's more here than meets the eye. I'll wager a monkey that Ian is keeping secrets from me. And if he thinks that his gift of roses was enough, old Baron Charming has another think coming. I'm going to show him no mercy.'
'Oh no, Clair. You have that gleam in your eye. That same gleam that almost got us drowned when searching for mermaids when we were young. That same gleam that got us locked in the attic for half a day when you decided the rats there were really ghosts. What are you up to this time?'
'Nothing yet,' she remarked as she dragged Arlene behind a group of large potted ferns. 'Now Ian can't see us.'
'Clair,' Arlene warned, shaking her head. 'Not another one of your plans. Don't do anything you'll regret. You hold strong affection for the baron and he, I sense, for you.'
Clair pursed her lips, steering the conversation away from her plotting. It was a brilliant plan, as plans went, but knowing Arlene as well as she did, she knew her good friend would try and talk her out of it. She wrinkled her forehead in frustration. Arlene never appeared to notice how truly inspired Clair's plans were. Still, Arlene was a good, loyal friend, even if she was a tad slow at some things.
'You know, I believe Great-aunt Abby is right about men. She said that they always bring indigestion and insomnia into a lady's life while they are courting, while she waits for the gentleman to call. Then, after, they bring on crying jags and plate-throwing. I would be better off without Ian Huntsley darkening my doorstep.' But even as Clair said the words of pique, her inner voice was crying out, 'No!'
'Great-aunt Abby has a point. But think how bloody boring life would be without them,' Arlene half- teased.
Clair sighed. Arlene was right. Her life had been really quite fine before Ian entered the picture with his debonair good looks, but Clair was still afraid that if he left, everything would be a shadow of its former self. Somehow the wretch had wriggled and squirmed his way into her heart. The worm! He really was a bad apple and deserved her Plan B,
But beggars couldn't be choosers. She knew she had little choice but to pretend to have a tendresse for the Earl of Wolverton. She hoped it would drive Ian crazy with jealousy, and pay him back for his villainous lie. Her brilliant plan also would give her time alone with the earl to gather information. It was an inspired campaign,
'You haven't seen the Earl of Wolverton here tonight have you?' she asked her friend slyly. 'I've been searching for him, but nothing so far.'
Arlene paled. 'So that's your intention?' she gasped. 'Gads, Clair. It will get you maimed or dead or even worse. You'll end up all furry once a month.' She shuddered. 'If that happens, I have to admit it will put a crimp in our friendship. Mother will never allow me around wolves, even if one of them happens to be my best friend.'
Clair rolled her eyes. 'Do calm yourself, Arlene. I am only going to flirt with the earl a little and make Ian jealous,' she explained as she pushed Arlene forward and away from the ferns. 'Come on, let's see if I can find out if the earl has arrived.'
Out in the main room, Ian impatiently shifted his feet, his eyes never leaving the area where Clair had disappeared. He scowled. Besides ignoring him, the little imp was hiding. Yes, today was a very unlucky day, he
