She actually gave a little laugh then, the sound chiming in the darkness like the brisk bells of St. Matthew's Chapel. 'Baron Huntsley, somehow I knew you would say that.'
Ian cocked his head to study her. 'If you knew the coffin was my great-great-grandfather's, why pretend it's mine?'
Again she snorted. 'No, I know it is yours. Your coffin. Although I do find it odd that you are returning to it so soon, after only leaving it a few hours ago.'
He'd been right. She was mad. What a pity. Such a beautiful woman to be raving. 'Returning to it? Do I look like a corpse to you?'
'Not now.' She stopped, groping in her pocket and pulling out a watch. 'But in six hours you will be.'
'I will be what?' Ian asked with the barest modicum of civility, wondering why he was still standing there arguing with a Bedlamite.
'You will be a corpse.'
Ian smiled. It was a smile devoid of all warmth and humor. 'I do so love challenges. Are you planning on killing me?'
He should be concerned, he supposed, but instead he was simply intrigued. It had been a long time since he had felt this way. Life had become a blur of days and nights, blending into one stark shade of gray. Nothing was special anymore, or remarkable; all was mundane.
Lately he had wondered if something essential in life had passed him by some afternoon when he was hunting or playing cards. For the past five years, the joys of his life had faded into the vague nothingness of memories. That is, until tonight, when he had been alerted by the sound of footsteps making their way to his basement and he had silently followed. Suddenly the night had seemed more alive than it had in years, as if a fresh stiff breeze were blowing away the cobwebs in his mind. Unfortunately, it appeared his savior was a loon.
She stared at his mouth. 'Do you plan on biting me?' she asked.
Ian looked her up and down. 'I can't tell in that awful cape. Are you good enough to eat?'
Clair cocked her head, glaring at him. 'No.' The baron really was too saucy for his own good. But then, she reasoned, vampires were masters of manipulation and seduction. Still, she would be no one's puppet, even if this vampire did make her heart almost stop with his rich, husky voice and his attractive features.
'Then why would I bite you?' he asked.
She gave him a look which named him stupid. 'You're a vampire, of course.'
Ian Huntsley, fifth Baron of Huntsley, threw back his head and laughed. Long and hard.
'I see no humor in this remarkable and riveting discovery,' Clair said haughtily. 'After all, it took great skill and courage to track you to your lair.'
He chuckled. 'My lair… ?' Suddenly the chuckles faded and he growled, 'Madame, I do believe you have a screw loose. Maybe more than one.'
Clair glared at him. 'How dare you presume to say such a thing? I, sirrah, am a scientist!'
Ian eyed the woman, a scowl darkening his features. 'That makes little sense. No sane person I know, a scientist especially, would enter the… what did you call it? Ah yes, the lair of a vampire alone, at night, with no protection!'
She could be killed pulling such stunts as this, he knew. London was a dangerous place, especially at night. All kinds of creatures were lurking about. And this small woman was out seeking bloodsucking demons and God knew what else. In addition, as bad luck would have it, she was seeking them in his home. The group of men with which he sometimes did business, would not be pleased if they found out about this night's adventure.
'I am not just anyone,' the woman stated dramatically, her nose stuck proudly in the air. 'I am Clair Elizabeth Frankenstein, niece to Dr. Victor Frankenstein and niece also to Dr. Johann Tieck.'
'Oh, good Lord,' Ian groaned. 'You are niece to both a quack and a deranged writer.'
Until that point, Clair had been cautiously keeping her distance between the devil and the deep blue sea, mainly this baron of vampires. But hearing the unkind remarks the man made about her uncles, Clair threw caution to the wind. Dashing forward, she closed the distance and slapped Ian smartly across the face.
'How dare you demean my uncles? They are great men, worthy of the Frankenstein name!'
Ian looked down at the furious spitting kitten and had to clench his teeth to stop from grinning. 'I am sorry, Miss Frankenstein. I lost my good manners at the surprise of your illustrious family heritage.'
She eyed him suspiciously. He was staring at her neck and he had all those white teeth. Those big white teeth. THOSE BIG WHITE TEETH!
'Stop staring at my neck,' she demanded bravely, feeling far from courageous, wondering how those big white teeth would feel in her neck. She bet they would hurt tremendously. Then her mind spun down other scientific avenues. Would she like sleeping underground… so far, far underground? If she became one of the undead, would the dastardly baron let her have a nightlight in her coffin so that she could continue her research after-hours? She would insist upon it. After all, if she were to become immortal, she would certainly take advantage of some fringe benefits.
'My lord, I would appreciate it if you would leave off eyeing my neck. You make me feel rather like a lush roast pig.'
'Your neck? I am staring at your breasts,' Ian corrected devilishly, his eyes devouring how her cloak draped open and revealed the pale expanse of the upper slopes of her generous bosom. Lush was the right word indeed for what he could see of her figure. He licked his lips. He did so delight in large-chested women; there was so much more to nip and suck.
Clair gasped, closing her cloak. 'You, my lord, are a bounder. I heard you were a rake beyond reason. I see the rumors are correct.'
'I thought you heard I was a vampire?' Ian reminded her, grinning and enjoying her chagrin.
'Are they mutually exclusive?'
'Probably not,' he retorted. 'But, more to the point, who is spreading such rumors, compromising my good name?' Ian asked the question nonchalantly, but it was anything but casual. Whoever was telling such tales must be taken care of, and quickly. All Huntsleys demanded loyalty first and foremost; lives depended upon it. Betrayal was not a laughing matter, and certainly not one Ian took lightly.
Gracing Clair with a look that had scared grown men, he waited impatiently. The stubborn wench remained silent. Ian knew she was afraid—he could smell the fear on her—yet she held her ground like a Spartan.
'Come, who has been telling tales about me?' Ian questioned.
'Who would dare?'
'You are being evasive.'
'You are being elusive.'
'You are prevaricating,' Ian growled, arms crossed tightly against his chest.
'You are posturing.' Clair grinned.
Ian snorted. 'Possibly, but then you are staking your life on it, aren't you? Creeping down my basement stairs, all alone…' He narrowed his gaze, studying her again, fresh anger spurting though his veins and pounding through his body. He had been betrayed, slandered, his sanctuary had been invaded, and worst of all, this beautiful woman had placed herself at risk.
'Staked my life on it? Well, that's better than being staked,' she hedged. She didn't like the gleam in his eyes. He looked hungry for something other than her blood. She fanned herself.
He took a step closer. She took a step back. She was no fool. She recognized danger when she saw it; it didn't have to jump up and bite her on the neck.
'You are a dangerous man,' she admitted, more to herself than to Ian.
'Let me show you just how dangerous…' He trailed off suggestively.
Her mind was a mass of swirling convictions, warnings, and yearnings as she peered up at him from beneath thick brown lashes. Suddenly, she slapped her head with her palm. 'You are doing it again!'
'What?'
'Trying to draw my attention away from your coffin.'
'My great-great-grandfather's coffin,' he corrected.
Clair scanned his body quickly, then glanced over at the coffin. 'It looks as if it would fit you perfectly.'
'That's ridiculous. One size fits all in coffins,' he snapped, wondering what it would be like to taste her.
