gift for her birthday. He would love her mind, her body, and her pilgrim soul. He was a man who would cherish her and yet let her be her true self. He was a man to inspire her curiosity and enflame her senses. And when she went into his arms, it would be like coming home.
Licking her lips slightly, she faced facts. She was a closet romantic in an era when well-bred young ladies had two options: they either waited on the shelf for Prince Charming to ride up and take them down—even if they were almost twenty-five years of age—or they leapt off the shelf and made their own life. Of course, Clair's great-aunt Abby in her more lucid moments was fond of saying that the leapfrog ladies ended up getting warts and too many little tadpoles, since they weren't often content to sit on one lily pad but had to hop around the whole pond.
'I thank you for your sincere application, but I fear I am studying supernatural creatures, not super-sexual escapades.'
This time, the laugh did escape Ian. Here was a sad romp. 'So again I ask, why me? I would have thought that it would be next to impossible to be a vampire and the holder of an ancestral title. It would be too dashed difficult to remain undetected.'
'Balderdash. Years ago, perhaps. But no longer,' Clair argued. 'My uncle Tieck actually wrote the very first vampire novel ever published in England. He was fortunate in finding a real, live vampire. Some years later he befriended the vampire of whom he wrote. They became cronies, until the vampire's death five years ago in a raging fire.'
Ian nodded. Yes, that would do it. Fire worked as well on a vampire as a stake through the heart.
Noting Ian's nod, Clair continued with her explanation. 'The vampire was a French count and a melancholy fellow, for every quarter century he would have to leave his estates and travel to far-off lands for another quarter century. He would leave so that people wouldn't notice that he didn't age. He stayed away so people would forget how he looked. After a few decades or more, he would come back, pretending to be a son or a cousin, and that would explain the family resemblance.'
'Yes, that is precisely what I meant when I spoke about vampires and titles,' Ian remarked. 'And I certainly have not done this twenty-five-year thing. I have been in and out of London since I was in my early twenties.'
Clair held up a hand. 'Precisely. You've come and gone. Also, most of the aristocracy goes to schools like Eton. You stayed at your estate in Wales, unseen. Then, like Athena, you sprang forth as an adult.'
'Easily explained. My ancestry is Welsh and English. My mother wished me to stay home to go to school. My father obliged her,' Ian said. Yet a bleak look came into his eyes. 'My father died when I was fourteen, leaving me to grow up extremely fast. I had a barony to run. Unlike other young bucks, I had my duty to my estates and my heritage as well as my mother and my sister to take care of. Didn't your research reveal these things?'
Ian schooled his expression. He had wandered lost in a vast world, struggling at a young age to understand who he was, what he was, and what he was to become, to preserve his heritage. Although his youth had been lost, a bitter cup to drink, the burdens he suffered had made him who he was today. And that was something he wouldn't trade for all the tea in China.
Observing the way his face tightened, Clair knew there was much more to Ian Huntsley than met the eye. He reminded her of a great fortress, invulnerable and extremely well guarded.
'My findings revealed that until five years ago, you had a townhouse here in London which was so rarely used that it was considered a ghost house. Prior to these past five years, your forays into town were almost nonexistent.'
'Yes. And now you know why. My father's death kept me tied up for many years.'
Clair winced inwardly. 'I thought you were your father. I thought the so-called son, Ian Huntsley, was actually a paid servant, while you were in reality Blaidd Huntsley. Then you, Blaidd, 'died,' and you sent the servant away to America so you could assume the role of Ian Huntsley.'
Ian snorted, both amused and indignant at such elaborate imaginings. 'What a ruse that would be. But your timing is off, and though I bear a strong family resemblance to my father, we are not the same. His nose was much longer than mine and his cheekbones much more pronounced. Anyone knowing either of us would never take us as the same person. Your theory falls flat on its face.'
Lowering her head and studying Ian, Clair nodded. Then she confided, 'Differences in appearance can now be manufactured. Recall, I told you about the French vampire count and my uncle Tieck? Well, Uncle Tieck introduced the count to Uncle Victor, who discovered a way to reconstruct parts of the face. For instance, to shorten a nose, raise a hairline, or add a cleft to a chin. You do know vampires heal quickly?'
'I daresay it wasn't in my storehouse of knowledge,' Ian responded dryly. 'But do go on. I haven't been so entertained in years.' He added the last so sincerely that Clair could not take offense.
'Well, do you know how vampires react to silver?'
'I do believe that I heard somewhere that it burns their skin, rather like acid,' Ian replied cautiously. He knew exactly what silver did to a vampire, and it wasn't a pretty sight.
Clair nodded enthusiastically. Ian was as intelligent as he was darkly handsome. 'Yes. Vampires are extremely sensitive to silver. It can actually kill them in large and prolonged doses. But it is perfect for certain surgeries, if the dose is minuscule. Since vampires heal too quickly for any type of facial surgery to be permanent, my Uncle Victor developed a technique called silver surgery. He implants tiny particles of silver—not enough to damage a vampire or kill him, of course—in whatever facial area he is reconstructing. That way, a shortened nose stays shortened, unable to grow back to its original length due to the implants. Thus a vampire could return to his ancestral home immediately after surgery.'
'And I fit this profile,' Ian remarked, understanding so much more than he had. 'I suppose, in a strange way, your theory makes sense. You thought I was a vampire pretending to be my human father, who later pretended to be me, myself.'
'In a word, yes.'
'That is so insane that it is absolutely brilliant.'
She nodded her thanks, her pretty cheeks pinkening at the praise.
Tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, Ian couldn't seem to relieve his worry. 'This subject you've chosen, the undead, is a grave one. Not to mention dangerous. Why pick this particular subject? There are other important scientific spheres to study. Why the
'All Frankensteins study what is difficult. And all Frankensteins are published. Our great name is revered in the hallowed halls of academia. I can do no less but try to follow in my forebears' footsteps. I am who I am. After working with my uncle for a number of years and seeing his interest in animating flesh, I admit to having become quite interested in the dead and the living dead. Hence any interest in the vampire.'
Ian didn't like her answer. It didn't fit with his plans. 'But it could be extremely dangerous to research that particular subject. Besides, there are no such things as vampires.'
'You are kind to warn me. I know the dangers of my research. Even Uncle Victor tried to put his foot down.'
'I see that it did little good,' Ian noted gruffly.
'How could it, with Frederick's foot right beside his?' she teased. 'Uncle Victor may be many things, but a hypocrite he is not. So instead of hindering me, he gave me my first sharpened stick.'
'Stake,' Ian corrected, wishing he could get his hands on old uncle Victor.
Clair nodded. 'He also told me about the garlic and holy water.'
'Yes… the garlic.' Ian sighed, reached into the coat of his pocket, then held out his hand. It was filled with garlic. 'You forgot this last night.'
Clair took the cloves, laying them on the table. 'You must think me a complete nodcock. First, I break into your home, although for a good purpose. I accost you with garlic, then with a stake. Then, to top it all off, I accuse you of being a vampire and flee, dropping garlic in my wake.'
She shook her head, sending her tawny curls flying. 'Is that why you dropped by today? You wanted to return my garlic? We do have more in the kitchen, you know. Still, I thank you.'
She hated to admit it to herself, but she was rather disappointed to note that the baron had only been interested in her left-behind spices.
Ian took her small hand in his. 'No, Miss Frankenstein, I do not think you are a nodcock. I think you are an original. And besides returning your property, I wanted to see you again and invite you to go riding in the park with me this afternoon.'
