Surveying the scene, Clair was the only one who smiled calmly. Her Plan Z was a striking success.
Some Like It Not
The Huntsley manor house quieted down, the guests going back to bed after the startling sight of a very mussed Jane Paine and Asher alone in the library, but many were asking how a plain Jane had finally caught the elusive and debonair Earl of Wolverton. Pacing back and forth across his bedchamber, Ian Huntsley was wondering why Asher had been staked in the behind by an on-the-shelf old maid.
The answer to his question stared back at him with beautiful, guileless gray eyes. He knew that expression well. Clair was a delightful bundle of matchmaking female, mismanaging all of those around her with a cheerful passion and usually chaotic results. Crooking his finger, he motioned his wife to him.
"Clair, what do you know about this?" he asked.
Standing before her husband, Clair Frankenstein Huntsley averted her gaze, staring at the bed curtains, studying them as if her life depended upon it. "I do believe we need to air these out," she remarked evasively.
"Clair, why did Asher have a jagged hole in his posterior?" Ian pressed. He loved his redoubtable wife with a passion unmatched. She was everything wonderful and wondrous in life. He thought she was truly remarkable. But sometimes she was a bit eccentric, due no doubt to her heritage. And trouble seemed to follow her like a pig to its trough.
"Yes, that was unusual. I wasn't expecting that," she hedged, fingering the sleeves of his rust-colored dressing gown. She hid a grin. Leave it to Jane to turn everything on its end. Asher probably wouldn't be able to sit down for a night or two.
"I knew you were playing matchmaker. I didn't agree with it, but I know how you love your little projects. Trying to make Asher fall in love with that plain old maid… Well, to be honest I thought it was rather humorous. And that it would certainly get you in no trouble." Ian broke away from his wife, not wanting to be distracted. And she distracted him terribly just by breathing. Contact was impossible. He started pacing the room again.
"This matchmaking scheme has at least kept you out of climbing around crypts for glimpses of vampires, or haunting old castles in search of ghosts." He stopped pacing and looked at his wife. She was going to drive him insane—if he didn't love her to death first. In spite of all the mad things she had done, the foiled plots, her comedy-of-errors investigations and her truly bizarre family of Frederick the monster—a rather riveting fellow—and madman uncle, Ian wouldn't have traded one minute of his life with her. "But Asher is really going to have get hitched."
"So it would appear," Clair remarked cheerfully.
Ian frowned. "You know, I thought this matchmaking business would keep you safe."
"But it has, darling. Asher's the one who got staked."
Clair remarked, a frown creasing her brow. "Although, I must admit I never intended for that to happen. But then the course of true love never runs smooth."
Ian shook his head. "Clair, I don't mind that your uncle Victor runs around robbing graves for spare body parts. I don't even mind that you are choosing the undead as potential husbands for spinsterish friends. But I do mind when our guest, particularly a guest who has saved both of our lives, is attacked. It reflects badly on both my hospitality, and on the debt of honor I owe to that confounded vampire."
"Asher will be fine," Clair replied. "You know his healing abilities are almost as remarkable as your own. He'll be sitting down in a night or two with his usual savoir faire."
Ian almost chuckled. The image of Asher's chagrined expression when he'd seen where the master vampire was staked was a sight Ian would never forget. But, glancing out the corner of his eye at Clair, he remained solemn. He didn't want to encourage his wife in any more shenanigans.
He held up his wrist, tugging back his robe and exposing two fresh fang marks.
"Ian!" Clair gasped, coming closer to inspect the wound as she knelt on the floor before her darkly handsome husband.
He raised a sardonic brow, his rugged features grim. "For Asher to heal fast, he needed to feed quickly and quietly. Since we didn't want him feeding off our guests, that left me. So not only has your meddling caused this compromising situation, but it left me as a midnight snack for the earl!"
Clair lovingly traced the bite marks. "I'm sorry, darling. I never intended for this to happen. It certainly wasn't in my plan."
Ian raised both eyebrows. The best-laid plans of Clair Frankenstein always went awry.
"Well, I didn't," she said. "I don't know what went wrong."
"Try the stake," Ian suggested wryly. "Then try explaining why Miss Paine wanted to stab Asher."
Clair rested her head on her husband's muscular thighs, wondering if she could hedge her bets. Wondering if Ian was going to get all red in the face and shout at her, or if he'd get all red other places and make love to her. She definitely voted for the latter. "Well, Jane has a few minor idiosyncrasies," she admitted.
"Minor idiosyncrasies? She could have killed him!" Ian snapped. "Wait. Let me rephrase that," he said as he ran his hands through his tousled locks. "Miss Jane could have killed him again.'"
He caressed his wife's face briefly, adding in a piqued tone, "You know, I hate the way he watches you. The bloody neck sucker is in love with you! But I can't have him dead again—not at our house party. It's just not done."
Clair nodded, keeping judiciously quiet.
Ian slumped into the plump cushions of his favorite chair, laying his head in his hand. "Clair, why would Miss Jane attack a guest in our home? Has Asher scorned her? Has she got a screw loose, like Frederick?"
Clair narrowed her eyes at her husband. "Frederick can't help having a few loose screws, and you know that. But Uncle Victor always tightens them."
Ian knew Clair was trying to throw him off the scent, which was ridiculous since he was a werewolf. "All right, my love. I know Jane is a dear friend, which means she's likely a bit of an odd duck like the rest of those you care for. But is she… more than odd? Does insanity run in her family?"
That was a hard question to answer. Major Van Helsing wasn't actually a madman, although he was frequently mad. Still, Clair shot her husband a smoldering look, and not the bedroom kind. "You think my friend belongs in a madhouse because she and I are bosom pals?"
Ian backtracked rapidly, almost tripping over his words in the process. He had plans for later on tonight, right after this discussion. Plans of a very naked Clair and her hot lips savoring him. Plans of his hot lips worshipping her. He didn't need Clair to have a fit of temper and foil his amorous mood.
"No… not that." Ian waved his hands in the air. "Forget about it. However, I would like to know what Jane thought she was doing tonight."
Clair thought about Ian's question. Then she thought for a moment longer. Then she sat on the bed and thought again, her expression one of intense reflection.
Ian knew his wife's delaying tactics when he saw them. "Clair?" he prompted.
Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, she said, "There might have been one small thing—a tiny thing, really—that I forgot to tell you about Jane."
Ian nodded, worried. He wished it was a full moon and he could be a werewolf and howl, running free in the night, rather than hearing another comedy-of-errors confession from his wife. "And this tiny thing is… ?" He spoke carefully.
"Jane is using her mother's maiden name—Paine." Clair stood, deciding to put some distance between her hot-blooded husband and herself. She knew he would never hurt her, but an angry werewolf threw off tremendous body heat. She was warm as it was.