"Clair, give me the real name of the violent little vixen."
Clair bit her lower lip.
"Her last name is… ?" Ian's tone held harshness, his patience wearing to an end.
"Van Helsing," she answered.
The words were like hammer blows. Ian stood, rubbing his forehead. He definitely felt a headache coming on.
"Let me get this straight. Miss Jane Paine is really Miss Jane Van Helsing—of the Van Helsings, who are the foremost vampire hunters in the world. This daughter of the illustrious vampire-staking family you invited to our house party without telling me who she really is. Next, you invite the Master Vampire of London, to whom we owe our lives, to this same house party—"
Clair started to interrupt, but Ian tersely waved her silent.
"So, we now have a vampire hunter and a vampire between whom you are trying to play matchmaker. Bloody hell, Clair! This sounds like something your great-aunt Abby would do. Or your uncle Victor. Instead of wedding bells, we'll be playing funeral marches. And this is the tiny oversight you forgot to mention to me?"
Ian was furious; Clair could tell by the ticking of his jaw muscle. Besides, disapproval was written in his eyes. But she had been a Frankenstein before she was a Huntsley, and they were all a stubborn lot—from her grave-robbing, monster-making uncle Victor, to her eccentric great-aunt Abby, who thought she was various historical characters, to her aunt Mary, whose specialty was pet taxidermy. Clair knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was dead right about Asher and Jane being perfect for each other. And she intended to prove it, if they didn't kill each other first.
"I know what I'm doing," she stated firmly, unafraid of her husband's ire. "Truly."
"I am overjoyed to know that. Perhaps you can explain to Asher. I am supposed to meet with him in the next hour to discuss his upcoming proposal of marriage. As a man… as a vampire—bloody hell, whatever! His honor and life are at stake, not his heart. And I must tell him that his bride-to-be slays his kind for a living, a hobby and a crusade. What a delightful turn of events!" he snapped angrily.
Clair was taken aback. She watched her husband start pacing again, back and forth, his dark hair gleaming like black silk in the glow of the candles. "Ian, my love, I just want Asher to be happy. I just want my good friend Jane to be happy too. Jane will make him so. And Asher will make Jane happy when he realizes he wants to—which will make Jane happy to know that Asher desires her to be happy. I owe Asher your life. I wanted to do something special for him. As a thank-you."
Ian halted, stared hard at her, shook his head and resumed pacing. "Happy? Happy! Oh, happy days in the old Wolverton mansion! I can see it now. Jane will be off lurking in the shadows with a stake in her hand, while Asher's off haunting mausoleums, trying to find new resting places for his coffin—places his wife can't find! And I imagine keeping his backside to the wall. Asher won't be able to rest in peace for years and years." Ian added sardonically, "Perhaps I can loan him some armor. Do you think there's a butt-plate to be had in the armory?"
Her husband's unreasonable attitude finally made Clair lose her temper. Stamping her foot, she glared just as fiercely at him as her husband was glaring at her. "Jane is perfect for Asher. She is well-read, though not as well-read as he is, but give her another hundred years and she would be. She is loyal—you know all Van Helsings are loyal. She is witty and has a gentle nature."
"Gentle nature?" Ian scoffed. "She stuffed his arse with a four-foot stake!"
Clair shrugged. "I full well know that Jane hates that part of her duty. She gets sick at the sight of the blood. Didn't you see the spot on the carpet?"
Ian said nothing, only glared at her, so she determinedly continued her defense. "I remember when Jane was around eight and I was ten, I fell and cut my leg. It bled badly, and we were a mile or so from home, Jane bound up my leg with her stocking, gagging the whole time."
Ian arched a brow, unmoved.
"She is loyal and sweet, and I wager that in three or four months Asher will lose his heart to her."
Ian arched both brows. His eyes widened.
Waving a hand in front of her face, Clair explained haughtily, "I mean that in the romantic sense, not the slaying sense."
Ian dropped wearily back into his favorite chair and shook his head. "I don't know why I care. I don't know why I'm worried. I don't even know why I donated my blood. I don't like the bloody bloodsucking fiend."
Seeing her husband's slumped shoulders, Clair went to him. She touched his arm gently and planted a tender kiss on his brow. "I know it looks bad now, but things will work out." Patting his arm, she stepped back and headed for the door. "I'm just going to talk to Jane now. I'm sure she must be a trifle upset."
"A trifle? I'm sure she's on the point of total hysteria. She is supposed to hunt vampires, not marry them."
"Tsk, tsk. You worrywart. You just wait and see. They will be perfect for each other. And someday they will both get down on their knees and thank us."
As Clair opened the door, Ian called out to her, "Clair, you do realize she tried to end his unlife."
Clair shrugged. Then, with her perfect Frankensteinian logic, she added, "No one's perfect."
Much I-Do's about Nothing
"To be a vampire bride or not to be a vampire bride," Clair remarked. That was the question she knew was rolling through her friend's mind. Anxious, she made her way down the hallway on the third floor where all the party guests were staying.
She knocked softly at Jane's door, not wanting to disturb any of the guests who were actually trying to sleep. She knew Jane wouldn't be, not with her future swinging in the balance like a pendulum gone awry. There was too much at stake, no pun intended. Besides, there were questions Clair needed to ask in order to satisfy her Frankensteinian curiosity. She well knew that Asher's ego could use a prick or two, but really, in the butt? That was a bit much. And why on earth was Jane trying to stake the man of Clair's dreams for her? How could Clair get the two of them together if Jane ran around assaulting Asher with her family's ridiculously ornate stakes?
Jane opened the door, her eyes red and swollen, her hair a mess of tangles, and her robe buttoned unevenly.
Clair had never seen her looking so woebegone or in such a state of disarray. Jane stood out in stark contrast with the rest of the room, which was neat and tidy. Glancing at the vanity table, Clair noticed that all the items—brush, comb, face cream, ribbons and rice powder—were all placed neatly in a row, an inch from the bottom of the table and all in alphabetical order. The major's regimental training evidenced Jane's occupancy of the room. The major had trained his daughter well—but not well enough, or Asher would be dust on this old manor's library floor right now.
Clair held up her hand. "I just want to say three words: Wedded bliss is bliss."
Jane wearily shook her head. "Clair, that's four words."
Clair shrugged. "So it is. May I come in?"
Motioning her friend inside, Jane pushed at her hair then closed the door. "My hair's in shambles. I look a fright. I hate disarray, and my life is the biggest mess of all," she said, her eyes glittering with tears. She sat down mechanically, her nerves clearly raw.
What a midsummer's nightmare! she thought raggedly. In a span of mere moments her whole world had turned upside down. Her future was foreboding and frightening. Did Clair have any chocolate? "Can you ever forgive me? What a horrid friend you must think me. What a horrid guest."
Clair knew exactly what Jane was asking. A guest shouldn't try to stake another guest at a house party without expecting serious displeasure from the hostess.