Ian shrugged. "All cats are gray in the dark," he proposed.
Asher stopped pacing and dropped restlessly into the large Louis XIV chair in front of the desk. A loud groan escaped him. He had forgotten his injury. His pride and backside now smarting, he replied, "When I want to bed a cat, I'll let you know."
Then reality hit him smack-dab in the face. He wanted to scream to the heavens, for fate was quite unfair. As the wily werewolf said, honor was honor, and something no earl or master vampire could ignore. Especially with the Council watching. Being sentenced to a forced sleep for five hundred years wasn't something he wanted to experience. Besides, if he married Jane, with her mortal lifespan, she would only inconvenience his life temporarily.
Clenching his fists, Asher rested his forehead upon them. "I am going to marry a mousy madwoman—a back-staking shrew."
"Tame her," Ian suggested.
"She will cost me a fortune in clothing. And she's not right in the head. Or maybe she just has a morbid fear of kissing," Asher joked to himself sarcastically. Rubbing his backside, he continued following that train of thought. "I fear there's more to this story than meets the eye. She must know I am a vampire, else why use a wooden stake on me? It was the Van Helsing model four, by the way," he added, just to impress Baron Huntsley with his houseguest's perfidy.
Ian knew the time had come, and he was not looking forward to what he had to reveal. He only hoped Asher didn't believe in biting the messenger.
"Don't give me that look. What is it?" Asher asked.
Ian coughed slightly, trying to decide just how to repair Clair's omission. "I myself only recently discovered that Miss Jane knows what you are. She was sent here to destroy you."
Asher's fangs flashed in the candle light, giving his handsome face a devilish look. "Because I am the Master Vampire of London?" he asked.
Ian answered carefully, weighing his options. "It's not so much what you are at this point, but who they think you are." If Asher attacked, he would feint to the right and roll backward towards the hearth. Hanging above the fireplace was his Welsh ancestors' sword. He didn't think he would have to kill the vampire, merely threaten him.
"Who? The suspense is killing me," Asher retorted. "And I've had enough of people trying to kill me tonight."
Ian leaned back in his chair, still watchful. "Dracul. The Prince of Darkness."
Asher fought appalled surprise. "Dracul? Has he come to Town? Here to London? That would be a disaster of epic proportions, most especially for me."
"He holds no love for you, same clan or not," Ian agreed.
Asher took a deep breath. Count Dracul was debauched, deadly and a malignant presence to be avoided whenever possible. Asher and the count had been at odds for over a hundred years. "Yes. Our enmity is long standing. Who thinks I am he? And why?"
Ian wearily ran his hands through his hair. This long day's journey into night was getting longer and trickier. "Certain people, because of certain information. However, Jane is now convinced that you aren't Count Dracul. I daresay she will convince her father of the fact. Especially if you are marrying into the family to save her good name."
Asher's eyes bored holes into Ian. "And just who is her father?" His tone was full of chilling menace.
Placing his hands on the desk, tensing his body for an attack, Ian replied, "Her father is Major Edward Van Helsing."
The breath hissed out of Asher, a low growl vibrating from his throat. The vampire's eyes narrowed to ice blue slits, blazing as they were.
Dracul was a nefarious foe, but the Van Helsings were detestable enemies of every vampire in the world. The family were cunning, ruthless and fanatical about executing members of the undead, and sometimes demons too. Although Asher had no truck with demons, he had lost a few vampire friends over the centuries to a vile Van Helsing stake. It was tough to consider Jane was one of those.
Ian's eyes narrowed also. He sat in preternatural stillness, appraising the situation. Tensed, he waited for Asher's rage either to dissipate or escalate. He was at a disadvantage: Although he was a werewolf, he could only change form on nights when the moon was full. He was much stronger several days before and after a full moon, but only slightly stronger than a human at other times. This was one of those other times.
"How long have you known?" Asher ground out, leaping to his feet. Having forgotten his injury, he let out a startled gasp.
Stiffly he turned his back on Baron Huntsley and ferociously paced the room. He was furious enough to destroy anything in his path, not to mention still wounded by Glair's betrayal. He snarled, "I'm furious enough to throw back my head and howl to the heavens, and I'm not even a werewolf!" Only centuries of aristocratic breeding and vampire stoicism kept him from doing so.
"I only learned who Jane is tonight," Ian reminded him.
"And Clair?" Asher's question was edged with fury.
"They have been friends for quite some time," Ian admitted.
"So, your wife invited a vampire murderer here to your estate with me as a guest as well," Asher said. He turned his face away, hiding the intense pain he felt, a taste of bile so bitter he thought he would choke. Asher had loved Clair and she had betrayed him. It was unforgivable, even if it was most likely one of her preposterous plans turned upside down.
Ian could sense the waves of hurt. Though he didn't like Asher's interest in his wife, he felt a stirring of pity. He explained, "If it makes you feel any better, Clair was trying to play matchmaker. You see, she had this plan…"
Asher snorted loudly, his expression grim.
"I know," Ian went on, "Clair and her plans usually go astray. But Clair truly believes that you and Jane are the perfect pair. That you and Jane will find great love together—once-in-a-lifetime kind of love. For an immortal that's pretty significant."
"Perhaps she should have told Jane of this plan," Asher snapped. "Your wife is a menace to society. She is as wildly demented as her friend! They're two mad hatters, hopping around, creating havoc, pandemonium, mayhem and attempted murder!"
Ian grimaced. He didn't like slurs on Clair, but this time his wife had outdone herself. When the vampire was right, the vampire was right. "Clair cares for you as a dear friend," he said. "She would never willingly see you hurt. She only wants your happiness."
Asher halted abruptly. "I truly think your wife has run mad. I'll be a pincushion in less than a week. Damnation, Huntsley! My supposed bride-to-be a bloodthirsty Van Helsing, the scourge of vampire kind?"
"Not after she marries you. She will be an Asher, the Countess of Wolverton."
Asher's usual savoir faire having long deserted him, he violently shook his head. "What an utterly horrifying thought. I shall wear mourning clothes for the rest of my life." If he had to marry the treacherous, conniving, vicious vixen, he would make her pay dearly for as long as she lived—which in the mood he was in right now, would be until just before sunrise.
"A wife's duty is to her husband," Ian remarked, "and Jane is a stickler for duty. She intensely disliked being a vampire hunter, but the major left her no choice."
Again, Asher shook his head. More slowly this time. "A Van Helsing by any other name would still be a Van Helsing."
Ian waited, silent.
"I cannot marry her. I'll be the laughing stock of vampires everywhere. A master vampire married to a bloody butcherous Van Helsing?"
Ian raised both hands imploringly. "You have to marry her. Imagine the consequences. Besides, being married to a mortal is only until death do you part. It's quickly over. Why, it will be a drop in the bucket to you, the years speeding by on your way to eternity."