The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein

by Minda Webber

  Wanting to push him away, her arms instead ended up wrapping around his neck. She could feel the luxuriant thickness of his hair where it lay over his collar. It was as soft as silk.

  And his body felt wonderful. In the back of her mind, Clair decided to put the inertia principal into practice, to take the path of least resistance and just stay in his arms for a bit longer.

  A lick of fire shot like a comet from her stomach to her lips, tingles spurting from her toes to other regions. The sensation was astounding. She had never felt the like before. No wonder vampires were the lovers of choice in those gothic stories if they could kiss like this, she mused. Why, it made her blood rush to her head! Her heart beat giddily faster, pumping more of her hot red blood…

  Blood! That was the key word, her mind inserted loudly. Her blood was hot and she was hot and he was a vampire hungering for her life's fluid, wanting to steal it from her! While she on the other hand was rather fond of it and definitely wanted to keep every last drop.

  Regaining her somewhat bemused wits, Clair shoved against his chest. Reluctantly Ian released her.

  Clair hastily and rather belatedly grabbed her cross, shoving it into his face. Inching away, she warned, "Stay back! I am not afraid to use this."

  Ian merely yawned.

  "So much for the cross," she muttered. Undaunted, she quickly groped beneath her large black cape. "Aha," she added triumphantly as she pulled out a stick.

  Ian had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. She held a small stick not much bigger than his index finger, about four inches long with no sharpened end.

  "I take it that is a stake?" he said.

  Clair looked at what she held in her hand. "Well, actually no. It's what I used to pry your window open upstairs." She dropped the stick and fished around inside her cape again, coming up with a garlic clove.

  He sniffed, then shook his head. "Try again."

  Frustrated, she dropped the garlic.

  Ian shook his head. If she wasn't so deliciously scary, she would be dangerous. She gave him a haughty look.

  Arms crossed on his chest, he watched her fumble around inside her cloak again and wished it was his hands roaming her body. "I could help." He smiled, a rakish smile that had lifted a thousand skirts. The effect it had on Clair, however, was somewhat different from what Ian anticipated.

  "You have awfully big teeth," she said suspiciously.

  He couldn't help himself. "The better to eat you with, my dear." His grin was pure wolf.

  "My lord, this is no joking matter! I am human and you are…" She paused. "Well, you aren't. Control yourself, sir."

  If you only knew, Ian mused. His control was perfect, all he wanted to do right now was lay Clair Frankenstein across that coffin and ravish her thoroughly until she screamed with pleasure again and again and again.

  "I would say I am exhibiting remarkable control," he told her. "After all, I haven't had you arrested for breaking and entering. What would society say? What would your uncles say?"

  "Nothing, for neither rain nor snow nor sleet," Clair began, then ad-libbed ingeniously, "nor vampires can stop a Frankenstein's quest for truth. Besides, my lord, no one will ever know I was here."

  "And why is that?"

  "If you told them we were here alone, then I would be compromised by you and—"

  Ian interrupted. "You compromised me."

  Ignoring his remark Clair continued, "You would either have to marry me, leave me to be ruined, or tell them I was here searching for your daytime hiding place. And I am positive that you don't want anyone to know where your resting place really is. After all, I assume that is a vampire's cardinal rule. And if you ruined me, I could reveal your daytime sleeping quarters. So you would be forced to marry me… if you were to tell anyone I was here."

  Ian shook his head. "Ah, a fate worse than death to be sure."

  Clair frowned, wondering what he meant: others finding out about his coffin, or marrying her?

  He took two steps toward her, a roguish gleam in his eye. "I could just have my wicked way with you and make you my vampire queen," he suggested.

  Clair didn't find that amusing. "I would make a terrible queen, and besides I detest the color red. It looks ghastly on me."

  He couldn't help himself. He had to ask. "Red?"

  "Hmmm?" Clair murmured, once again hunting through her big black cape. "Yes, well, all vampire queens wear red."

  Ian turned his back to her, hiding another grin. "Did you happen to notice what color I am wearing?"

  "Black. But I mean at nighttime. You know—bedtime, I mean. Sleeping garments. Vampires wear red to go to bed. I mean, to go to their coffins. Or when eating."

  Ian turned back around, staring in fascination. "And how did you arrive at this conclusion?"

  "It was my uncle Victor's theory. Less wear and tear on the clothes with all the bloodstains. My uncle is so brilliant, he simply astounds me at times. I am very fortunate to have him for my relative. When other children were being told about sugarplum fairies, my uncle was discussing with me how electrical impulses can regenerate dead flesh."

  Ian shook his head. This tiny, possibly batty female astounded him. "And your uncle Victor came up with the red-clothing theory?"

  Clair nodded.

  "I rather thought vampires retired without their clothes, au naturel," Ian said slyly, watching her rummage through her cloak. He had always enjoyed cloak-and-dagger stuff before, but tonight he was positively thrilled at the prospect of discovering just what lay beneath the cloak.

  Clair chose not to hear him. "Aha!" she said. This time she pulled out a fairly decent-looking stake, approximately ten inches in length, oak and very sharp.

  One of Van Helsing's models, Ian noted, if he was not mistaken.

  "I knew I had it somewhere," Clair added brightly.

  "Now, what do you intend to do with it?" Ian asked.

  "Why, win my way free of you, of course."

  "You are going to stake me?"

  Clair shook her head. "No, only frighten yon." She didn't really think she could stake the handsome baron, no matter how much time went by. He was much too good-looking. And then there had been that kiss, a kiss which made her think of red clothing and and love bites and bedtime in vampire-land. That kiss had not been just a kiss, on that she could rely. She sighed.

  Holding the vampire stake upright in her hand as though she were holding a candelabrum, she motioned the baron forward. She was very proud of herself. She had been face-to-face with a master vampire and survived. Clair hoped her aunt Mary was still awake, for she had a tale or two to tell of the crypt tonight.

  "Please, my lord, would you lead the way out of here?"

  Ian nodded, thinking she was either the bravest woman he had ever known or the craziest. He gallantly did as she requested.

  At the top of the stairs, he stopped. "Miss Frankenstein, you do realize that the vampire is only a creature of legend?" He held his hand up when she tried to argue. "In spite of what your uncle Tieck wrote, in spite of your uncle Victor's paranormal research, there are no such creatures as vampires. Do I make myself clear?"

  "I'm sorry, but I beg to differ with you. My studies into the arcane world indicate—rather emphatically I might add—that there are such creatures. You, my lord, are one of them. And I will prove it with or without your help," she sallied. She pushed open a heavy door leading into a long hallway behind the main stairs of the main foyer. Stepping through, she and Ian startled a serving maid walking by with linens in her arms.

  "I am sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Clair apologized. The young Welsh serving maid's eyes went round, her mouth a perfect O as she gaped at the stake Clair held in her hand.

  "Rats," Clair temporized. "Big rats." The maid scurried away as fast as her feet would take her.

  Ian sighed as he watched the maid go. It looked as if he would have to find a replacement. "Keep this up, Miss Frankenstein, and you will find that you have bitten off more than you can
chew," he warned.

  "I rather thought that was my line," she said haughtily. Then, with a swish of her skirts, she stormed regally off. It would have been a great exit, Clair later commiserated with her aunt Mary, if she hadn't dropped another piece of garlic on her way out the door.

  Early to Rise and No Vampire Ashes

  "The rumors of my being undead have been greatly exaggerated," Ian stated formally, his green eyes glinting with mischief.

  "It's impossible," Clair said, clasping a hand to her breast. "You are not a vampire!" Stunned, she stared at Baron Huntsley, who stood in her morning room alive and well and certainly not bursting into flames. Not even one ash was upon the fool man. Didn't he know the rules of vampiredom? A vampire burned to a crisp in broad daylight.

  "When my butler, Brooks, announced you, I thought he had misheard," she said to herself. Drat the blasted reprobate. She fumed, feeling like her friend Alice, who had fallen down a rabbit hole. How was the impossible possible? She was hallucinating, perhaps due to burning the midnight oil once too often.

  She blinked. No, Baron Huntsley was still there. She glanced outside the bay window, scarcely noticing how the bright sunlight lit the evergreens. Yes, it was indeed morning. She glanced at her pocket watch, noting the time: two hours until noon, a time when all good vampires were home in bed and sleeping the sleep of the dead. Yet all evidence to the contrary, vampire Huntsley stood firm and handsome before her, a mocking grin on his aristocratic face as he watched the thoughts tumbling through her mind.

  Clair shook her head in disbelief. "How is it possible? Do you have a twin? Am I dreaming?" She quickly pinched herself. Ouch. No, she wasn't dreaming.

  "How could I be wrong?" she contemplated pettishly. "Such diligent, brilliant research. So very much time and effort wasted… wasted!"

  The family butler stood nearby, the epitome of the well bred English butler. He was in his early fifties, though sometimes looked like he was sixty, and was a slight figure of a man with dark brown hair. One silver streak ran through his thinning tresses. He had learned early on in his life with the Frankensteins to never act unduly surprised. Nowadays in particular, he never revealed his high anxiety, especially over Clair's blazing escapades.

  "Perhaps the baron would care for some refreshment?" he asked stoically, a long-suffering look on his face. He knew his mistress's moods and quirks too well, and right now she was in her "I can't believe I've wasted all my time for nothing" mode.

  Clair glanced at Brooks, nodding at the suggestion, then zeroed in on the baron. "Sir, you are no gentleman. How could you let me believe that you were a vampire? It was not well done of you at all. I was up half the night recording our meeting in my notebook."

  Ian raised a dark eyebrow. "I never claimed to be a vampire, Miss Frankenstein, if you will only recall." He shook his head slightly. What a little minx! She was miffed because he wasn't a bloodsucker. Yet if he had been one of the undead, her life expectancy would have been greatly reduced that night.

  She sniffed daintily as Ian studied her from the top of her burnished head to her rather small feet. She was dressed in a gown of apricot silk, with lace around the bodice and puffed sleeves. Her glorious golden hair was caught up in an elaborate twist with a few curls dangling about her cheeks. A ribbon of the same color as her dress was entwined in her coiffure.

  In broad daylight and with that awful cape gone, Ian could view her figure to his heart's content. And what a figure it was, from her tiny waist to her plump breasts. Since Ian was definitely a breast man, he was doubly impressed. He had visions of burying his head between those full globes and sucking sweetly.

  He lifted his eyes, hoping his perusal had gone unnoticed. It had. Miss Frankenstein once again had her head in the inexplicable and cloudy academic realms she frequented. He watched her chewing on her bottom lip.

  In actuality, while Ian was studying Clair, Clair was readjusting her scientific schedule. This would put her back a day or two. It frustrated her to no end. She truly hated wasting time, but it was not the baron's fault, she finally conceded. She knew she had been taught better manners than to blame others for her mistakes. Her aunt Mary would have a fit.

  "Forgive me, my lord. You are correct. It was my research and my mistake. Please accept my apology."

  She was still upset that all her work had led her to the wrong man. But what a man, she admitted silently. He really was ruggedly handsome, the morning light shining on his raven locks, bringing out the bluish highlights. His dark green eyes reminded her of the rebirth of spring, of hope after a long winter vigil. They were really quite remarkable eyes, she reflected, so filled with fire and heat.

  "Research?" Ian asked, wanting to know more, having to know more.

  "Hmmm… yes. My research into the habits and nature of supernatural creatures," she answered. "In other words, I have done an intense study on things that go bump and bite in the night. All things supernatural, that is."

  Fascinating, he thought. And frightening. Most ladies would be terrified to admit such creatures existed. None, he knew, would try to research the subject to do just that.

  "Is that truly why you were snooping about my house last night?" Ian knew all about sneaking and spying, having been employed by the government.

  "I wasn't snooping," she responded hotly. "I was intending to conduct important scientific studies, and your name topped my list of subjects."

  Clair silently seethed. He thought her to be one of those people who was always going about indiscriminately sticking their noses into someone else's business—like that Homes fellow, who was a friend of her uncle Victor and aunt Mary.

  "Very important scientific studies. You know, extremely important inquiries into the realm of the arcane."

  "I see," Ian said, thinking how cute she looked with her deep gray eyes shooting sparks at him. "I should have realized that any niece of Victor Frankenstein would be interested in the more unusual roads of scientific inquiry."

  "You mentioned my uncle last night… albeit mistakenly. Do you perhaps know him?" Clair asked.

  "Who could not know the great Dr. Victor Frankenstein? I attended several of his lectures during my university days in Vienna. I was quite impressed with some of his suppositions. Although some of those theories do trip into the realm of the extremely bizarre."

  "Such as?"

  "The cloning of people."

  "Ah yes. One of his favorite theories. Uncle Victor believes that someday scientists will clone many things. Perhaps a goat or a sheep or even people. He also believes doctors will be able to harvest organs from dying patients and place them in people who have weak hearts or kidneys."

  Ian arched a skeptical brow.

  "It is a beautiful hope for the future."

  "Hope springs eternal."

  "True. Hope and good old-fashioned hard work and research. Research my uncle is on the cutting edge of," Clair added proudly. "Uncle Victor is quite brilliant. Perhaps the most brilliant of all scientists alive."

  Ian nodded politely, amused. Victor Frankenstein was brilliant, but he was also a card-carrying lunatic. He was most famous for his forays into animating dead flesh—queer work which had created widespread controversy, not to mention chaos when his creation escaped and roamed the countryside, eating up blind men's food and setting fire to the Ritz after a particularly bohemian display of dancing.

  Ian couldn't help cringing when he remembered that fated night. He and some of his cronies had gone to see the dancing monster the night the Ritz had gone up in flames.

  Ian sighed, admitting to himself that Victor and the monster had danced a mean soft-shoe. But who else but a card-carrying lunatic would introduce a monster to the Countess of Deville and expect all to go well?

  The countess was well known for her love of big men and their larger-than-life attributes, and one couldn't get much bigger than Victor's monster. The countess was also known to be rather randy and grabby. She had grabbed the monster by his assets and squeezed.
/>   The monster, taken by surprise, had barked into the Earl of Kent, who in turn fell on the Marquis of Stoker, who in turn landed on Major Van Helsing, who knocked over both Mr. Bear and his wife, etcetera and etcetera, until the stage lights had been knocked over and the stage curtains had caught fire. It had been a typical Frankenstein fiasco. Still, Ian didn't want to hurt Clair's familial feelings.

  "Yes, your uncle is brilliant. By the way, how is the monster faring?"

  Clair frowned. How rude! "We don't call him the monster. His name is Frederick Frankenstein. My uncle adopted him, you know. And he is doing quite fine, thank you."

  She crossed her fingers behind her back. She had recently gotten a letter from her uncle Victor. Silently she sent a prayer upward: Frederick, please come home. Frederick had wandered away again, and the villagers were in an uproar. Sometimes, she thought, Frederick was worse than a mischievous pup—although in his favor, Frederick was house-trained.

  "You know, Frederick has really had quite a hard life, growing up as he did," she told Baron Huntsley.

  "You mean, being pieced together from different human body parts?" Ian asked.

  Clair shot him a quick glance to see if Ian was mocking her, then motioned for Brooks to enter with the tea tray. "I mean he is lonely. After all, he is the only one of his kind. It sometimes makes him rather melancholy. I used to give him pets. Once I gave him several lizards for company, when he first came to live with us." Clair stopped suddenly, a strange look on her face.

  Brooks set the tray on the table. Seeing the sad look on his mistress's face, he tried consoling her in his stiff-necked, formal way. "Now, Miss Clair, you couldn't have known that Frederick would eat those iguanas or the fish."

  Ian coughed, trying to cover his laughter. "Fish?" he finally managed to inquire with a straight face.

  Clair nodded, pouring the tea. "Goldfish." Again, she shook her head. "It seems they are a favorite delicacy of Frederick's."

  Holding up the tray, she asked, "Cream or sugar?" Ian shook his head, taking the cup as Brooks left the room. Clair sighed, watching the butler depart. "Well, I guess not everyone is a pet lover," she mused sadly.