by Minda Webber
"How astute of you to notice, my lord."
"Call me Neil," he enticed.
"It wouldn't be proper."
"Asher, then."
"All right," she agreed hesitantly. "In private."
"Ah, then you anticipate more private moments," he remarked. A devilish gleam filled his eyes. "Speaking of private…" He trailed off, moving closer.
Clair laughed, holding up her hands to ward him off. "You are all talk."
Asher grinned, hand over his heart. "You wound me. I have a rakish reputation to uphold."
"Uphold it with some other lady and behave yourself, Asher," she retorted.
"I will cease if you will grant me a boon."
"A boon?" Clair asked apprehensively. She understood that it was all well and good to make Ian jealous, but right now it seemed she had a tiger by the tail—or rather a werewolf.
Asher laughed at her fears. "Let me call you Clair."
Clair breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
Before more could be said by either party, the drapes were shoved aside and Clair was suddenly standing face-to-face with a very angry Ian. "Have you no care for your reputation?" he cried. "Asher is a renowned womanizer, and here you are alone with him." His fists clenched, his green eyes burning with rage.
With undisguised interest, Asher examined the byplay between the two. "The cavalry arrives," he remarked.
Ian glared. "Stay out of this, Asher!" Returning his attention to Clair, he bitterly scolded her, "You don't know what you're doing. Believe me, Asher's bite is much worse than his bark."
Asher arched an elegant shoulder. "That's rather the pot calling the kettle black," he said.
Ian ignored him, searching Clair's eyes for some tiny spark of forgiveness. "Asher's not to be trusted," he went on.
"And you are?" Clair inquired coldly. As she took in Ian's fierce countenance, she could feel waves of jealousy rolling off him. Plan B was a smashing success. Somehow she managed to hide her triumph.
Her words struck Ian forcibly. With a pained expression, he beseeched her, "Clair, forgive me. Please? I am sorry, truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
Asher jumped in with both feet. "But you did hurt her, didn't you?" the top-lofty earl accused. Taking Clair's hand in his, he craftily added, "I told you Ian would wound you. It's in his nature."
Ian snatched Clair's hand away from Asher, a feral look coming into his eyes. "Back off, Asher. She's mine."
Clair snatched her hand away from Ian. "In a pig's eye!" And with those words Clair departed pertly, leaving a forlorn and frustrated Ian and a very amused Asher.
"She's an intriguing woman. You don't have to worry any longer that I will kill her," the Earl of Wolverton remarked.
Ian turned, his fists clenched. "She's mine, Asher, and what's mine I hold," he growled. He would never let Clair end with Asher. The earl wasn't fit to touch the ground Clair walked on. "Take my words to heart, Asher. Back away or blood will be spilled. Yours!"
"Oh, I do hope for blood," Asher taunted. "I could use a good drink."
Ian advanced, his eyes glowing a dark green. "This is no game. And Clair is not prey."
Asher only shrugged. "Threats won't work. Besides, you should be overjoyed that I no longer see Clair's research as a problem. In point of fact, I have resolved the problem with Miss Frankenstein's belief that I am a werewolf—or it will resolve itself." He shuddered in amused revulsion at the word "werewolf." His was noble blood, the blood of both earls and vampires, and certainly not that of some four-footed creature at the beck and call of the moon.
"And how, pray tell, have you done that?" Ian asked.
"I will invite Clair and her aunt to be guests at a small country house party I am having that starts on Tuesday."
Despite his anger, Ian caught on quickly. "Wednesday is the full moon. And when you don't change into a wolf, Clair will be there to witness your nontransformation."
"Quite." Asher's expression was bland, not revealing his devious Plan A, which he had named From Here to Eternity and had Clair in the starring role. The unshakable Earl wanted Clair with an intensity that shocked him.
"How will you manage the days?" Ian asked. "Clair is a suspicious creature by nature."
"Again, that is calling the kettle black," Asher laughed.
Ian scowled.
"The guests will arrive late Tuesday afternoon. I will be called away on an emergency through Wednesday day, and Thursday the guests will be leaving in the morning."
Ian nodded, his expression grim. "Not bad. But Clair is going nowhere near you without me. I take it I am invited?" It was really not a question.
"I had really rather hoped to avoid it," Asher replied. He turned his back and departed.
"I will see you on Tuesday," Ian called out. His cousin Galen approached with a wry expression on his face.
"Gripping performance, coz. Dare I ask if there will be an encore?" he inquired.
Ian grunted and started to leave.
"Where are you going?" Galen asked.
"To find Clair."
"She left right after she spoke with you."
"Bloody hell! I wonder which rout she went to next?"
Galen shrugged and Ian stalked away, muttering under his breath, "Just wait till I find the little hellion."
"Isn't love grand?" Galen remarked to no one in particular.
Several routs later, Clair would have agreed with Galen's assessment in spite of her ill humor. She stood impatiently tapping her slippers as she waited for Ian to show up at the Bennington manor and glare at her. So far he had tracked her to the Faltisek fete and the Love rout. She was fairly sure that he would put in an appearance at the Benningtons', the last event of the evening.
Her anger was dwindling as Ian chased her around the town. At the beginning of the evening, she had wanted to give him a piece of her mind. Now she realized he had a huge piece of her heart, the swine.
Love was scary, exciting, and, utterly remarkable, Clair determined. And the reality of it was so much better than all her lonely midnight fantasies. Ian had touched an invisible part of her, hidden even from herself. He had made her whole. He both completed her and complemented her. Together they shared an inseparable nature like atoms with covalent bonds—a theory her uncle Victor was considering. If only Ian hadn't lied to her.
Clair felt a sudden brush against her sleeve and a cool wind on her neck. Startled, she turned to find Asher watching her with a proprietary look, his teeth white and gleaming.
"I should have known," she said. Drat! Ian still wasn't here.
Asher leered at her. "It must be my lucky night."
"Are you following me?" Clair asked, somewhat amused. Since Ian wasn't here, she might as well pursue her werewolf research.
"To the ends of the earth, Clair, the ends of the earth."
She laughed, the sound light and tinkling, causing Asher to smile. He could listen to her laugh forever. And he would, if he had his wicked way.
"Do you know, you are the first person to laugh at me in a very long while." It was not a question.
"How long? Ten years, twenty years? Hmm… a hundred?" she asked, crossing her fingers behind her back. It was a pretty weak ploy, but still she had to try.
In the pursuit of science, it was far better to try and fail than never to try at all.
The earl chuckled. "Come now, surely you don't think I am as old as that? However will my ego take this new insult?"
"With your consequence, I imagine you'll survive infamously well."
"Clair, you are a delight. Come away with me. We'll go to Paris and drink champagne in bed."
"Champagne gives me hiccups," she countered, keeping an eye out for Ian. Surely he would track her here, and soon?
Eyeing Asher, Clair got the feeling she might have bitten off more than she could chew. Especially when he said, "All right then, come away with me to the country."
When she gave him a frosty look, he added mischievously, "I am h
aving a house party at Wolverton Manor from this coming Tuesday through Thursday, with a small ball being given on Wednesday. Would you and your aunt Mary do me the honor of attending?"
Clair wanted to jump for joy. The wolf was inviting her to his den! She could almost feel the plaque given for the Scientific Discovery of the Decade.
Yes, she would gain her proof, Clair thought, her mind spinning. But she had to admit to some surprise, in spite of her inner victory dance. Wednesday night was the full moon. All shapeshifters would shift into animal form during the full moon. How on earth did Asher plan to host a ball all furry and fanged?
The crafty earl must be plotting something. There was no way Asher could host a party Wednesday night, unless he planned to scare his guests to death with a demonstration of metamorphism. However, knowing the wily earl, Clair felt sure that Asher would come up with some emergency to leave his guests by themselves that night. But that would not stop Clair from getting her information.
"I would love to attend. However, I have a small problem. I have invited the Duke of Ghent for dinner on Tuesday and would hate to rescind?" Clair made it a question, hoping Asher would respond appropriately. He did.
"I would be delighted to extend the invitation to His Grace also," he replied gallantly.
"Then my answer is yes. Thank you." Clair beamed. Finally! This time, she was invited to a house and didn't have to break and enter to gather information. As an added bonus, Aunt Mary and Ozzie would have a chance to rekindle their old flame. And to top things off, Ian would be livid.
As casually as she could, she asked Asher if Ian would be attending.
"Over my dead body," the earl teased. Or was he teasing? "Speak of the devil, here he is. And yes, an invitation has been regretfully extended. One can always hope he will break a leg or neck before then."
Clair gave Asher a disapproving look, then peered around his shoulder. She spotted Ian making determined course toward them, his face the perfect picture of displeasure.
Asher studied Ian's face, registering the cold fury there. Bowing to Clair, he commented dryly, "I believe it would be in both our best interests for me to decamp." He gave her hand a courtly kiss. "But never fear, sweet Clair. I leave the field of battle tonight to return in victory tomorrow." Her fresh scent lingered in his nostrils as he walked off into the crowd.
Clair barely noticed Asher's departure as she watched Ian approach. Ian's face could be the pattern for a mask of wrath. His jaws were clenched, his lips pinched in a tight, fine line, and his eyes blazed like green coals. Heat rolled off him in fierce waves. Perhaps, she judged silently, she had pushed him a bit too far—just a tad. Perhaps Plan B was not quite as brilliant as she had thought.
Before Clair could even greet him, Ian grabbed her arm—none too gently—and hurriedly escorted her around the perimeter of the dance floor. He moved like a man on a mission, never giving his love a chance to speak.
Reaching the balcony doors, he pushed Clair outside and dragged her over to a dark corner on the far side of the massive stone terrace. Large ferns and other potted plants completely hid the place from prying eyes. There Ian glowered at Clair, barely keeping his already too heated feelings from boiling over and scalding her.
"I'm surprised I didn't catch you waltzing with the earl, arm in arm, cheek to cheek," he snapped.
Sniffing, Clair replied politely, "I wasn't in the mood to dance with wolves."
Ian shook his head. "Bloody hell! Enough is enough, Clair! I said I was sorry, damn it!"
Before she could utter a word in anger or defense, he grabbed her roughly by her shoulders and pulled her tight against him. She struggled, but to no good gain as his lips crushed against hers. Ian forced his tongue inside her mouth, breaching those sweet depths as he initiated a wild, plundering rhythm and held her in a bruising embrace.
His kiss burned Clair all the way down to her soul, setting her aflame. Cursing herself, she let the kiss continue, knowing that the lies had not been resolved, but she was helpless beneath the onslaught of his passion and her own. She could do no less than respond, since she stupidly loved this man—the betraying reprobate.
As experienced as he was, Ian recognized the exact moment Clair capitulated. In some dim part of his brain he knew he should stop kissing and start explaining while she was in a complacent mood, but he didn't. Asher's poaching had set forth a primal urge to make Clair his own. Ian ravished her mouth, taking her ample breasts in his hands.
By God! he thought lustily. Her bosoms felt as magnificent as they looked. Clair arched helplessly into his hands, powerless under his flaming kiss. She moaned softly, feeding his need to be deep inside her. Ian had never wanted anything as desperately as to make Clair his in both word and deed. Her fiery response had his body swelling near to bursting.
Grabbing the skirt of her gown, he pulled it to her knees and settled her on the terrace edge. Her skin was smooth as silk, he mused, as his fingers worshiped her thighs. Inching closer, he edged his way into the slit of her undergarments, groaning. She was wet and hot. Bloody hell, he needed to bury himself in her hot sweet place.
The touch of Ian's fingers on her cleft made Clair shiver. The feelings washing over her were like a tidal wave. Colors flashed in her mind's eye—colors of deep purple, amethyst, and lilac. She wanted to scream with pleasure. She wanted to shout with joy. She wanted to lie down and make love right this moment on the Benningtons' terrace. They could charge admission.
That single wanton thought brought Clair to her senses. Good grief! She was fornicating with Ian on the Benningtons' terrace with Aunt Mary and over a hundred guests in the ballroom less than five yards away!
Drat, drat, and double drat! Her lusty, wanton, red-blooded nature was going to get her sent to hell on a fast-moving train. She wrenched her head away from Ian, her breath coming in short jerky spurts.
"Ian, stop it," she warned, pushing against him. "Get your bloody hand out of my drawers."
Clair's words brought him to his senses. Breathing hard, Ian stepped back, straightening her gown. "Damn, Clair. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"To what? Make love to me on the Benningtons' terrace?" she asked archly, her heart racing and her stomach churning, her body quivering with unfilled desire. She pointed a finger. "The Benningtons' terrace!" she repeated.
Frustrated at the reaction of his body, at Clair, and at himself, Ian ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to get carried away…" He trailed off, his chest heaving.
"On the Benningtons' terrace," she said again.
"Damn it! Can't we get past the Benningtons' terrace?" he asked. "I said I was sorry."
She slid down and onto her feet. "Sorry for trying to make love to me on the Benningtons' terrace?" she repeated a fourth time, wanting to smile at the irritated look Ian shot her. "Or sorry for sending me on a wild goose chase to the duke's? You lied to me, Ian. You looked me straight in the eye and lied."
Ian tightly clasped both her hands. "Tonight I got carried away. I would do nothing to harm your reputation or you. I told you what I did about the Duke of Ghent to keep you away from Asher. He is a dangerous man. I didn't want to see you get hurt, and yet I ended up hurting you. If I could take the lies back, I would."
Clair searched his face, seeking the truth. "You betrayed me. Would you do it again?"
He kissed her gently on the forehead. He knew her belief would either set him free or apart from Clair forever. "I will never betray you again, Clair. In any form or fashion."
Clair gasped. Coming from one of the ton's greatest rakes, here was an oath tantamount to a vow of fidelity. She hated to admit it to herself, but she had been worried about Ian and his reputation as a rake. If she ever gave her heart away, it would be forever. Fidelity was something crucial to Clair. Staring up into Ian's beloved face, she asked cautiously, "Including other women?"
He nodded solemnly. Clair hugged him tightly.
"I will also try to tell you the truth at all times if I can." Ian knew
deep in his soul that there was no other woman for him. He had found the perfect mate in an imperfect setting.
The second avowal she wasn't too thrilled with. She dropped her arms. "Try to tell me the truth?"
Ian touched her nose with his finger. "Try, you minx. Sometimes truth is a relative thing. It's the best I can offer." He turned to go. "Sleep on it?"
Chewing her lip, she nodded as Ian walked away. It had been an exhausting night. But her investigation had taken a mighty leap forward. And all in all, Plan B had been one of her most inspired plans of all time, a plan that actually worked brilliantly.
Strange how the bee of jealousy had stung Ian. Rubbing her lips, Clair felt as though she had been stung herself. She grinned, remembering the old saying about the birds and the bees.
The Mirror Has Two Faces
" 'Does the imagination dwell the most upon a woman won or woman lost?' " Asher asked Renfield as he stood in his bedchamber and waited for the valet to finish tying his cravat.
"Tennyson, my lord?" Renfield asked politely. He had been the earl's human servant for over sixty years. With a flourish he finished tying the Oriental, a clever new twist in a long list of cravat styles, at all of which the valet knew he was the master.
"Yeats."
"I take it Baron Huntsley is the reason for your question?"
"As always, you are correct. How does this look?" Asher asked as he glanced into the oval gilt-framed mirror, studying his reflection.
"Outstanding, my lord," Reinfield replied somberly, brushing a speck of lint from a black superfine evening jacket. "I take it you are still annoyed about the opera singer and that unfortunate wager several years ago."
Asher scowled, soothing back a tangle of chestnut hair from his forehead. "She should have been mine. Bloody embarrassing losing the chit to Huntsley, especially after half of White's knew of the wager. Who knew the silly creature would prefer to give her favors to Huntsley rather than me? I had no idea the hussy had such deplorable taste."
