The Remarkable Miss Frankenstein

by Minda Webber

  "Brooks, what a horrid thing to say to me! You make it sound as though I go around courting trouble," Clair retorted.

  Brooks put on his long-suffering expression. "Trouble is your middle name," he said.

  "No, it's Elizabeth. And this time everything is my husband's fault. The baron is a…" She cleared her throat and tried again. "Ian is a…" She trailed off in a fit of coughing, unable to denounce her husband for the werewolf that he was. She didn't understand it, but somehow the words lodged in her throat.

  Brooks raised a brow. "Yes?"

  "Oh, never mind. Where is Aunt Mary?"

  "Lady Mary is in the Blue Salon. She is going over a funeral service for the hamster, Stedman." Brooks gestured the way politely, his curiosity running rampant. Why was Clair home from her honeymoon minus one groom? He started to follow her, but she pointed to the stairs and her baggage. "I can find them myself, Brooks."

  He picked up her portmanteau and sniffed. "I can take a hint," he groused.

  Clair shook her head, following the hallway toward the Blue Salon. She knew Brooks was curious, but she had other things on her mind right now—like the sight of her naked husband growing extremely long claws and fangs.

  Entering the Blue Salon, Clair spied her aunt immediately. Lady Mary was talking to a thin older woman with red eyes and nose. The woman was dressed all in black. Clair recalled her briefly. She was a widow by the name of Bonni… something or another. Clair moved to the receiving table and waited as the older woman spoke.

  "Yes, I think I like the relaxed pose that frog is wearing," the woman said, pointing to one of her aunt's favorite specimens, a large green frog wearing a red ascot and reclining on a lily pad. The frog's legs were crossed. "Yes, give Stedman that pose. He was always so busy in life, scurrying here and there, biting at his cage. I think he deserves a rest in the afterlife."

  Glancing around, Clair noted the small box on the receiving table. Stunned, she blinked her eyes and looked again. Still stunned, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Opening them, she found that she hadn't been wrong; the box held a very large, very ugly rat.

  Brooks walked up beside her and noticed her expression. He smiled slyly.

  "I thought you said this was a hamster. This isn't a hamster. It's a big fat rat," Clair whispered. A big fat rat just like my husband.

  "Lady Bonfield thinks it's a hamster," Brooks replied, unruffled.

  "But it's a rat," Clair argued.

  "To you and me, yes. But Lady Bonfield has bad eyesight. And she is too vain to wear spectacles."

  In spite of her troubles, Clair had to stifle a chuckle. This was a first for her aunt: stuffing a rat and giving said rat a funeral service.

  She shook her head. "Brooks, tell my aunt I'll meet her in the library when she's finished here."

  The butler nodded.

  Clair made her way to the library, and there she sank down wearily onto the rose brocade sofa. Why hadn't Ian told her the truth about his supernatural lineage? All those weeks of running around and worrying over her research, and everything could have been greatly eased by the knowledge that Ian was a wolfman. It would have also helped in those first days, when she was trying to track the London nest of vampires, if she had known Ian had otherworldly powers. But rather than studying the supernatural, she had been the victim of a super hoax! It was not to be borne!

  Face clasped in her hands, Clair wrinkled her brow. She needed to formulate a plan, something where Ian got down on his knees and crawled to her—in human form, of course, preferably through hard gravel and pleading for mercy. Mercy which she would not grant. Mercy which she would absolutely, positively not grant.

  The picture of Ian clear in her mind, Clair added more. Maybe he should crawl naked to her, his broad shoulders and arms rippling, his thick thighs bulging with muscles, and just above his thighs, standing at full attention…

  Clair fanned herself. No, not naked. Ian should definitely not crawl naked to her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by her aunt entering the room. Glancing up, Clair noted vaguely that Lady Mary's expression was worried.

  "Clair, what are you doing here? This is your honeymoon."

  "I've left Ian," Clair replied, her eyes sparkling with gray fire.

  "But it's been less than two days," Lady Mary remarked, shocked to her gentle soul.

  "I know. But I had no choice. He's a wolf." This time, the words came clear and free. Odd, Clair thought. I can reveal Ian's werewolfism to my aunt, but not to my butler.

  "Dear, you knew that when you married him. Ian is a handsome rake, and the ladies have always found him attractive. Besides, they say reformed rakes make the best husbands."

  Clair rolled her eyes. She loved her aunt, but sometimes the dear lady could be a tad dense. "Not that kind of wolf, but a real wolf. A furry, big-toothed werewolf." Her words hung in the air rather like a big stink.

  Lady Mary's eyes became as round as saucers. Then, after several seconds of silent contemplation, she remarked, "Clair, nobody's perfect."

  Clair's eyes widened with disbelief. "He's a liar and a werewolf. He is so far from perfect as to be completely imperfect."

  "They say love is blind," her aunt retorted.

  "It would also have to be deaf in this instance, Aunt. Ian actually howls at the moon."

  "Well, dear… that's what wolves do. I guess even wolfish husbands," Lady Mary replied, her brow furrowed. "I was going to ask you if you were sure about this, but I can see that you are."

  "Yes. Ian transformed into a wolf for my wedding gift."

  "Well, dear, you have to admit that is an original wedding gift. Won't your uncle be thrilled? Think of all the scientific questions he'll get to ask."

  It had been a stupendous sight, Clair recalled. So awe-inspiring that she had cried soft tears of wonder. But she was not about to let her aunt know that. Ian deserved no defense from her.

  Instead she said, "Ha! He lied to me. All that time I was investigating the vampire nest here in London, and he was one of the supernatural creatures I was looking for. You know I thought he was a vampire pretending to be a man. Instead he is a werewolf pretending to be a man, wooing me with those hungry green eyes." Clair was furious. She hated being lied to about anything. It went against her grain and of course the family motto: The truth at all costs.

  "He knew how important my work was to me, and that prestigious award. Yet Ian straight-up lied when I asked if he was a vampire."

  "But he isn't a vampire, dear. He's a werewolf," Lady Mary reminded her.

  "But he knew that I thought that he was a supernatural creature, and he is a supernatural creature—just not a vampire."

  "But you didn't ask him if he was a werewolf, only a vampire. You thought the Earl of Wolverton was a werewolf."

  "Don't remind me. Yes, I was the girl who cried wolf. But Ian was aware that I thought the earl was a were. When I needed to know where the weres were, Ian knew the whereabouts of the weres, because he is the were," Clair finished dramatically.

  Lady Mary's head was spinning. Her niece was a genius at times, but this wasn't one of those times. "Ian didn't lie. He just didn't explain his ancestry. I admit it is an unusual heritage. But think how lucky you are. You needn't ever run out of fresh meat."

  Clair crossed her eyes. Leave her aunt to find something positive in this situation.

  Seeing her niece's annoyance, Lady Mary added, "Besides, now you have your supernatural subject right at your front door. In point of fact, your research of preternatural predators can take place in your very own home. And may I remind you what a nice home it is, the ancestral Huntsley baronial estate."

  Clair shrugged. "I will admit I am a tiny bit excited about having my own personal specimen to study at leisure. But that is the only point in Ian's favor."

  Her aunt raised her eyebrows. "The only point?"

  Clair blushed, remembering the fiercely passionate lovemaking of her wedding night, before the groom had got down on four legs and ru
n off after the cat.

  A loud knocking could be heard down the hall. Lady Mary glanced in that direction, remarking astutely, "I think I hear the wolf at the door."

  Clair scowled. "Well, I am not one of the three little pigs." Moving closer to the hallway, she called out loudly, "Brooks, if that is the treacherous, lying dog Baron Huntsley, don't let him in."

  "Clair, remember you are a lady," her aunt admonished.

  "Too late," Ian warned, his green eyes glowing with anger as he stalked into the room. "The wolf's not only at your door, he's in the house. Run, piggy, run."

  He stood tall and formidable, glaring at Clair, dark circles under his eyes marring the perfection of his handsome face. Clair's leaving had devastated him.

  Stealthily he approached, halting only when his boots touched the hem of her dress.

  Angrily, Clair kicked him. "You know I hate piggy jokes."

  Ian reacted to the attack by grabbing Clair and pulling her into his arms. His lips smashed down on hers. It was an angry kiss, the kiss of man who had woken up the morning after his wedding to discover his mate had fled his lair. In other words, he was not a happy wolf. He was a big mad wolf with big white gritted teeth.

  Clair's body responded, her love for Ian filling her, reminding her of how he made her feel. Heart aching—as well as other regions of her anatomy—she reminded herself of his deceit. Fiercely, she pushed him away.

  "You beast!"

  Ian's eyes flashed angrily. "I won't deny it. I am what I am."

  Dramatically, she pointed a finger at him and continued, her words fueled by anger. "You four-footed bounder! You lying lycanthrope."

  He grabbed her finger, put it between his lips, and bit gently.

  "You whopper-telling werewolf."

  Uncomfortably, Lady Mary cleared her throat. "I have to go and see to your great-aunt Abby, who is hosting tea for Louis today." She exited the room.

  Ian glanced briefly at the departing woman, then switched his attention back to his angry wife. Clair's gray eyes were sparking a deep flinty color. Her cheeks were flushed and her bosom was heaving. He wanted to make mad, passionate love with her. But seeing her expression, he knew it would only be mad love right now.

  He had known Clair would be a tad upset that he hadn't revealed his werewolfism sooner. He also knew she hated liars. But he had foolishly thought her excitement, her unrelentingly curious scientific mind, her Frankensteinian lust for exploring the unknown, would overrule her female nature. He had gambled big and gambled wrong.

  Worse, he had never thought that Clair would leave him. It was humiliating. It was maddening. It was something he had become acquainted with more frequently since falling in love with a Frankenstein, this impossible mix of frustration and feeling as if he were stuck on another continent, not knowing the native language. Did anyone speak Clairese?

  "I thought you would be thrilled to continue your research up close and personal… on me," he remarked, waggling his eyebrows. "I told you long ago that I would be honored to be your lab experiment. Think of all the research you can do late at night. On my body." He smiled wolfishly.

  Clair shivered. He was playing dirty. She had only tasted a tiny amount of Ian's lovemaking, and it was better than any scientific discovery she had ever made. Now her body craved his, the fiend. He'd probably expected that when he first made love to her. Now she was an Ian addict, addicted to werewolf love. The cad!

  She narrowed her eyes, her mouth a firm straight line. All she said was, "Ha!"

  "You can explore to your heart's content. Run your fingers over my body. Feel my muscles. Feel how they stretch, like how I feel you stretch when I fill you with…" He took her fingers and ran them over his chest.

  "Harold Ian Huntsley, behave yourself. Brooks is probably listening at the door," Clair admonished sternly, her cheeks bright red. But her mind was reeling with the possibilities. She would count all the hairs on Ian when he transformed, then compare that to the number of hairs on a natural wolf. Of course, Ian would have to find her the natural wolf. She could measure his fangs and all sorts of other things.

  He chuckled. "I love it when you get embarrassed," he said. He began stalking her, and Clair backed away, shaking her head, her tawny curls bouncing.

  "I love it when you kiss me," he continued. "I love it when you get a new idea and your eyes sparkle. I even love it when you drag me into trouble on one of your investigations." Ian paused, watching the pulse in his wife's throat as she circled behind the settee.

  He smiled wickedly. He could hunt Clair forever, predator that he was, and never tire of it. She was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, and she was most definitely his.

  "Most of all," he finished, "I love it when you scream my name when you reach climax."

  Clair's blush spread to her chest, and she glared at him, waving her finger back and forth. "You… you dog!"

  "Wrong species," he said. He jumped over the couch and grabbed Clair, enfolding her in his arms. "Clair, I love you. Wolves mate for life, and you're mine."

  He pulled her around to the front of the settee and settled her in his lap. At first she put up a token resistance, but his kisses weakened her. Who was she fooling? She loved Harold Ian Huntsley to the depths of her soul. He was her other half. She was a fool for this handsome wolf.

  She held him close, then regretfully pushed herself away from the comfort of his warm chest. She had questions to ask. He had answers he needed to give to her.

  "You lied to me, Ian," she said.

  He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes. "I never lied."

  She started to protest. He put his finger on her lips and shook his head. "I didn't tell you what I was at first because I have my family to protect, plus a whole clan of other werewolves. We let few humans into our circle because of the danger. It's the same as with Asher and the vampires."

  "But you could have told me about yourself later," Clair protested. "And what about when I thought the Earl of Wolverton was a werewolf? You knew he was a vampire. Why didn't you tell me?"

  Ian shook his head solemnly. "Clair, all supernatural creatures protect one another. We have to. It is our blood bond and our blood duty. The preternatural world is a small one."

  "That's why you threw me off the scent with Ozzie, telling me he was a practitioner of the black arts when he only studies the culinary arts."

  Ian nodded.

  "What about when we made love for the first time? You could have told me then."

  "Clair, I was so concerned about getting you to marry me that night, I didn't think revealing I was a werewolf was the correct courting procedure."

  She turned her face away, but Ian continued, "Clair, we shapeshifters share a pact. We can't reveal what we are to humans unless they are related by blood or marriage. I couldn't tell you what I was until you were my wife."

  She searched his eyes and saw he spoke the truth.

  "I told you as soon as I could. If you had waited around long enough for me to transform back, I would have explained. Instead you chose to run home," he scolded gently. "We can't solve our marital problems like that."

  She leaned her head against his chest, slipping her arms around his waist. "I guess not. But I was so angry at you." She understood family loyalty.

  "I know," he teased, "you were yelling at me like a fishwife."

  "Hmm. Your bark is worse than your bite. All you did was howl and growl back."

  "I wasn't in a position to do anything else." He kissed the top of her head, her golden curls shining in the light from the large bay window. "Are you truly upset that I'm a werewolf?"

  Clair leaned back and gazed up at him. "Can I be turned into one?"

  "No, Clair, that is an old wives' tale. Werewolves can only be born, not made by being bitten."

  The thought momentarily shocked Clair. She glanced down at her stomach. "Our children will be shapeshifters?" she asked.

  She didn't know how she felt about that.


  Ian studied his wife, his expression intense, his dark green eyes glittering with emotion. He was proud of his ancestry. He wanted and needed his wife to be proud of it as well. "Would you mind?"

  She thought for a moment. "I don't think so. I love you and would love any child you gave me. But still, I don't have enough data to completely support a declaration at this time," she answered honestly. A sudden image of herself feeding a cute furry wolf cub flashed in her mind, and she smiled with happiness.

  Ian nodded, seemingly satisfied. He then gave her more information: "When two weres mate, they produce were-children. When a were and a human mate, their children are human, although the child sometimes has extraordinary hearing and eyesight. But if the were and human mate two days after the full moon, if the female conceives then, the child will be born a were."

  Clair was fascinated and thrilled. This was having her werewolf and eating him too. She had a thousand questions. She had Ian, her own personal lab rat to study—correction, lab wolf. She started to ask more, but Ian shook his head. "I need to speak with your aunt Mary to swear her to secrecy. Have you told anyone else?"

  "No. I began to tell Brooks, but I couldn't get the words out."

  "You wouldn't be able to."

  "Why not?" she questioned, her eyes full of that indomitable Frankenstein curiosity.

  Ian smiled. Many women would have fainted if they knew they were married to a card-carrying werewolf; his Clair was exhilarated. He was a lucky man, if he could only keep her out of trouble.

  "We're protected by an ancient spell. Humans that know about us can't tell unless they tell someone with a strong blood link to them."

  "So Uncle Victor can know, and Great-aunt Abby," Clair surmised. She frowned. "But not Frederick?"

  Ian shook his head. "Frederick is an exception. He can be told."

  "How strange," she muttered, her mind reeling.

  "Every newly wedded couple has a learning period," Ian suggested.

  "Yes, like, do you like orange marmalade with your toast? Not, what did you eat last night—or better, whom?"

  Ian arched a brow, his expression affronted. "I don't eat humans! My clan never does. We are extremely civilized, Clair," he said stiffly. "If shape-shifters ate humans, we would be discovered, and we haven't lived this long by doing stupid things. Only a few rogue clans attack humans for food, and they are far, far away."