by Minda Webber
"I didn't know it was the fashion to be insulting." She had meant to give an apology, regretting what she had twice tried to do to the earl. But now she found herself fighting back tears. She hated her freckles. "No gentleman would make reference to them."
"My manners can be deplorable at times," Asher agreed contemptuously, shrugging his shoulders. "But then, I have never claimed to be a gentleman, just an earl."
Jane lifted her chin. "No, you would never let anyone forget your consequence."
Asher narrowed his eyes. "I didn't know it was fashionable for a young lady," he accused, stressing the word, "to throw brandy all over her acquaintances." Disdainfully he watched Jane's blush deepen. He had seen demons of that same deep crimson.
"Touché," Jane replied coldly. Yes, this rude earl just might be the conceited Count Dracul after all. "I meant to apologize immediately once seeing you again, as any lady should do. I suppose I was overwhelmed by your exalted presence and lost my head, both tonight and on the night of the masquerade," she finished sardonically.
"You were drunk as a lord that night," he accused.
Jane answered tightly, gritting her teeth, anger flooding her system like electrical current. "A gentleman would never point that out. And I must remind you that I did not overindulge that night. I couldn't have. Ladies never do." She couldn't remember much, but her mother had trained her too well in ladylike carriage.
"The ladies I know certainly do," Asher replied, sneering slightly. The ladies and not so ladylike ladies of the bar he had courted and discarded had indulged in many things; most were quite debauched.
Jane lifted her chin a degree higher, glaring up at the arrogant vampire. "I'm sure most of the ladies"—she stressed the word just as he had done—"that you have known are quite beyond the pale. Although, what they see in you besides your own puffed-up consequence is beyond me. It appears that a Peer of the Realm's impressive title is no indicator of sterling character or good manners."
Asher arched an aristocratic brow and lifted an elegant hand to shoo her away. Frankly, he didn't care if her feelings were tromped upon; he was too old a vampire to learn new tricks such as kindheartedness. And he had never been one to cater to the masses. He had seen too many abuses of conformity. Just take the French Revolution, for one—people lost their heads over that!
"I am what I am and proud of it. My lineage goes back to William the Conqueror. Can you say the same?" he snapped. "Which makes me wonder why I am wasting my time in having a conversation with you."
Jane clenched her fists, resisting a strong impulse to punch the odious earl in his arrogant though beautiful face. Have one drink too many, once in her life, and see how it got thrown back in her face, and in a public setting! She was really going to have to find false courage someplace else from now on.
"Bloody buffoon!" she swore, glaring at Asher. She longed to say more, to tell him exactly what she thought of his remarks, but she was too angry to do anything other than fight back tears. This pompous bloodsucking fiend thought he owned the world!
Asher's chuckle deepened as he glanced down at her tightly clenched fists. "Really, Miss Paine, despite your friendship with Clair, I begin to see that you are no lady at all. Perhaps you could try to imitate your dear friend and seek out at least a bit of charm. Gentlemen don't attend to shrews unless they're beautiful—a claim you certainly can't make." And with those words, he casually strolled away.
"Oh, if I only had my model four stake!" Jane seethed, anger overcoming her wounded feelings. "I'd know just where to stick it, you rotten vampire."
Time Waits for No Man, But a Vampire Can Hold It Hostage
He'd kill that scamp Clair Frankenstein Huntsley. Asher swore silently, sitting up straighter. And he'd throw in her husband for fun.
The blue of his eyes glowed with glacial flames as he stared disdainfully at her, showing Clair his displeasure. Of all the guests at this house party, he was seated next to the very irritating and ordinary Miss Paine. What an insult to him, a connoisseur of great beauty. Not to mention the fact that Miss Paine was touched in the head. Why had Clair chosen her for his dinner partner? Surely she didn't think he would find Miss Paine of interest. Asher pondered as he glanced sideways at the object of his pique.
He supposed Miss Paine did have a graceful swanlike neck, pale and elegant. And her eyes were very large, slightly tilted and of a silverish green hue he had never seen on a human being before. But her nose was definitely too snub, her hair of a plain brown color, and she had all those tiny little freckles.
Humph, he thought, turning his steely gaze back in the direction of his hostess.
Clair winked at him, then looked at her husband, who was seated on her left. She ignored Asher's aristocratic huff and, with an expression of utter innocence, gazed into her spouse's dark green eyes.
Ian Huntsley almost laughed. He knew his wife's look well. Leaning closer to avoid being overheard, he asked, "My love, what are you up to?"
"Moi?" she said.
Ian arched a brow.
Clair laughed. "You know me so well."
Ian waggled his brows. It wasn't the pale moon that excited him anymore—it was the thrill of his wife. Just the nearness of her had him panting, wanting to howl with delight. "Shall I describe in detail that mole you have on your very cute, very luscious—"
She slapped a hand over his mouth. "Harry Ian!"
He nipped at her fingers. He knew he was in trouble when she called him Harry. "Elbow. You have the most luscious elbows I know."
Clair withdrew her hand. She knew exactly what her husband had truly been going to say. But that was the trouble with Harry Ian: He really was a wolf—and not only every full moon, but in bed, out of bed, on the table, on his desk in the study, in the stables and even on the blue Persian rug in their bedroom. Or at least wolfishly hungry for her. Yes, love and passion definitely burned brightly in their bedchamber, enough to keep them warm on even the frostiest winter night.
Ian chuckled and Clair blushed. "What are you up to?" he repeated.
Clair glanced down the table at the scowling Asher and frowning Jane. Ian followed her gaze.
"Well?" he asked, frowning as well. "What? Asher? As much as I hate to admit it, the vampire saved us both from a vicious blood feud." It had formed a blood bond of sorts between them. But that didn't mean he had to like the bloody pompous bastard.
"Asher needs a wife, and Jane needs a husband," Clair explained. Her eyes were all innocent and wide.
Ian groaned. "No. No, you are not matchmaking again. Please tell me you aren't. Besides, Asher eats females like Miss Paine for breakfast. Literally."
Clair smiled her secret smile. Her husband knew that she was a friend of the famous Van Helsings; she just hadn't told him that Jane was one, having introduced her as Miss Paine. Clair knew that Ian might have one or two tiny objections to her matchmaking a master vampire and a vampire hunter. However, Clair also knew that once the pair fell in love, her slight omission would be a sweet deceit, and Ian would forget all about it… she hoped.
Ian glanced back at the pair, who were busily ignoring each other, and shook his head. "I don't exactly think it's a match made in heaven. But then, with a vampire for the intended, I don't think it could be!"
"Very funny," Clair remarked. "I think it's a fine match. Asher is very lonely, and so is Jane. Jane is loyal and intelligent. Also, she's very clever when she's not nervous. Asher is loyal in his own way, and his wit is piercing."
"Along with his fangs." Ian shook his head. "Clair, they don't even appear to like each other."
"Nonsense! Great-aunt Abby predicted a match for the two of them with her tarot cards."
Ian rolled his eyes. He knew Clair believed in her great-aunt's fortune-telling abilities. He even knew that sometimes Great-aunt Abby was correct. But it was clearly the luck of the draw and not any true clairvoyant ability.
Ignoring him, Clair continued. "I believe they are right for each other, and if I put them in
to each other's orbits enough, they will feel the gravitational pull."
"And will be satellites for life."
"Exactly," Clair stated. "We'll see them married before the holiday season."
Ian snorted.
As Clair and her husband were arguing, Jane was silently fuming, thinking that if her friend were a vampire, she just might happily stake her too. How could she have been placed in such close proximity to the earl on her first night here? Jane wondered begrudgingly. She needed time to come to grips with what she had to do. She needed time to gather up her self-esteem, for the earl had greatly battered it earlier in the evening.
Jane cursed silently, fidgeting in her chair and knowing that she should not. But Asher was sitting so close, his frosty scent teasing her nostrils, and that made her uncomfortable. How could Clair have placed the most handsome man in the room right by her side? She felt as though everyone were staring at Beauty and the Beast. Of course, in this house of a werewolf, that might mean Clair and Ian.
To make matters worse, Neil Asher's mere presence was causing her heart to beat more quickly and her breathing to speed up. She was scared, and not of being attacked at the dinner table. Even such a debaucher as Count Dracul wouldn't slurp on her in public, not with all twenty-odd guests watching.
She was frightened not of the earl but of herself. She was once again feeling a resurgence of the earl's magnetic sensuality, like she'd felt on the night of the ill-fated masquerade ball. The strange urge was something she hadn't felt since her first suitor, the author, courted her. He had been a handsome young gentleman, and had kissed her three times. The third kiss had involved something scary with his tongue, but it had stirred something deep within her. Not long afterward, her suitor's deceit had been revealed.
Yes, that had been a dismal, heartbreaking discovery: that the man was wooing her only for her family connection to the supernatural in the hope that it might help his career. It had scarred Jane deeply, making her wonder if anyone could ever love her for who she was. She was no beauty, but couldn't someone see past that to the warm, loving person inside who had so much to give?
Since the earl had spoken to her only twice, and both times briefly, Jane turned to her other neighbor, Mr. Warner. The man was rooting about in his food as if he were looking for truffles. His cravat was stained with oyster sauce, or perhaps it was the lentil soup. After two attempts at conversation, and getting mere grunts in return, Jane gave up. Mr. Warner really was a wereboor.
Turning back to the earl and trying hard not be obvious, Jane studied him from the corner of her eye. She watched as he took a small bite of duck. She had never been this up close and personal before with the undead. She had also never seen a vampire eat real food, but due to her lessons, she knew one could. Vampires could eat small amounts of meat and drain certain types of liquor without problem. Much more was not tolerated. Of course, they could bespell a person to believe they'd eaten an eight-course dinner and consumed everything served.
The earl continued to eat in silence, for the moment ignoring everyone else as well as Jane.
Enough was enough, Jane decided firmly. She had a duty to do, in spite of the strange urgings this pompous bloodsucker stirred in her. She had to get him alone with her.
"My lord, I believe you are ignoring me," she said. There, she had taken the bull by the horns, or rather the vampire by the fangs.
Asher turned toward her, his sneer spoiling his aristocratic beauty. Jane couldn't help but smile, wondering if all the blue blood he'd drunk had gone to his toplofty head.
"Madame, are you perchance speaking to me?" he asked. "Are you speaking to me?"
"It appears that I am," she said, batting her eyelashes in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner.
Asher cocked his head, studying her. "Do you have something in your eye?" he asked.
Jane could feel the heat of a blush start in her cheeks. "No, I do not."
Asher gave her a look that was clearly a dismissal, then turned back to his other dinner companion.
Well, that went well, Jane thought in embarrassment. Stabbing at a piece of squab with her fork, she watched in horrified amazement as it flipped off her plate and struck the earl's immaculate jacket. The vampire looked down, slowly shook his head and glared at her.
"Are you intending to ruin another of my jackets?"
Jane groaned, longing to put her head in her hands and weep. But the earl calmly removed the squab from his coat.
"I'm sorry. It just slipped," she said.
"My valet will be quite upset." Asher was about to go on when he noticed that Miss Paine's embarrassed flush had spread to her lovely bosom. It was such a bounteous bosom—slightly marred by the freckles, it was true, but so pale and kissable. But the woman really was a clumsy puss.
"Somehow, when I am around you I seem to do the most foolish things," she remarked.
He shrugged. "I am an earl. People are always toad-eating, doing the most remarkably silly things to gain my attention."
"It's not that you are an earl that had me flustered," Jane remarked.
Asher smiled. "Oh. Well, my looks have been known to distract women and send them to their knees as well."
Jane shook her head. "Such conceit."
Asher shrugged. "Why should I be modest? I'm a grand personage, and well know it."
"Indeed," Jane retorted. "You poor man, having women dropping at your feet like flies. You must be honey laced with vinegar."
He snorted, surprised to find Miss Paine had a clever bone in her body. He wondered which it was. "I must admit, of all the females I have had dropping around me recently, you left the most lasting impression."
"I did?" Jane asked, taken aback. Had she made headway?
"Yes, you left a lasting impression on my jacket. Renfield was quite upset." He gave a short cackle. So much for making an impression.
"I take it Renfield is your valet?" she said.
Asher nodded, noting Miss Paine-in-the-Neck's lips. They were wide and too full, but they were definitely delicious-looking. A stark image hit him squarely between the eyes as he envisioned those too-full lips causing him to ripen and swell as they took him into her mouth and sucked upon him. His rambunctious rod hardened, and Asher shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Had the world run mad? What was he thinking?
"You must think me the most graceless female you have ever met," the woman conceded, both graciously and regretfully. "Please forgive any disquiet I have caused."
Asher remained silent, arching a brow.
Jane's embarrassment began to fade somewhat, her temper beginning to simmer instead. The earl could be easier in his acceptance of her apology, she thought. "Thank you for making me feel so much better about my clumsy nature. I must compliment you on your gift of charm."
Her sarcasm caught Asher's attention. Once again, this little odd duck was acting the shrew. Strange, because most women bent over backwards to please him—and managed some rather interesting positions too.
"You aren't the most clumsy," he admitted. He recalled Ann Boleyn, who used to trip over her slippers constantly. That's how she fell in love with Henry VIII and lost her head.
Cocking his head, he studied Miss Paine more closely, noticing the faint blue lines in her throat, which made him unusually curious whether her blood was sweet or tart, or perhaps a combination of the two. Maybe he would sneak a sip for an aperitif. She was certainly more attractive when her blood was up. So he would anger her some more.
Looking pointedly at the wineglass in her hand, he remarked, "I see you are tippling again."
Her eyes flashed green fire. "Only this glass of wine," she remarked. "I was foolish that first night I met you. But I learned my lesson."
Asher waited, his glass raised to his lips. "Go on. This lesson was… ?"
"You could say that the night of the ball was a first-time experience in overindulgence for me. Most definitely, it was a mistake that will never be repeated," she replied. She shuddered in memory. "I
don't know how you gentlemen can drink like that night after night without stopping. I felt like elephants were dancing in my skull the morning after."
"Yes, the aftereffects of overindulgence do not a fine morning make," Asher agreed, thinking of the few times he had drunk shape-shifter blood chased by the blood of warlocks. His preternatural hangover had lasted two nights, and he'd felt as if he were staked out and left to dry. Since then, he'd sworn off the more exotic victims.
"Yes, the morning after is so unpleasant. I wonder why gentlemen so often indulge," she mused.
"Men must have their sport." In agreement with his words, Asher's gaze again took in the modest display of Miss Paine's most outstanding assets. He wondered if her breasts would spill over his large, long-fingered hands? True, he'd been right in earlier thinking she was not his usual style, but maybe a change of pace would help his ennui. Life had lately become too much the same.
With both people and vampires acting the same way century after century, lately Asher's life had begun to stream into one long, endless night. Little children grew old and died. Centuries passed. His dreams as a fledging had already been fulfilled or changed, leaving him agitated and restless, searching for something or someone to elevate his night-to-night existence. Lately he'd been asking himself: Was this all there was to undeath?
Jane shifted nervously, her blood humming. The look in the earl's eyes was electric. She knew why women fell at his feet when he looked at them.
Asher watched her, his expression thoughtful. Miss Paine was indeed a breath of fresh air, and he was a sporting vampire always on the lookout for new adventures. Perhaps he would give her the thrill of her spinsterish life and woo her a little. Enough to get a taste of that intriguing blood and see if those breasts and elegant neck tasted as good as they looked.
He would court her only slightly—enough to stir interest, but not so much that he would be in danger of offering for the plain Miss Paine. Since she was definitely not a diamond of the first water, the guests would be intrigued and gossip, and Asher did so enjoy good gossip. He could also show Clair Frankenstein Huntsley and her fur-faced husband that his love for her was dying a quick death.
