by Minda Webber
As Jane tried to answer, the door to the room burst open and people spilled inside. First in line were Ian and Clair, shock etched upon their faces. Asher leapt up, putting his back to the wall, resolutely hiding his blood-soaked arse and the hole in his breeches. But he was not quick enough to prevent Ian and Clair from seeing. Jane gasped and tried ineptly to right her gown.
His quick movement had caused him pain. Asher tried to stifle a groan, his behind feeling like a large stick had been stuck there. Scowling, he thought caustically: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but a stake in the ass is worse.
Behind Ian and Clair, Mr. Warner stumbled into the' room. He was wearing only one slipper, his dressing gown half on and half off. Behind him stood Lady Daffney, the squire and his wife, and Lord Graystroke. All were stunned. Some had their mouths hanging open, but all were speechless—a first for any tonnish crowd this size.
The room gave a collective gasp of shock and titillation: One of the most elusive catches of any season had just been caught, compromising a female of enough pedigree and social standing to force him to do the correct thing and propose. There were three or four "ah-hah!"s and one or two, "The rakish Wolverton is caught at last."
Someone else crowed, "What entertainment! This is bloody swell."
His expression grim, Baron Huntsley studied the unbelievable scene before him, thinking Jane Paine had definitely pulled an asinine stunt. "Bloody hell. Wedding bells," he muttered to himself.
Asher glowered, his dignity in tatters, his lips twisted with ironic rage. His fists clenched tightly, he hid his backside. "Bloody witch, please don't snitch," he whispered.
Jane stood frozen like an ice statue. Shifting her gaze from the people in the doorway to Asher, she found herself hoping the scar on his backside wouldn't be too disfiguring. Then, spotting the blood running down his pant leg, she turned pale. "Oh, ick! I may be sick."
Surveying the scene, Clair was the only one who smiled calmly. Her Plan Z was a striking success.
Some Like It Not
The Huntsley manor house quieted down, the guests going back to bed after the startling sight of a very mussed Jane Paine and Asher alone in the library, but many were asking how a plain Jane had finally caught the elusive and debonair Earl of Wolverton. Pacing back and forth across his bedchamber, Ian Huntsley was wondering why Asher had been staked in the behind by an on-the-shelf old maid.
The answer to his question stared back at him with beautiful, guileless gray eyes. He knew that expression well. Clair was a delightful bundle of matchmaking female, mismanaging all of those around her with a cheerful passion and usually chaotic results. Crooking his finger, he motioned his wife to him.
"Clair, what do you know about this?" he asked.
Standing before her husband, Clair Frankenstein Huntsley averted her gaze, staring at the bed curtains, studying them as if her life depended upon it. "I do believe we need to air these out," she remarked evasively.
"Clair, why did Asher have a jagged hole in his posterior?" Ian pressed. He loved his redoubtable wife with a passion unmatched. She was everything wonderful and wondrous in life. He thought she was truly remarkable. But sometimes she was a bit eccentric, due no doubt to her heritage. And trouble seemed to follow her like a pig to its trough.
"Yes, that was unusual. I wasn't expecting that," she hedged, fingering the sleeves of his rust-colored dressing gown. She hid a grin. Leave it to Jane to turn everything on its end. Asher probably wouldn't be able to sit down for a night or two.
"I knew you were playing matchmaker. I didn't agree with it, but I know how you love your little projects. Trying to make Asher fall in love with that plain old maid… Well, to be honest I thought it was rather humorous. And that it would certainly get you in no trouble." Ian broke away from his wife, not wanting to be distracted. And she distracted him terribly just by breathing. Contact was impossible. He started pacing the room again.
"This matchmaking scheme has at least kept you out of climbing around crypts for glimpses of vampires, or haunting old castles in search of ghosts." He stopped pacing and looked at his wife. She was going to drive him insane—if he didn't love her to death first. In spite of all the mad things she had done, the foiled plots, her comedy-of-errors investigations and her truly bizarre family of Frederick the monster—a rather riveting fellow—and madman uncle, Ian wouldn't have traded one minute of his life with her. "But Asher is really going to have get hitched."
"So it would appear," Clair remarked cheerfully.
Ian frowned. "You know, I thought this matchmaking business would keep you safe."
"But it has, darling. Asher's the one who got staked."
Clair remarked, a frown creasing her brow. "Although, I must admit I never intended for that to happen. But then the course of true love never runs smooth."
Ian shook his head. "Clair, I don't mind that your uncle Victor runs around robbing graves for spare body parts. I don't even mind that you are choosing the undead as potential husbands for spinsterish friends. But I do mind when our guest, particularly a guest who has saved both of our lives, is attacked. It reflects badly on both my hospitality, and on the debt of honor I owe to that confounded vampire."
"Asher will be fine," Clair replied. "You know his healing abilities are almost as remarkable as your own. He'll be sitting down in a night or two with his usual savoir faire."
Ian almost chuckled. The image of Asher's chagrined expression when he'd seen where the master vampire was staked was a sight Ian would never forget. But, glancing out the corner of his eye at Clair, he remained solemn. He didn't want to encourage his wife in any more shenanigans.
He held up his wrist, tugging back his robe and exposing two fresh fang marks.
"Ian!" Clair gasped, coming closer to inspect the wound as she knelt on the floor before her darkly handsome husband.
He raised a sardonic brow, his rugged features grim. "For Asher to heal fast, he needed to feed quickly and quietly. Since we didn't want him feeding off our guests, that left me. So not only has your meddling caused this compromising situation, but it left me as a midnight snack for the earl!"
Clair lovingly traced the bite marks. "I'm sorry, darling. I never intended for this to happen. It certainly wasn't in my plan."
Ian raised both eyebrows. The best-laid plans of Clair Frankenstein always went awry.
"Well, I didn't," she said. "I don't know what went wrong."
"Try the stake," Ian suggested wryly. "Then try explaining why Miss Paine wanted to stab Asher."
Clair rested her head on her husband's muscular thighs, wondering if she could hedge her bets. Wondering if Ian was going to get all red in the face and shout at her, or if he'd get all red other places and make love to her. She definitely voted for the latter. "Well, Jane has a few minor idiosyncrasies," she admitted.
"Minor idiosyncrasies? She could have killed him!" Ian snapped. "Wait. Let me rephrase that," he said as he ran his hands through his tousled locks. "Miss Jane could have killed him again.'"
He caressed his wife's face briefly, adding in a piqued tone, "You know, I hate the way he watches you. The bloody neck sucker is in love with you! But I can't have him dead again—not at our house party. It's just not done."
Clair nodded, keeping judiciously quiet.
Ian slumped into the plump cushions of his favorite chair, laying his head in his hand. "Clair, why would Miss Jane attack a guest in our home? Has Asher scorned her? Has she got a screw loose, like Frederick?"
Clair narrowed her eyes at her husband. "Frederick can't help having a few loose screws, and you know that. But Uncle Victor always tightens them."
Ian knew Clair was trying to throw him off the scent, which was ridiculous since he was a werewolf. "All right, my love. I know Jane is a dear friend, which means she's likely a bit of an odd duck like the rest of those you care for. But is she… more than odd? Does insanity run in her family?"
That was a hard question to answer. Major Van Helsing wasn'
t actually a madman, although he was frequently mad. Still, Clair shot her husband a smoldering look, and not the bedroom kind. "You think my friend belongs in a madhouse because she and I are bosom pals?"
Ian backtracked rapidly, almost tripping over his words in the process. He had plans for later on tonight, right after this discussion. Plans of a very naked Clair and her hot lips savoring him. Plans of his hot lips worshipping her. He didn't need Clair to have a fit of temper and foil his amorous mood.
"No… not that." Ian waved his hands in the air. "Forget about it. However, I would like to know what Jane thought she was doing tonight."
Clair thought about Ian's question. Then she thought for a moment longer. Then she sat on the bed and thought again, her expression one of intense reflection.
Ian knew his wife's delaying tactics when he saw them. "Clair?" he prompted.
Waving her hand in a dismissive gesture, she said, "There might have been one small thing—a tiny thing, really—that I forgot to tell you about Jane."
Ian nodded, worried. He wished it was a full moon and he could be a werewolf and howl, running free in the night, rather than hearing another comedy-of-errors confession from his wife. "And this tiny thing is… ?" He spoke carefully.
"Jane is using her mother's maiden name—Paine." Clair stood, deciding to put some distance between her hot-blooded husband and herself. She knew he would never hurt her, but an angry werewolf threw off tremendous body heat. She was warm as it was.
"Clair, give me the real name of the violent little vixen."
Clair bit her lower lip.
"Her last name is… ?" Ian's tone held harshness, his patience wearing to an end.
"Van Helsing," she answered.
The words were like hammer blows. Ian stood, rubbing his forehead. He definitely felt a headache coming on.
"Let me get this straight. Miss Jane Paine is really Miss Jane Van Helsing—of the Van Helsings, who are the foremost vampire hunters in the world. This daughter of the illustrious vampire-staking family you invited to our house party without telling me who she really is. Next, you invite the Master Vampire of London, to whom we owe our lives, to this same house party—"
Clair started to interrupt, but Ian tersely waved her silent.
"So, we now have a vampire hunter and a vampire between whom you are trying to play matchmaker. Bloody hell, Clair! This sounds like something your great-aunt Abby would do. Or your uncle Victor. Instead of wedding bells, we'll be playing funeral marches. And this is the tiny oversight you forgot to mention to me?"
Ian was furious; Clair could tell by the ticking of his jaw muscle. Besides, disapproval was written in his eyes. But she had been a Frankenstein before she was a Huntsley, and they were all a stubborn lot—from her grave-robbing, monster-making uncle Victor, to her eccentric great-aunt Abby, who thought she was various historical characters, to her aunt Mary, whose specialty was pet taxidermy. Clair knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was dead right about Asher and Jane being perfect for each other. And she intended to prove it, if they didn't kill each other first.
"I know what I'm doing," she stated firmly, unafraid of her husband's ire. "Truly."
"I am overjoyed to know that. Perhaps you can explain to Asher. I am supposed to meet with him in the next hour to discuss his upcoming proposal of marriage. As a man… as a vampire—bloody hell, whatever! His honor and life are at stake, not his heart. And I must tell him that his bride-to-be slays his kind for a living, a hobby and a crusade. What a delightful turn of events!" he snapped angrily.
Clair was taken aback. She watched her husband start pacing again, back and forth, his dark hair gleaming like black silk in the glow of the candles. "Ian, my love, I just want Asher to be happy. I just want my good friend Jane to be happy too. Jane will make him so. And Asher will make Jane happy when he realizes he wants to—which will make Jane happy to know that Asher desires her to be happy. I owe Asher your life. I wanted to do something special for him. As a thank-you."
Ian halted, stared hard at her, shook his head and resumed pacing. "Happy? Happy! Oh, happy days in the old Wolverton mansion! I can see it now. Jane will be off lurking in the shadows with a stake in her hand, while Asher's off haunting mausoleums, trying to find new resting places for his coffin—places his wife can't find! And I imagine keeping his backside to the wall. Asher won't be able to rest in peace for years and years." Ian added sardonically, "Perhaps I can loan him some armor. Do you think there's a butt-plate to be had in the armory?"
Her husband's unreasonable attitude finally made Clair lose her temper. Stamping her foot, she glared just as fiercely at him as her husband was glaring at her. "Jane is perfect for Asher. She is well-read, though not as well-read as he is, but give her another hundred years and she would be. She is loyal—you know all Van Helsings are loyal. She is witty and has a gentle nature."
"Gentle nature?" Ian scoffed. "She stuffed his arse with a four-foot stake!"
Clair shrugged. "I full well know that Jane hates that part of her duty. She gets sick at the sight of the blood. Didn't you see the spot on the carpet?"
Ian said nothing, only glared at her, so she determinedly continued her defense. "I remember when Jane was around eight and I was ten, I fell and cut my leg. It bled badly, and we were a mile or so from home, Jane bound up my leg with her stocking, gagging the whole time."
Ian arched a brow, unmoved.
"She is loyal and sweet, and I wager that in three or four months Asher will lose his heart to her."
Ian arched both brows. His eyes widened.
Waving a hand in front of her face, Clair explained haughtily, "I mean that in the romantic sense, not the slaying sense."
Ian dropped wearily back into his favorite chair and shook his head. "I don't know why I care. I don't know why I'm worried. I don't even know why I donated my blood. I don't like the bloody bloodsucking fiend."
Seeing her husband's slumped shoulders, Clair went to him. She touched his arm gently and planted a tender kiss on his brow. "I know it looks bad now, but things will work out." Patting his arm, she stepped back and headed for the door. "I'm just going to talk to Jane now. I'm sure she must be a trifle upset."
"A trifle? I'm sure she's on the point of total hysteria. She is supposed to hunt vampires, not marry them."
"Tsk, tsk. You worrywart. You just wait and see. They will be perfect for each other. And someday they will both get down on their knees and thank us."
As Clair opened the door, Ian called out to her, "Clair, you do realize she tried to end his unlife."
Clair shrugged. Then, with her perfect Frankensteinian logic, she added, "No one's perfect."
Much I-Do's about Nothing
"To be a vampire bride or not to be a vampire bride," Clair remarked. That was the question she knew was rolling through her friend's mind. Anxious, she made her way down the hallway on the third floor where all the party guests were staying.
She knocked softly at Jane's door, not wanting to disturb any of the guests who were actually trying to sleep. She knew Jane wouldn't be, not with her future swinging in the balance like a pendulum gone awry. There was too much at stake, no pun intended. Besides, there were questions Clair needed to ask in order to satisfy her Frankensteinian curiosity. She well knew that Asher's ego could use a prick or two, but really, in the butt? That was a bit much. And why on earth was Jane trying to stake the man of Clair's dreams for her? How could Clair get the two of them together if Jane ran around assaulting Asher with her family's ridiculously ornate stakes?
Jane opened the door, her eyes red and swollen, her hair a mess of tangles, and her robe buttoned unevenly.
Clair had never seen her looking so woebegone or in such a state of disarray. Jane stood out in stark contrast with the rest of the room, which was neat and tidy. Glancing at the vanity table, Clair noticed that all the items—brush, comb, face cream, ribbons and rice powder—were all placed neatly in a row, an inch from the bottom of the table and all in al
phabetical order. The major's regimental training evidenced Jane's occupancy of the room. The major had trained his daughter well—but not well enough, or Asher would be dust on this old manor's library floor right now.
Clair held up her hand. "I just want to say three words: Wedded bliss is bliss."
Jane wearily shook her head. "Clair, that's four words."
Clair shrugged. "So it is. May I come in?"
Motioning her friend inside, Jane pushed at her hair then closed the door. "My hair's in shambles. I look a fright. I hate disarray, and my life is the biggest mess of all," she said, her eyes glittering with tears. She sat down mechanically, her nerves clearly raw.
What a midsummer's nightmare! she thought raggedly. In a span of mere moments her whole world had turned upside down. Her future was foreboding and frightening. Did Clair have any chocolate? "Can you ever forgive me? What a horrid friend you must think me. What a horrid guest."
Clair knew exactly what Jane was asking. A guest shouldn't try to stake another guest at a house party without expecting serious displeasure from the hostess.
"Why did you do it?" she said. But she had a pretty good idea why. That maniacal major must have been plotting his vampire-destroying schemes again. Still, Neil Asher had lived in London for years on and off, and the Van Helsings had never fixed their sights on him before. Why now?
No, it didn't make sense. Clair had carefully explained her mistake to Jane, it was true, in mistaking Asher for a werewolf during the farce that occurred when Clair was doing supernatural research for the prestigious Scientific Discovery of the Decade Award. But due to the debt she owed him for his role in it, Clair had wisely kept quiet about Asher. Clair generally told Jane most things, but she had kept quiet about the Earl of Wolverton being a vampire, since Jane was, after all, a Van Helsing, and a Van Helsing and her duty were not soon parted.
Clair had only recently decided to reveal all to Jane when she'd instead decided that Jane and Asher would suit admirably. Clair frowned. Jane had almost ruined her plan. Really, some people could be so inconsiderate!
