The Reluctant Miss Van Helsing (16 page)

“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 Frankenstein-ian logic, she added, “No one’s perfect.”

“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 alphabetical 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!

Seeing Clair’s frown, and taking her friend’s silence for appalled revulsion at had what she had done, Jane sank wearily into the soft cushion of a pale blue chair next to the small fireplace in the center of the room. She gestured shakily for Clair to join her.

“I…” She tried to speak, then lowered her head. “I can still see Lord Asher’s face when I shoved that stake in his backside. He looked so stunned, and for a moment—I probably imagined it, but I thought I caught a glimpse of true hurt in his eyes.” That vulnerability had shaken Jane almost as much as anything she’d ever seen. Her, ashamed of doing her duty!

“Jane?”

She glanced up at Clair. She had also hurt her friend by the betrayal. “I am so ashamed,” she said. “You’ve always been my closest friend, and to treat your hospitality like this… Please forgive me.”

“I do.”

Jane glanced up in surprise. What she saw on Clair’s face lightened her heart.

“You don’t hate me?”

Clair shook her head. “We’ve been friends for far too long to let a little vampire blood come between us. Although I must insist that you cease and desist in your attacks on Asher.”

“Is the earl hurt…”Jane hesitated, trying not to cry. “Is Asher hurt badly? I wouldn’t have killed him, really. Well, I tried… but I just couldn’t bring myself to the sticking point. In fact, if he hadn’t begun to bite me, I don’t think I would have struck at all…” Jane hesitated, guilt eating her worse than Asher ever could have. “Please tell me, is he in much pain?”

“He’ll be fine. Neil heals remarkably fast,” Clair said. “So… you know what he is.” It really wasn’t a question, since the answer was a jagged hole in the vampire’s fanny.