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“Goldfish.” Again, she shook her head. “It seems they are a favorite delicacy of Frederick’s.”
    Holding up the tray, she asked, “Cream or sugar?” Ian shook his head, taking the cup as Brooks left the room. Clair sighed, watching the butler depart. “Well, I guess not everyone is a pet lover,” she mused sadly.
    “Quite,” Ian agreed, taking a sip of tea. It was spicy. He commended himself on his excellent ability not to howl with laughter at her downcast face and outrageous statements. She was a mixture of refreshing innocence, bulldog determination, and the most outrageous habit of saying whatever came into her mind.
    Still, he needed to grab hold of himself. Enough admiring of this madcap female, he had information to ferret out!
    Observing that her butler had left the room, Ian went on the attack. “Miss Frankenstein, can you tell me why you thought I was a vampire?”
    She glanced up from stirring cream into her tea. “Well, of course, Baron Huntsley.”
    Ian waited with bated breath. This was one of the main reasons he had dropped by the Frankenstein house on Pelham Square, aside from getting another chance to view the delectable Miss Frankenstein.
    Clair took a sip of her tea, then spoke. “My investigations revealed that you were known to be seen only at night. You have an allergy to silver, you only wear gold jewelry on your person, and you…” She hesitated, seeming embarrassed.
    “Yes?” he prodded.
    “You… umm. You are reported to be a remarkable lover. In fact, a few of the women say they… umm.” Clair paused, her cheeks pink. Ian thought the color became her immensely. “You are a lothario of the first order. Women say that they swoon from pleasure when you make love to them. These interviews, I felt, supported my hypothesis.”
    “And your hypothesis would be… ?” he prodded, enjoying her discomfiture. He was a man for all seasons—well read, well fed, well bred and well bedded. He was a virile man who exuded confidence and sexuality, the latter ensuring legions of willing women gracing his bed. He was a man whom other men looked up to and whom women found irresistible.
    “That you were draining their blood as you made love to them. That they fainted from loss of blood, not your great talent at inspiring all-consuming passion.”
    She is an open book, Ian thought as he viewed the expressions passing rapidly across Clair’s fair face. He was amused to note that they ranged from thoughtful to studious to awestruck to embarrassed—then to thoughtful interest.
    “So that was your hypothesis. Now what do you think, now that you see me here this morning—in the flesh, so to speak?” He couldn’t resist the tiny jab.
    Clair glanced at the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Well, I guess it is possible that your lovemaking is so wild and abandoned that these women do lose consciousness. Although without scientific proof…” She trailed off, apparently lost in some conundrum of scientific bent, her mind clearly in a state of perpetual motion.
    Unwittingly she spoke her thoughts out loud. “I wonder if a scientific study would be possible? Although one would most likely have to be a master on the subject to judge it accurately.”
    Ian choked on his tea. “I would be happy to apply as your lab rat,” he said, grinning wolfishly. His nostrils twitched slightly as he breathed in her scent. Clair Frankenstein made him hunger in a fundamental way. She made him want to snatch her up and carry her off like a primitive man would, to teach her the meaning of the passion that was buried beneath her logical mind. Yes, he concluded, still waters did run deep. And with Clair Frankenstein, you might just drown if you didn’t watch your step.
    Clair’s eyes grew round at the thought of the baron as her specimen. Oh, the charts and angles she would have to inspect, and the body of scientific evidence—the very large, very manly body of Baron Huntsley…! The techniques she could