(Desperate to save her dying brother, Claire Daniels seeks out the only man who has the power to save him.)

              The next night, Claire sent Germaine a note requesting Germaine come to her dressing room after the show.  He returned the note, declining politely.

            The night after that, Saturday night, Claire took no more chances.  Germaine St. Justine was going to honor his promise and admit what he was if she had to force it out of him.

            Feeling the fate of her brother's life resting on her shoulders, Claire slipped Lucy's full-length cloak over her nineteenth century costume gown and took the least conspicuous route she knew to the private boxes.  Spotting an usherette, she drew the cloak's hood over her wig and motioned her over.

            "Ms. Daniels!" the woman cried out in surprise.  "What are you doing here?"

            "Do you know where Mr. St. Justine sits?"

            "Yes, but it's an open box.  Wouldn't it be better if I gave him your message instead?"

            "No!" Claire objected, then added a bit less emphatically, "I need to see him now.  Will you show me the way, please?"

            The young woman agreed, reluctantly.  However, when she attempted to announce Claire first, Claire simply edged her way past only to halt just inside the doorway.  Rather than the single gentleman she expected, three men stared at her with faintly surprised expressions.

            Ignoring the others, she spoke directly to Germaine.  "May we speak, sir, in private?"

            Germaine gave the usherette a nod.  "It's all right, Polly.  Thank you."  When Polly left, he regarded Claire with a quizzical gaze.  "Isn't it bad luck for members of the audience to view the leading lady in costume before the performance?"

            "This isn't a wedding, St. Justine, and I'm hardly superstitious."  She glared at the two men who regarded her with looks akin to open gaping.  "Would you two gentlemen mind leaving us, please?  I'd like to speak with Mr. St. Justine alone."

            One promptly rose and made a quick but elegant bow to her.  "Yes, yes, of course.  Wouldn't dream of interfering.  Come along, Marcus," he urged, stepping through the curtain.

            "Please, Marcus," Claire implored when the other man seemed reluctant to move.

            Marcus stood and inclined his head in her direction, but remained within the alcove.

            Frustrated by his friend's implacability and Germaine's apparent disinterest, Claire paced.

            "Why are you deliberately avoiding me?" she asked angrily.

            "Perhaps, because I believe it to be the best course--for both of us."

            She whirled and faced him.  "I don't think I'll ever understand you.  Two days ago, you take me home, undress me, and put me to bed.  When I awakened, you told me you spent the night in my apartment--on the couch."

            "Do you doubt me?"

            "There is very little about you I don't doubt.  You are a man of contradictions."

            When he continued to stare at her through narrowed, tawny eyes, Claire threw out her last lure, hoping either Germaine or his friend would snatch at the bait.  "I have only your word nothing happened between us.  What if I wind up pregnant?"

            Marcus snorted.  "Of all the things you could wind up being, fair Thespian, a mother-to-be is the least likely of all."

            "That's enough, Marcus," Germaine warned in a low voice.

            Reeling in her catch with every ounce of skill she possessed, Claire gazed at the huge man who stood with his arms folded as if he were St. Justine's personal bodyguard.  "Are you saying it's impossible?"

            Marcus started to reply when Germaine answered, "That would depend upon Harry."

            Goaded by his infuriating, tight-lipped responses, Claire marched over to Germaine and slapped him.  Instantly regretting her impulsiveness, she rubbed her stinging palm and bit her lower lip to keep from crying over her own stupidity.  The man had a way of bringing out the worst in her, yet he didn't so much as blink in response.  He remained rock still, neither flinching nor wincing while Claire's hand felt as if she'd hit a wall.  A smooth, marble wall to be precise.

            Flexing her throbbing fingers, Claire glanced over at the giant sentinel leaning casually against the walled partition.  His expression gave no clue to his thoughts, but she got the impression her show of temper had amused him.  She turned back to Germaine.  "I want to know the truth.  If you won't tell me, then maybe your silent sentinel over there will."

            "I can't sire children, Claire.  If it's offspring you desire, you should save your tempting proposals for Harry."

            Claire could feel her eyes burning, but she refused to let him see her cry.  "It's not your inability as much as its underlying cause that interests me.  You gave me your word, Germaine.  It's Saturday night, and I'm here."  Seeing him clamp his lips together, she said, "I'm beginning to think your promises are no more real than your sweet but false assurances of affection."

            He stiffened slightly at her insinuation.  "I've made no attempt to deceive you."

            "Maybe not, but you're very clever with words, aren't you?  No doubt you've had years of practice, and my feeble attempts at uncovering your secret are no more than a humorous diversion for you.  Was my mother merely a temporary amusement as well?"  He clenched his fingers into fists, but made no other move.  Claire knew she'd angered him, but it wasn't his anger she sought.

            Finally accepting that no matter how much she begged, chided or taunted, he'd never agree to help her, Claire turned away.  She was forming the words to concede him the victory when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught him gesturing to Marcus.  After the larger man had stepped into the hallway, Germaine drew both sets of curtains together so that they were secluded in a bower of velvet drapery.  Then stepping toward her, he gripped her waist and gently turned her till she faced him.

            His voice a low and seductive murmur, he said, "We are alone, per your request, and you have my full attention.  So, tell me, Ms. Daniels, what exactly do you want me to confess to you?"

            Certain he could hear the frantic pounding of her heart, Claire swallowed back her fear and asked the question that burned deepest in her mind and heart.  "Are you a vampire?"