Bite at First Sight

by Brooklyn Ann

  Four

  30 September 1823

  Damn her. Rafe gnawed the end of his cigar as he watched Lady Rosslyn’s cook, who had also served as her housekeeper, begin another spat with William on the state of the kitchen. Ten subordinate vampires dashed around the place, sweeping and dusting and polishing as they eyed the cook with hunger. Cassandra herself was upstairs with Anthony in one of the larger guest suites, supervising the unpacking of her laboratory, cheerfully oblivious to the further havoc she’d caused.

  Did she truly not comprehend the fact that he could kill her at any moment—and might have to, whether he liked it or not? Or was she flouting his threat, determined to vex him until her last breath? He could admire the latter. The former…he could not bear to contemplate it.

  At least he only had one more human to contend with. The remainder of Lady Rosslyn’s staff did not question or protest their abrupt dismissal. They’d taken one look at Rafe and accepted their severance pay and references with unconcealed relief. He absently rubbed the ridge of scars on his cheek. His monstrous appearance could be beneficial at times.

  And with no lady’s maid, Rafe would have to be the one to assist her in dressing. He sure as hell wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch that silken flesh. A tremor of anticipation filled him at the thought of the pleasure…and torment of that chore.

  “May I have a word with you about tonight’s menu?” the cook interrupted his fantasy.

  Rafe waved her off. “That matter should be addressed to the countess…” He paused, seeing merit in an excuse to speak with her. “I will fetch her.”

  Yes, he asserted, it would be good to make certain she was not causing any mischief. Not because he wanted to gaze upon her regal features and sea-green eyes. After all, the menu did need to be seen to.

  Quietly he opened the door, taking a moment to covertly admire the curve of her backside as she removed a stack of books from a crate. At the sight, Rafe’s body quickened in lust. If only… He shook his head. To want the impossible was foolish.

  Clearing his throat, he took small pleasure in her wide gaze and pink cheeks as she whirled around to face him. “Your cook would like to discuss tonight’s menu. As I and my people can eat very little, I feel the task should go to you.”

  “Very well, Don Villar.” She nodded briskly before holding up a ghastly sharp device. “But first might I have a sample of your blood?”

  Rafe scowled. “Persistent wench, aren’t you?”

  An unreasonable wave of anger washed over him. Couldn’t she see him as more than a specimen? He didn’t expect her to view him with as much admiration as he did her. But at the very least, couldn’t she see some semblance of the man before her?

  “You said there’s a possibility you may make me into what you are. If that is the case, I need to understand more of what I would become.” Cassandra continued to argue, heedless of his darkening mood. “I want to know why you need to drink blood to survive. I want to know how you are stronger than ten men and can move as fast as a hummingbird. I want to know how you healed the puncture wounds on my neck and why the scars on your face and arm are not healed.” Her eyes darkened to deep pools of compassion. “The sun burned you, didn’t it?”

  Rafe nodded stiffly, not wanting to think again of that terrible day. Some nights he could still feel the scorching celestial flame.

  “I need to learn these things, Rafael,” she pleaded. Her lower lip trembled. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind? Anything I can bargain?”

  The sound of his name on her lips made his pulse skip. The utter passion and desperation in her voice struck a chord deep within him. Anything… The word held tempting possibilities.

  “Perhaps,” he said gruffly. “Allow me to think a little longer on the matter. For now, go speak with the cook. I need to hunt.”

  * * *

  As Rafe stalked the London streets, he did indeed think about her offer to bargain. He also thought of her lush lips, silken hair, and tempting figure. He lingered in the chill night air, hoping to cool the heat Cassandra had ignited within him.

  When he returned shortly before dawn and escorted her to his bedchamber, the heat refused to abate. As his fingers unfastened the delicate buttons on her gown, revealing creamy, tempting flesh visible through her thin chemise, his desire became an inferno.

  “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather that I summon Mrs. Smythe for this?” she asked, peering shyly at him over her shoulder.

  Rafe shook his head, loathe to give up this enticing duty. “Your housekeeper cook is not a lady’s maid, and I want her in here as little as possible for her own safety.”

  Too soon he finished, and Cassandra fetched a voluminous nightgown and ducked behind the privacy screen to remove her stays, stockings, and garters. He ran his tongue across his fangs, tantalized by her delectable silhouette behind the thin barrier. When she emerged, she hurriedly climbed into his bed and yanked the covers to her chin.

  Despite such maidenly modesty, she eyed him fearlessly. “Have you given any thought to bargaining with me?”

  “I have, but as I have not determined what exactly I will ask for, we may discuss it tomorrow.” Extinguishing the lantern, Rafe stretched out once more on the floor, wishing he could join Cassandra in the bed, if only to feel her warmth next to him.

  * * *

  1 October 1823

  Cassandra leaned over the microscope, cursing under her breath. She needed more light. If only this dratted room had windows and she was allowed to work during the day. Squinting into the eyepiece, she frowned. Higher magnification would also aid her in analyzing her own blood and comparing it to the vampire’s… That is, if Rafael would consent to allow her to study him. Thus far he had refused, but she was determined to change his mind.

  A knock on the door pulled her from her reverie. Anthony poked his head in the room. He’d been perfectly willing to volunteer as a test subject, but Rafael had forbidden it. “You have a visitor, my lady. Mrs. Smythe says she came earlier as well. The woman refused to give her identity, though she insisted you should be expecting her.”

  Cassandra frowned as she deciphered the cryptic statement. The frown deepened as she realized only one woman would dare. “Drat, you are right. I may as well get this over with.”

  The woman awaiting her in the drawing room was completely unrecognizable due to her heavy cloak and the mask disguising her face. However, Cassandra’s dreaded suspicion was confirmed the moment the lady opened her mouth.

  “So it is true, then!” her former mother-in-law exclaimed in outrage. “You have become the Spaniard’s mistress! Have you any idea how this will reflect upon our family? That you have chosen to live in sin is bad enough, but for it to be with a foreign, disfigured—”

  “That’s enough, Agnatha!” Cassandra cut her off, outraged at the hypocrisy. “What I choose to do with my life is no one’s business but my own. I am a widow now. My days as an over-scrutinized debutante are long behind me, and I thank God for that every day.”

  Agnatha gasped and yanked off her mask, revealing her beady, black eyes and almost nonexistent chin. “You do not understand. As long as you are a part of Society, what you do is everyone’s business. I beg you, come home now and perhaps we may be able to dissuade the gossips.” Her voice softened and grew more wheedling. “Thank heaven the Season is over. You can join me in the country and perhaps this dreadful scandal will blow over by the time everyone returns to Town in the spring.”

  Cassandra could do nothing but stare in fascination. She’d never seen Agnatha beg before. Her mother-in-law had always commanded.

  “Please.” Agnatha reached for Cassandra’s hand. “Do not dishonor my son’s memory.”

  “I am sorry, but I must stay here.” She couldn’t hold back her jubilation at the statement.

  Ever since Cassandra had married the late John Burton, Agnatha had
been her constant tormentor, always ordering her about and scorning her for not living up to the family’s expectations. To be rid of the vexing woman once and for all was a great relief, despite the circumstances.

  Squaring her thin shoulders as if to do battle, Agnatha surveyed Cassandra with piercing contempt. “So this is how it is to be? After I risk my own reputation coming to this den of iniquity to save your ungrateful hide? And at night, no less?” Her narrow face flushed as her beady eyes spat daggers. “I always knew you were unworthy of my Johnny. You couldn’t even provide him with an heir!”

  Before Cassandra could reply, a shadow fell over them both.

  “You should leave now, madam, before I throw you out,” Rafael Villar told her in a low voice. He leaned indolently in the doorway, apparently having witnessed the entire confrontation.

  Agnatha’s miniscule chin quivered with outrage as she spluttered, but her venom was no match for the vampire’s fearsome scowl. Cassandra almost wished he’d bare his fangs at her ex-mother-in-law as well. Swallowing her vitriol, Agnatha donned her mask and departed without a by-your-leave.

  Once Agnatha was gone, Rafael’s arched lips curved in a slight smile. “I gather your relationship with your late husband’s mother was less than amicable?”

  She grinned. “Your assumption is correct. I’d thought that once John passed away, she’d leave me alone. Instead she’s determined to ensure that I’m an even more respectable widow than I was a wife. I am glad she thinks I am your mistress.” Her face heated at the implication of intimacy between them. “Perhaps now I shall at last be free of her.”

  His smile faded as his brows drew together. “She thinks you are my mistress?”

  “Oh yes, I’m perfectly ruined now,” she said cheerfully. “Perfectly ruined and perfectly free…well, except for my situation with you, of course.” Her smile wavered.

  Rafael continued to frown as if he hadn’t heard her. “Perhaps I should marry you to put a better light on things, as the Duke of Burnrath did with his bride. Lord knows I don’t need any further attention from the human world.”

  Men had only proposed to her to better their positions in life in one way or another. Coming from him, this sort of offer was all the more repugnant. She’d thought him nobler than that. Still, the suggestion made her heart flutter irrationally. She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “That is hardly necessary. For one thing, it is too late. My reputation was blackened the moment my trunks were carried into this house. I never intended to remarry anyway. For another, it seems a silly inconvenience for you in the light of my as-yet-undecided fate.”

  For a moment he appeared upset by her refusal, but it must have been a trick of light, for he began to laugh. “After all you have put me through, now you are concerned with inconveniencing me?”

  His laughter stung.

  Cassandra fixed him with an icy glare. “You inconvenienced yourself when you brought me here against my will.”

  “Indeed, I did.” His expression sobered and he once more stepped closer, leaning in until his breath brushed across her lips. “Though perhaps you should take care not to exacerbate matters. Or else I may be tempted to wed you just for the legal right to take you over my knee.”

  With that, he turned and headed out the door for his nightly hunt, leaving Cassandra trembling from his momentary closeness and outraged by his words.

  Anthony’s form filled the doorway. “I see you’ve survived another encounter with His Surliness.”

  Cassandra’s face flamed. “Good Lord, did you hear us?”

  He shrugged. “I could lie, but somehow I do not think you would appreciate even the most well-intentioned deception.”

  “So you were hovering by the door?” Her eyes narrowed.

  The vampire shook his head emphatically. “Not at all. Our kind has superior hearing.” He held out an embossed envelope. “This arrived for you during your blessedly brief visit with that masked termagant. She was your mother-in-law?”

  She took the envelope and nodded.

  “You have my sympathy.” He offered her a warm smile. “You should know that Rafael is not the beast he would have you believe he is. He may be harsh, but he is fair. However, I highly recommend that you endeavor to be on his good side.”

  She raised a brow. “Does he have one?”

  Anthony chuckled. “I am certain you will soon discern that for yourself. I’ll leave you to your letter now, my lady.”

  She glanced at the embossed envelope. It appeared to be an invitation. Apparently someone must not have heard she was now a fallen woman. She frowned. No, they had to know or else they would not have sent the invitation here.

  Shaking her head in bemusement, she broke the seal. Either way, it didn’t matter. Rafael was unlikely to allow her to go anywhere and she’d never much enjoyed social gatherings anyway.

  But as Cassandra scanned the invitation to a dinner party hosted by one of her dearest friends, her eyes widened. This was different. She had to go…which meant that she had best try to follow Anthony’s advice. She needed to get on Rafael’s good side.

  * * *

  When Rafe returned from his hunt, he found Cassandra pacing through the drawing room. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. He felt a strange pull in his chest.

  “Don Villar, I’ve just received an invitation from Sir Patrick Blythe for a dinner party Wednesday evening.” Her cheeks were flushed with excitement…excitement that was apparently not for him.

  He scowled. “No.”

  The animated joy fled from her face to be replaced by despairing panic. “You do not understand! Thomas Wakley shall be there. He’s the creator of the new medical journal, The Lancet, and I’ve been desperate to meet him.”

  Remorse at killing her happiness warred with irritation at her excited mention of another man. “I thought you were now ostracized by Society for becoming my mistress.” Rafe tried to ignore an uncomfortable twinge of guilt at that fact. He knew all too well what it was to be a pariah.

  Cassandra dismissed his reply with a wave of her hand. “Sir Patrick does not give a fig for such trifling nonsense. He only cares about our shared interest in science and medicine.” Her voice turned soft and pleading as she looked up at Rafe with large, imploring eyes. “Please, sir, allow me to attend.” She placed a hand on his bad shoulder.

  “You seem to forget that you are a prisoner here.” His voice came out rough and labored, as if her light touch held immeasurable weight. He pulled away.

  Her lush lips pouted as a thin line of vexation appeared between her brows. “I have always attended Sir Patrick’s dinners, even when I was in full mourning. If I do not make an appearance, I wouldn’t be surprised if he grew so worried he sent a constable here to investigate.”

  “You exaggerate.” He eyed her warily. Was this another threat?

  She lifted her chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t be so certain. I cannot fathom why you are being so unreasonable. It’s only a dinner party. I promise to return here as soon as it’s over.”

  Rafe shook his head. “You do not understand, Countess. Even if I could believe such a ridiculous promise, I cannot allow you to leave this house without me.”

  She shrugged. “Then come with me.”

  The words stunned him. For a moment all he could do was stare at her in shock. Was this woman mad? “You would arrive at a social gathering with a grotesque cripple on your arm?”

  “You are not at all grotesque.” Cassandra threw up her hands in frustration. “Honestly, there is no need to be so melodramatic. Besides, I would allow the devil himself to escort me to this party.”

  Rafe let out a bitter chuckle. “Now who is being melodramatic?” When she remained silent with a mutinous frown, he sighed and ran his good hand through his hair. Perhaps it would be a good idea for them to make an appearance in public, solidifying the fact that she belonged with him.
“All right, I’ll take you to that blasted party. But if you do anything that risks endangerment to me or my kind, you will suffer the consequences. Is that understood?”

  “Yes!” She clasped her hand in glee. “Thank you, Don Villar.”

  She moved forward as if to embrace him. Rafe stepped back.

  “And one more thing.” He gave her a stern glare, fighting the urge to respond to her infectious smile. “You must keep your pestering to a minimum. I have much more pressing responsibilities than tending to your whims.”

  Cassandra flinched and a measure of happiness drained from her face. “Yes, of course.”

  She curtsied stiffly and walked away, leaving Rafe feeling like a lousy curmudgeon.

  That nagging emotion intensified when she avoided him for the next three days. Reluctantly, he had to admit that Cassandra hadn’t done anything wrong. That he’d been unable to erase her memory and had to imprison her wasn’t her fault. She was an innocent, suffering under the harsh laws of his kind.

  However, that did not change the fact that her presence under his roof was disrupting. Aside from having to guard and care for her, he had to contend with her servant squabbling with his, her frequent bustling back and forth from her laboratory to the library, her questions about his arm, and the ever-increasing temptation of her beauty. Hell, even her scent tormented him.

  She was driving him mad. Completely mad. Why else would he have proposed marriage, even in jest? And why else was he willing to escort her to this dinner party, which would force him to endure looks of disgust and mean-spirited whispers from the host and guests? He’d put up with his limit of such loathsome ordeals when Ian had been Lord of London.

  And yet there he was, pacing the drawing room as he waited for Mrs. Smythe to help the countess dress. Rafe himself was immaculate in a black dinner jacket, pressed trousers, and a meticulously knotted cravat. He carried a jeweled walking stick to disguise the uselessness of his arm.