by Brooklyn Ann
Another vampire stepped forward. “I wouldn’t say he’s all bad. He’s provided many of us with gainful employment and generous wages.”
Clayton hid a grimace with a stiff nod of acknowledgment. There were bound to be naysayers. He anticipated such, and now he finally had the means to subdue them.
“That is true, but now I must tell you what the Spaniard has done.” Pausing until he was certain he had their undivided attention, Clayton formed his features into a mask of regret for his next line. “Do you recall the several instances in which intruders were rambling about the St. Pancras cemetery? Intruders that may very well have been vampire hunters?”
Again, the majority nodded. A tentative voice inquired softly, “Wasn’t Lord Villar supposed to have looked into the matter?”
Clayton infused his tone with sympathy. “Of course you all remember this frightening time. After all, a number of you take your day rest within the cemetery’s crypt. Well, Rafael Villar has caught the culprit.”
A cacophony of voices shook the rafters. Most sounded jubilant, though concerned about why they had not yet heard. Others sensed the ominous tone.
“Was it a hunter?” many voices echoed. “Did he kill the intruder?”
“No, he did not kill her.” Clayton gestured, ignoring the first question. “William, come forward and tell them what the Spaniard has done.”
William stepped out from the assembly as the audience processed the information that the culprit had been female. Clayton warned him with a glare and slight shake of his head to wipe the smirk from his face. Now was not the time for jubilance at this treason.
William complied, clenching his fists in mute rage. “He ain’t treating her like a prisoner a’tall! Then he’s treating Anthony and me like mortal footmen, ordering us to dust and fetch things for her. And he’s allowed her to bring a servant to cook and wait on her, as well as all her gowns and frippery. Not only that, he’s placed her in his own chamber! I think he means to have her as his fancy piece.”
The vampire’s testimony accomplished more than Clayton had hoped for. The assembly snarled and cursed in outrage, their affronted roars rattling the dusty windows.
Clayton held up a hand for silence and faced them with a sneer of his own. “Do you see the utter and complete negligence in Villar’s actions? In failing to kill this woman when he caught her, as he was well within his rights to do, he has failed to protect you. It was his duty to destroy anything that threatens the blood drinkers of this city, but he has disregarded that duty.”
He paced before them like a general, looking each vampire in the eye as he passed by. “The Spaniard has put us all in grave danger. Such callous behavior must be stopped. Alas, there is only one thing we can do, although it makes my heart ache with regret to say it.”
“What can we do?” the vampires chorused, dangling on his line like caught trout.
Spine straight and stature firm as the times he played Julius Caesar, Clayton lifted his chin and said one word, projecting his voice to reverberate across the chamber like thunder: “Revolution.”
Seven
7 October 1823
“My lord?” Anthony poked his head into Rafe’s study. “A man is here to call on Lady Rosslyn. What should I tell him?”
Rafe set down Cassandra’s copy of Frankenstein and fought back a grimace. He despised being interrupted when reading a good book. “I’ll talk to him and decide what to tell him. Did you take his card?”
Anthony shrugged. “No, I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Some butler you’re shaping up to be,” Rafe muttered, drawing deeply on his cigar.
“I am a vampire, not a butler,” his third retorted. “Perhaps you should hire Clayton instead. He is far more educated on the mores and rituals of the upper classes than I am.”
Rafe raised a brow. “Would you truly wish to have him under our roof?”
Anthony shook his head vigorously. “Good God, no! I was only jesting. I can scarce abide that pompous ass for the duration of our meetings. And I know you can’t either. Why didn’t you replace him when you took over?”
“I couldn’t risk inciting further malcontent. You know very well that my designation as interim Lord of London was not well received by many.” He rubbed his temples, blowing out a cloud of smoke. However, now I am reconsidering that decision.
Clayton was doing a poor job as second-in-command. Not only was he neglecting to deliver reports on time and communicating only when pressed, but Rafe couldn’t tamp down a wave of revulsion whenever he was near the vampire.
Anthony folded his arms and leaned against the door. “You shouldn’t have to please them at the cost of ruling efficiently.”
“Yes, but I must maintain peace in my city.” Rafe ground out his cigar and stood. “I’ll deal with Clayton when the matter with Lady Rosslyn is resolved. That way I can better attend to the upheaval that will result from sacking him. I had better see to Lady Rosslyn’s caller. You may go hunt now.”
Anthony smiled and gave him an exaggerated formal bow. “Very good, my lord.”
As Rafe made his way down the stairs, he worked to conceal his irritation. When the Duke and Duchess of Burnrath departed for their honeymoon trip, he’d anticipated a few decades of peace and quiet with limited interaction with mortals. That peace had been destroyed since Lady Rosslyn came under his roof. And it seemed her captivity would cause further disruption. How many callers would he have to deter?
He wasn’t surprised to find Thomas Wakley waiting in the drawing room. The surgeon had been captivated with Cassandra at that blasted dinner party. Any fool could have observed that.
“Mr. Wakley, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Envy roiled in his gut at the sight of the man’s handsome, unblemished face and strong arms.
The surgeon bowed. “I hope to speak with Lady Rosslyn.”
“She is occupied at the moment. What is the nature of your interest in her?” The question ended more harshly than he intended.
Wakley chuckled. “I am not here to court her, if that is your concern. I am very happily married.”
The tightness in Rafe’s chest eased. “I am pleased to hear that. Would you join me for a cigar?”
“I do not smoke.” The surgeon withdrew a parcel from his greatcoat. “The first reason for my visit is that I managed to outbid the odious Lord Densmore for the Van Leeuwenhoek microscope Lady Rosslyn coveted and thought she might like to purchase it from me.”
“I’ll buy it for her.” Rafe reached in his pocket for his banknotes. “How much?”
Wakley grinned as they made the exchange. “That was simple enough.”
“And your other purpose?” This time Rafe made his impatience clear.
The surgeon flushed. “Well, I, ah, could not help but be impressed with her ladyship’s medical knowledge and I can hardly quell my outrage at the injustice of such a brilliant mind being barred from serving the community.”
“Yes, it is an injustice indeed. A fact I am certain she is well aware of. Have you a point in reminding her?” Rafe drummed the fingers of his good hand on the side table.
Ignoring his warning tone, Wakley nodded. “Though it is not in my power to make her a real doctor, I can give her the same examination that is received at Oxford and perhaps offer her some training, so that she may at least gain some sense of vindication.”
Rafe opened his mouth to refuse, yet the words caught in his throat at the man’s logic and consideration. However, he couldn’t risk further involvement with mortals, for him or Cassandra. Not until her fate was decided. And he still had no notion how he would resolve his predicament. Hell, he hadn’t even told her about the letter from the Elders yet.
He coughed. “I—”
“Oh, Mr. Wakley!” Cassandra gasped in unabashed delight as she rushed down the stairs. “Would you?”
The surgeon nodded. “As long as you understand that it is only a ceremonial gesture.”
“I understand.” Cassandra’s voice quavered with hope and gratitude.
Rafe hid the wrapped parcel by holding the microscope behind his back before she met his gaze.
Slowly, she approached him, her eyes deep pools of abject longing. “Rafael…?” The question hung in the air, tangible as an embrace.
He closed his eyes as his mind warred with his heart. She stood so close that her hair brushed his sleeve and he could smell her intoxicating scent.
Taking a deep breath, he uttered an impractical reply. “I am certain you shall pass with alacrity.”
She could be dead within the month. The least he could do was allow her to touch her dream.
Cassandra rose on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips felt like a healing balm on his scars.
“Thank you.” Her breath caressed his ear before she turned to Wakley. “Would you like to see my laboratory?”
“I would be honored.” The surgeon ran a hand through his golden hair and smiled.
As Cassandra led Wakley up the stairs, Rafe hid her gift in his waistcoat pocket before he followed.
The moment they entered the laboratory, Wakley exclaimed in awe over every book and item. Rafe should have found it tedious. Instead he felt a warm surge of pride for his…prisoner. He frowned. She was his prisoner, nothing more.
“When will you give me the examination?” Cassandra asked suddenly.
Wakley smiled. “Right now if you like.”
“Now?” She looked around her laboratory in confusion. “Won’t we require a cadaver?”
The surgeon laughed. “No, though ideally you should have witnessed at least a few operations. I shall find out how knowledgeable you are during the examination. Shall we begin?”
“Yes.” Cassandra bit her lip, looking so nervous that Rafe had the urge to pull her into his arms.
“Do you speak Latin?” Wakley asked.
“Yes, my father hired me a tutor.”
“Greek?”
Cassandra nodded, a hint of pride gleaming in her eyes.
Wakley took one of her medical books from her shelf, opened it seemingly at random, and instructed her to read the page.
As her melodious voice poured out in flawless Greek, Rafe felt another wave of amazement. Along with his native tongue, he only knew Latin, French, and English, the last of which took him nearly a century to master. That was four languages in three centuries. Cassandra had learned as many in a fraction of the time.
“Now explain the treatment,” Wakley said when she finished.
Though the response was in English, Rafe could barely grasp the meaning of her words. The reply satisfied Wakley. He gave her another book and pressed her to do the same in Latin.
“Very good, Lady Rosslyn.” He proceeded to pose to her the same sort of questions as the one he’d first presented at Sir Patrick’s dinner party.
Her answers were so brilliant, knowledgeable, and practical that Rafe could believe she’d been a practicing physician for years. His fist clenched at his side as anger roiled through him. She should have been able to take this examination officially.
After Cassandra answered the final question, there was a long moment of silence before Wakley began to clap.
“Very good, Doctor Burton.”
She raised a brow and frowned in disbelief. “That was all?”
“For an Oxford-trained physician.” Wakley’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Gentlemen aren’t supposed to dirty their hands. Now if you wanted to become a surgeon, you would need to undergo an apprenticeship, which I’m afraid would be impossible. No surgeon would take you on, and no one would allow a woman to operate upon their person.”
Her chin lifted, eyes glittering with determination. “Could I learn on a cadaver? I’ve dissected them to learn anatomy as well as a few basic operations already.”
Wakley chuckled. “Why, Lady Rosslyn, don’t you know that it is illegal to harvest cadavers?”
“And dangerous,” Rafe added, clenching his fists. If she hadn’t been robbing graves, she wouldn’t be in this situation. And Wakley never would have been attacked.
The mirth bled from Cassandra’s sparkling green eyes, making him regret his words. Would she tell the surgeon who had been responsible for his attack?
A tense silence hung in the air before Cassandra uttered a strained laugh. “Come now, Mr. Wakley, do not attempt to deny that you do it as well.”
The surgeon darted a nervous glance toward Rafe. “I suppose I could give you a few lessons, though not many, for I am busy with The Lancet. What would you like to focus on?”
Rafe shook his head and opened his mouth to protest. Cassandra ignored him.
“The musculature of the arms,” she said firmly.
Wakley eyed Rafe’s disfigured limb with a knowing smile. “A wise choice.”
Cassandra also studied Rafe’s arm, and for the first time since he’d become crippled, he wasn’t discomfited by the scrutiny. This time he felt a gossamer thread of hope. What if he could be healed?
However, there was the matter of Cassandra remaining under his supervision. Rafe thought quickly. There was only one option, though he did not like it.
“You will have to teach her here,” he told Wakley. “The cadaver can be stored in the icehouse.” Another thought sprang to mind. “And do not harvest it from St. Pancras or Whitechapel. They are, ah, being patrolled, from what I understand.” The last thing he needed was more grave robbers bothering his people. Or for Wakley to come under scrutiny once more.
Cassandra fetched her reticule from the desk in the corner. “Allow me to pay for procuring the specimen.”
Rafe raised a brow. “I’ll pay for it.”
She blushed and turned back to Wakley. “When may we begin?”
“If only all students had your enthusiasm.” The surgeon chuckled. “If my arrangements go as planned, I can be here tomorrow evening with a wagon. If not, I’ll send a note. Now I had best depart before my beleaguered wife worries.”
After Wakley left, Cassandra rushed to Rafe in a flurry of skirts. “Thank you so much for this. What can I do to repay your kindness?”
“I do not know if it was precisely kind.” At the conclusion of her imprisonment, she might even call him cruel. Yet when he looked down at her flushed cheeks, glittering eyes, and parted lips, his lust took control of his mouth. “Kiss me, Querida. That is all I ask.”
She sucked in a breath, whether from revulsion or anticipation, he could not tell. Then she stepped forward until her breasts pressed against his chest, warm even through the barriers of fabric between them. Slowly, she reached up with both hands and caressed his face before rising on her toes until her lips were inches from his.
“Like this?” she whispered and pressed her lips against his.
Rafe closed his eyes and savored the taste and feel of molten satin. Feather-light, her lips caressed him as if exploring the curves and angles of his mouth. He’d never before felt anything so subtly erotic. Immediately, his cock grew stiff.
Reaching out with his good arm, he pulled her tighter against him as he returned her kiss, feeding at her mouth like a man starved. He felt Cassandra’s pulse accelerate, and a shiver ran down his spine when the tip of her tongue slid between his lips. Hot lust roared through his being, along with savage hunger.
With painful reluctance, he drew back before he lost his senses. “I need to go hunting now,” he rasped. Before I tear off your clothes and plunge my cock and my fangs inside you.
Her white teeth nibbled her plump lower lip as she nodded.
He hurried down the stairs and out into the cold October night air. It wasn’t cold enough.
* * *
Cassandra slumped against the wall, shivering long
after Rafael departed, though her body remained flooded with heat. What was it about his kisses that affected her so?
They had been nothing like her late husband’s grandmotherly pecks by day and slobbery assaults by night.
Rafe’s lips had been so warm, so gentle, yet firm with restrained, compelling danger. Perhaps he used some manner of vampire magic. Placing her hand on the wall, she steadied herself. No. There was no such thing as magic. And his mesmerism didn’t work on her. There had to be a logical explanation for how he made her feel.
Her mind raced in circles, unable to formulate the slightest hint of a hypothesis. On shaking legs, she left the laboratory and went downstairs. Perhaps some tea would settle her fluttering stomach and slow her racing heart so she could think.
Mrs. Smythe failed to hide a yawn when Cassandra rang for her. “I apologize, my lady. These late hours your protector insists upon take getting used to. And I do wish he would hire more staff…and more efficient people as well. That Anthony means well, but he is simply not up to snuff. And that William…” Her eyes narrowed in disgust as she broke off. “I’ll get your tea.”
Protector? “Jailer” was more apt. However, she couldn’t agree more about William. Aside from his insolence, there was something decidedly shifty about that vampire. She considered talking to Rafael about him but immediately dismissed the idea. She was a human prisoner. What say could she have on vampire affairs?
Mrs. Smythe brought her tea, hiding another yawn.
“Thank you. You may retire now.”
“Are you certain, my lady? What if you need something later?”
“I shall have Anthony or Don Villar see to it.” Cassandra felt a pang of sympathy at the dark circles under the poor woman’s eyes. “And please do not be up too early.”
The housekeeper smiled gratefully. “Very good, my lady. If you don’t mind me saying so, you should get some rest as well. You look flushed.”
