by Brooklyn Ann
Cassandra froze as her loins flared in heat at the prospect of such naughty intimacy. “W-would I be too heavy?”
He laughed. “Not in the slightest. Well, climb on up then.”
Legs quivering, she lifted the skirt of her chemise to sit on his lower back. The feel of him between her thighs made her core ache with longing. Only a thin layer of fabric separated their flesh. Cassandra bit her lip to keep from moaning and concentrated on applying firm, rotating pressure on the muscle.
“Ah,” Rafe groaned, “that feels so good.” He shifted beneath her and moved his arms back so his fingers brushed her thighs.
Cassandra bit her lip harder. Is he intentionally touching me there, or is he still muzzy from the drugs? Daring to experiment, she moved her hips forward, gasping at the improper friction.
Rafe lifted his head to meet her gaze in the mirror. “Are you trying to seduce me, Countess?” With idle purpose he began to stroke her thighs.
“Yes.” The answer tore from her throat before she could deem it unwise.
He remained silent for a long time. His fingers continued their gentle caress. It took all of her willpower not to gyrate against him.
Please, she cried silently. If he kept this up much longer, she’d go insane from need.
Suddenly, he sighed. “Cassandra, I confess that the idea of making love to you is tempting beyond reason.” He withdrew his hands. “However—”
A knock sounded on the door.
Cassandra gasped and scrambled off Rafe, yanking the bedclothes up to cover her state of undress.
“Yes?” Rafe growled dangerously, rising from the bed with his fangs bared.
The door opened a crack and Anthony poked his head in. “Carlisle is here, my lord. He says he’s seen the rogues.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “So there are more than one?”
“He said he saw three, which is why he did not give chase.” Anthony’s gaze took in the sight of Cassandra buried under the quilt and Rafe’s state of partial undress. The corner of his mouth lifted as he observed Cassandra’s blush.
Eyes still slightly glazed from the drugs, Rafe nodded and pulled on his boots. “Wise of him. You look better, thank Christ. I suppose we should gather a hunting party and see if we can round up the bastards.”
“Yes,” Anthony replied in a cold, dangerous voice that Cassandra had never heard before. He cracked his knuckles. “And God help them if they don’t return Lenore in one piece.”
Rafe followed him out the door, not even bothering to say good-bye to Cassandra.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered a silent prayer for Rafe and Anthony’s safety as well as Lenore’s return. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled a novel from the bureau drawer, deciding to read while she awaited Rafe’s return.
An hour later she threw down the book with a sigh. All she’d been doing was staring blankly at the words on the page as Rafe’s words echoed in her mind.
“I confess that the thought of making love to you is tempting beyond reason. However…”
“However what?” she said aloud. “What is wrong with me?”
* * *
Rafe ground his teeth in irritation as he walked through the freezing late-October rain. The rogues had been here. He could smell the unwelcome reek their presence had left behind. Unfortunately, they were long gone.
He lit a cigar, cupping his hands over the match flame for a semblance of warmth. The plume of smoke he exhaled looked the same as his breath. He didn’t want to be out here in the rain and frigid cold, chasing vampires who had no business in his territory. He wanted to be back in his bedchamber with a warm fire blazing…and Cassandra in his arms.
At least the search was nearly finished. Anthony, Carlisle, Elizabeth, and even Clayton had joined the hunt, their altercation temporarily forgotten. Hopefully one of them would turn up something, though Rafe doubted they’d have any luck this night.
Clayton materialized from the shadows of an adjacent alley. “I found them, but they escaped me, my lord. They fled like cowards into Rochester’s territory.”
“Hijo de mil putas.” Rafe tossed the remains of his cigar into an ice-rimmed puddle. “You were wise not to pursue them there. Rochester can be ruthless with uninvited vampires, and God knows we have enough troubles as it is.” He thrust his healing hand into his pocket and clenched the leather ball Cassandra had given him. The exercise helped him focus. “Perhaps it is fortunate that you chased them there. He may very well catch the wretches and deal with them for us.”
“Unless”—Clayton stroked his chin thoughtfully—“the rogues are his people.”
Rafe shook his head. “No. The Lord of Rochester keeps a tight rein on his subjects. He wouldn’t allow them to leave his jurisdiction to make mischief on mine.” But maybe he would be willing to help. “I will send him a message.”
“I’ll do it, my lord,” Clayton said quickly. “You have enough burdensome obligations on your hands, what with your prisoner and finding a new fourth-in-command. Besides, I remember your last encounter with Rochester. Perhaps he would be more receptive to communications from me.”
Rafe hid a frown at Clayton’s overly solicitous tone and resumed squeezing the ball in his pocket. What was the scheming bastardo up to now? However, he feigned agreement. “That may be. He and I are not exactly compadres. Go on with it then.”
Rafe fully intended to send a message of his own. He looked up and saw Anthony approaching and greeted him with a brisk wave.
Clayton glared at Rafe’s third-in-command before he bowed stiffly and stalked off.
Rafe ran a hand through his hair and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t trust his second-in-command’s overeager offer of help in the slightest. Yet for now it was enough to get rid of the perfidious wretch for the night. And soon, forever. A new fourth-in-command wasn’t the only position he’d be seeking to fill tomorrow night. Unfortunately, Clayton was unlikely to go quietly. He’d served as Ian’s second-in-command for nearly a century.
Rafe shrugged. Perhaps Rochester or another Lord would be willing to take him.
“I don’t like it, my lord,” Anthony muttered once Clayton was out of earshot. “Not a bit.”
“Do you mean Clayton?”
Anthony chuckled. “Well, yes. I’ve never liked the sanctimonious prig. This time I’m referring to the whole situation. The rogues, Lenore’s disappearance, and Clayton’s worse-than-usual nettlesome behavior. I tell you, that blasted cur may be behind it all. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“I don’t argue that he is up to something, yet I cannot see a motive for him to abduct one of our people and allow rogues into the city.” Rafe shook his head as they walked back to Burnrath House. “Either way, I intend to have someone keep an eye on him.”
His third nodded. “That sounds like a capital plan, my lord. Who is up to such an odious task?”
He spread his hands in exasperation. “That’s the bitter rub. I don’t know. Clayton isn’t the only one who has been behaving oddly of late.”
“Lord knows that’s the truth,” Anthony replied emphatically. After a moment, he added quietly, “Yourself not excluded.”
Rafe paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I’ve become odd as well?”
“There’s no need to be wary.” Anthony smiled. “It’s only that I cannot help noticing that your charming physician has brought forth a side of you that I’ve never seen.”
“Quit speaking in riddles, Anthony,” Rafe growled impatiently. “What are you talking about? I hope you don’t mean to say that I’ve gone soft.”
“Of course not, my lord.” Anthony laughed again and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Well, you had been far less cantankerous, though perhaps I spoke too soon.” He sobered. “You really care for her, don’t you?”
Rafe nodded stiffly. �
��To my everlasting regret and vexation, I do. I don’t know what I am going to do with her.”
“You have less than a fortnight left to decide her fate.”
Rafe sighed in defeat. “Yes, and I wrote letters to every vampire over a century old that I can call friend, asking them to Change her. Thus far, I have not received a reply.”
“Thank God, you are taking some action,” Anthony said. “But if no one volunteers—”
“It is not necessary to remind me,” Rafe snarled. “I am perfectly aware that—”
Anthony held up a hand. “What I mean to say is that our kind so often thinks we have eternity. We do not. Just as the humans we once were, we must savor every moment of our existence, for the next could be our last.”
“I had no idea you were so poetic,” Rafe said gruffly. He folded his arms and looked down before Anthony could see how deeply his words had struck him. Cristo, maybe he was going soft. “So…” He trailed off.
“So savor her, while you still can.” Anthony stopped to observe a pair of drunken louts stumbling out of a tavern. “Ah, how convenient. Supper.”
After they fed and returned to Burnrath House, Mrs. Smythe handed him two letters.
Rafe’s heart swelled with hope as he rushed to his study and opened them. His spirits plummeted as he read both refusals. The death clock ticked louder in his mind.
“I will save her. Somehow, I will save her,” he whispered as he burned the letters.
The need to hold Cassandra became a relentless ache. Rafe went straight to the bedchamber. As he headed up the stairs, he willed all of his worries to abate and be replaced with anticipation. For now, it was enough that he would soon spend the day lying beside her.
He opened the door and paused a moment just to enjoy the sight of Cassandra in his bed.
The lamps were extinguished and the fire had burned down to embers. Yet with his preternatural sight, Rafe could see her sleeping form clearly, from the glorious tumble of auburn curls on the pillow to the adorable frown line between her russet brows. Her lush lips pouted enticingly.
He stepped closer…and nearly tripped over a book on the floor. Rafe picked up the novel and frowned. Had she thrown it? It wasn’t like Cassandra to mistreat a book.
A slow smile spread across his lips. She’d been vexed at his departure from the bed. Perhaps she’d even taken it as a failure to seduce him. If only she knew how close she’d come to succeeding.
When Rafe lifted the covers and got into bed, Cassandra made a small, satisfied sound and scooted closer to him. It was all the invitation he needed. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he pulled her into his arms. Instead of killing her, he would take her up on her other invitation. The Elders be damned. As Anthony had advised, he would savor her…thoroughly.
Sixteen
24 October 1823
“No, thank you.” Cassandra waved away the luncheon tray.
Anthony set down the tray anyway. “You must eat, my lady.” Before she could argue again, he left her alone in the dining room.
Cassandra’s stomach churned at the sight of the food. How could she consider eating after Rafe’s apparent rejection last night?
Hot waves of humiliation washed over her like rancid rain. Now he was avoiding her. After brusquely helping her dress, he’d left to seek his evening meal with a curt good-bye. When he returned, he’d gone straight up to his study and spent hours there before leaving again.
She sighed and swirled her spoon in the steaming bowl of watercress soup. Truly, she had only herself to blame. Time and again she’d been counseled that men preferred virtuous ladies. She shouldn’t be surprised that Rafe had been repelled by her wanton attempts to seduce him.
Although he admitted that my offer tempted him, a tiny inner voice whispered. Cassandra shook off the indulgent attempt to soothe her wounded pride. Yes, but he also tacked on a “however,” which renders the statement nothing more than an empty platitude.
And why was she obsessing over unrequited, inconvenient desires when her situation so far had more dire aspects? She was on the precipice of so many unknowns. Surely facing the prospect of eternal life or early death should be more than enough to occupy her thoughts.
Despite such cataclysmic prospects, Rafe’s striking visage, piercing eyes, and sensuous lips refused to leave her mind. Cassandra’s fists clenched at her sides. She had to stop thinking about him. Doing so served no practical use whatsoever.
Lifting her chin with determination, she forced herself to eat a few bites of her meal before retiring to the library. She could not allow her foolish fascination with this vampire to cause her to neglect her studies.
With that in mind, she retired to the Duchess of Burnrath’s old writing room and composed her article on pain remedies for The Lancet.
Once finished, she studied a book on burn treatments, but as she started wondering if certain balms would work on vampires, Rafe’s scarred face once more invaded her mind. Did his burns still hurt? Or were the damaged areas without sensation? How would it feel to run her tongue across that roughened skin?
When he joined her in the library after midnight, it was all she could do to appear composed and indifferent.
Why didn’t he want her? Why did it matter? She thanked God he couldn’t read her mind.
“Would you like to retire upstairs for your treatment?” she ventured carefully, setting down her book. “I think it should continue for at least another few weeks, especially the work with your hands.”
He remained silent for the longest time, a strange and unreadable expression playing across his exotic face. “Yes, I would like to go upstairs…very much indeed.”
At least he hasn’t developed an aversion to my touch, she consoled herself as she followed him up the stairs to the bedchamber. And at least I will enjoy the feel of his glorious body for a little while longer. The secret place between her thighs throbbed in remembrance of last night’s erotic encounter.
The door closed behind them and the sound of the lock clicking into place made Cassandra freeze. Rafe hadn’t locked the door since he’d begun sleeping next to her in the bed.
“Well, my lady, shall I assist you with your gown?” he asked softly.
Her pulse accelerated. Did he want her out of her clothing, or was he simply being helpful?
“Y-yes, thank you.” She turned around before he could see her flaming cheeks.
With unbearable slowness, he worked the buttons free, lingering on each one like a caress. Gently, he pulled down the dress, his fingers trailing down her body. Heat pulsed between her thighs at his touch. Then he went to work on her stays. Cassandra bit back a gasp. By the time she was down to her chemise, she was trembling.
Biting her lip, she turned around to see Rafe removing his own shirt. As always, she stared in mute awe, captivated by his savage beauty.
Before her silence became disconcertingly apparent, she retrieved the leather ball from the bureau and held it out to him. “Shall we b-begin now?”
Rafe regarded her with a burning look that had made her knees turn to water. “I think that instead of squeezing that infernal ball, there is a much more suitable way for me to exercise my hands.”
“And that would be?” Cassandra had to look at the floor, lest she once more fell under the spell of the rippling muscles of his bare chest.
“I believe I should return the favor.” Rafe’s silken, rumbling voice commanded her to meet his gaze.
Fresh heat flooded her core once more at the thought of him touching her so intimately. “Y-you mean you want to…” She trailed off dumbly.
Rafe’s lips curved up, giving her that smile, the one that sent her abdomen fluttering. “I am certain you are sore from your ministrations to me, so lie down.”
Overcome with awe at the dreamlike situation, Cassandra nearly collapsed on the bed as she complied. When Rafe sat b
eside her, she looked up and met her own reflection in the mirror. Quickly, she shifted her hair to hide the improper longing in her gaze.
The heat of his hands through the thin fabric of her chemise immediately brought a low moan from her throat. Cassandra bit her lip to prevent from crying out in sheer bliss as his fingers worked deeper magic on her aching shoulders.
Suddenly, Rafe paused. “This will not do.”
No! Don’t stop! A small whimper escaped her lips. Cassandra struggled to feign composure and prayed he hadn’t noticed.
“This infernal thing is in the way.” His hands returned to her shoulders, grasping the straps of her chemise and pulling the garment down.
Though a voice from her well-bred past shouted that she was behaving like a harlot, Cassandra squirmed and shifted to aid him in exposing her bare flesh to the heat of the fire and the touch of a vampire. In fact, she felt a pang of regret when he neglected to remove her chemise fully, instead leaving the cotton bunched up at her hips.
Then Rafe’s fingers once more worked their magic, the pleasure so much more intense that her core throbbed with desire. His hands left her shoulders to massage her back. A low moan escaped her lips at the intensely blissful sensation. No one had ever touched her like this.
“This angle isn’t working,” he said, softly in a teasing voice.
He shifted on the bed and knelt, straddling her hips. As he resumed his exquisite ministrations, Cassandra arched her back. His long hair brushed the sides of her rib cage in a tempting whisper. His groin was so close to her aching center that she wanted to scream in frustration. Did he comprehend what he was doing?
Then his hands moved lower, massaging the taut muscles of her hips and easing tension she didn’t know she possessed. She looked up at the mirror. The sight of Rafe kneeling behind her and the sheen of firelight on his muscled arms as he touched her took her breath away. His glittering amber gaze met hers in the reflection, and his lips curved up in a wicked smile. Cassandra’s lips parted in awe. He was so beautiful that it was decadent.
