by Brooklyn Ann
Wakley rounded on Cassandra, still staring. “How did you do it?”
“I repaired the extensor carpi ulnaris. The rest of the issue appears to be atrophy, so I’ve been implementing a combination of exercise and massage.”
“Speaking of exercise…” Rafe addressed the doctor. “I believe you can help me in that.”
Wakley peered at him curiously. “How?”
“I understand you are a respected pugilist. I wonder if you could spar with me so I may learn how to use my left arm in a match.”
The doctor gaped. “Do you mean you learned to box after the injury?”
Rafe nodded. “I did not want to be seen as a weak cripple.”
“And you’re among the most renowned pugilists in the city,” Wakley said softly. “However, as much as I’m tempted by the opportunity to face off with such an infamous fighter, I fear that boxing so soon after your operation may damage your arm. The stitches can hardly even be healed yet.” He turned back to Cassandra. “And you still haven’t described the exact details of the surgery.”
Rafe tapped him on the shoulder and captured Wakley’s gaze with his amber eyes. “You do not need to know the details of the operation. You will box with me tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” Wakley blinked suddenly as if awakened from a dream. “I would be delighted, Villar. How about tomorrow evening, say at six o’clock?”
“That is most agreeable, thank you.”
Cassandra fought back a gasp at Rafe’s power to hypnotize the surgeon. This was what he’d tried to do to her when he caught her in the cemetery. Why didn’t it work on her? Before she could wonder more, Wakley bade her good-bye.
“I want an article on atrophy next.” He squeezed her shoulder in a fatherly fashion before heading out the door.
“All right,” she murmured to his retreating form. If she lived to write it.
Lydia and Vincent peered at her curiously. Lydia recovered herself first. “What was that about?”
Rafe shook his head. “It is a long story. Now I want to see what Wentworth wants before we turn to important matters.” He withdrew his envelope and looked to Vincent to open his.
Cassandra’s eyes widened as the vampires opened cards that looked like invitations.
Rafe came to the same conclusion as he scanned the contents. “We’re invited to a ball.”
Vincent nodded with a slight smile. “I think we should accept.”
Rafe rounded on Deveril with a fierce scowl. “Why in God’s name do you think we should do that when everything is going to hell?” He shook his head, eyes blazing. “Especially when you despise mingling with people almost as much as I do?”
Cassandra nodded. He had snatched the words from her mouth.
Vincent smiled slowly, indifferent to the angry outburst. “Because I think this will be the perfect opportunity to prepare to announce your engagement to Lady Rosslyn.”
* * *
The earth seemed to plummet beneath Rafe’s feet. Was Deveril in fact as mad as he was reputed to be?
Cassandra’s jaw dropped. “Whaaaat?”
Rafe shrugged helplessly, having no idea what he could say to reassure her, not until after he’d wrangled a number of explanations from Vincent.
“Lady Rosslyn, perhaps you could show Lady Deveril your laboratory,” Rafe commanded, eyeing Vincent.
Cassandra visibly bristled, but either she grasped his sense of urgency or was won over by Lydia’s enthusiastic grin. She nodded slowly and led Lydia up the stairs.
Vincent followed Rafe up to the study, declining a cigar and accepting a glass of Madeira.
Rafe clamped his teeth around his cigar. “What is the meaning of this?”
Curling his long fingers over the glass, Vincent regarded Rafe solemnly. “First, tell me everything about your situation with Lady Rosslyn.”
Drawing deeply on his cigar, Rafe exhaled with a sigh and explained, beginning with their encounter in the cemetery and ending with her healing his arm and the Elders dictating a deadline for him to kill or Change her…which would end the night before Guy Fawkes Night. He omitted mention of the development of their intimate relationship, though he had the feeling that Vincent already suspected as much.
Vincent leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with sympathetic understanding. “So you cannot Change her, but you care for her too much to bring yourself to kill her, despite the fact that it is the law.”
Rafe nodded slowly. “Yes, I’m certain you are laughing at me after how I treated you during your trials with Lydia.”
“I had a brief chuckle at the irony, though to be honest, my heart aches for you.” Vincent shook his head. “I would not wish your dilemma on my most hated enemy.”
The sincerity of his words made Rafe’s chest tighten. Humbled, he replied slowly and hoarsely. “I cannot thank you enough for coming to my aid. I have never done well with making friends, and I—”
Vincent held up a hand. “Do not thank me yet. My efforts to aid you may very well come to naught.”
“Then I suppose we should move to the next concerning subject at hand.” A measure of tension left him as he turned his scrutiny on Deveril. “Now tell me why I should become engaged to Lady Rosslyn.” He fought back a tendril of pleasure at the idea.
The Lord of Cornwall leaned back in his chair. “I had thought the answer would be obvious.”
Comprehension struck like a bolt of lightning. “You think doing so may deter the Elders from ordering her death.” Rafe cursed himself for not grasping the obvious. “Just as when you wed Lydia.”
“I would have wed her anyway. I simply could not wait any longer for…” Vincent broke off his words with a salacious wink.
Rafe laughed. He now knew such anticipation. Then the gravity of the situation settled upon his soul, crushing all levity. “It may not work. I made Cassandra a pariah the moment I brought her into this house. Her peers cross to the other side of the street when they see her.”
“And many will continue to do so,” Vincent agreed calmly. “However, these people thrive on gossip and intrigue to season their dull, insipid lives. Many will welcome the engagement simply because it will give them the opportunity to keep your scandalous adventures as a subject of titillation.”
Rafe’s agonized sigh echoed through the room. “As much as I am loath to say so, you are likely correct. Now how do you propose I make my debut in Society and resurrect Cassandra’s reputation?”
Vincent took a deep drink. “First, you will both require new wardrobes, which would cost the earth at such short notice. Thankfully, I have two vampire seamstresses.”
“The Siddons sisters?” Rafe nearly choked on his brandy. “Do you think it’s a wise idea to bring them back to London after all the trouble they caused last year?”
Vincent sighed. “Not in the slightest. Unfortunately, they’re the only ones who can prepare you for the ball in time…and I’ll have a guard with them at all times.”
As the Lord Vampire of Cornwall continued to rattle off an inexhaustible list of requirements, Rafe resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. This would be impossible.
Twenty-five
“And this is a genuine Van Leeuwenhoek microscope.” Cassandra’s hands trembled as she held the precious device out to the vampire countess. “It can magnify up to five hundred times.”
Lydia glanced at the microscope distantly before her gaze once more narrowed on Cassandra’s face. “Lady Rosslyn, as fascinating as this is, I cannot help noticing that you seem flustered.”
“I am perfectly all right,” Cassandra protested weakly. “I confess I was taken by surprise at your husband’s idea of a feigned engagement, though I am certain a logical explanation exists for such a ruse.”
Lady Deveril placed her hands on her hips, golden eyes intent, as if trying to peer into he
r soul. “Cassandra, I realize that you are trying to handle this complicated situation with your usual aplomb. However, I do think it would be easier for you if you talked about it.”
Cassandra heaved a sigh. “Everything in my life has become so complicated, so confusing, and so far out of my control. I cannot believe that Rafe’s people are waging a war against him because of me and—”
“You mustn’t think any such thing,” Lydia admonished. “From what I have discovered, Clayton is an utter and complete rapscallion and has been planning this foolish rebellion for quite some time. If you hadn’t ended up with Rafe, Clayton would have concocted another excuse for his treason.”
Despite the comforting reason of the countess’s explanation, it did little to ameliorate Cassandra’s other worries.
As if reading her mind, Lydia folded her arms and fixed her with an intent stare. “Now, tell me exactly how you came to be here.”
Cassandra opened her mouth to protest, but the countess’s will was irrefutable. With a sigh, she complied. The words came slowly at first, then rushed out like floodwaters held too long in restraint.
She began with her fateful jaunt to the cemetery to gather a specimen for her studies and her subsequent encounter with Rafe. She told the countess about how he’d been forced to take her prisoner when he’d been unable to erase her memory. She described his surgeries and the accelerating trouble with Clayton. Yet she did not speak of his passionate, drugging kisses or his intoxicating mastery over her body. Her own mind was still struggling to process and analyze that unprecedented phenomenon.
Lydia took a deep breath and exhaled in a rush. “I cannot believe he Changed someone without sanction from the Elders! He has always been so staunch about following the rules. I would laugh if it hadn’t resulted in such dire circumstances. And he was supposed to have killed you a few nights ago?”
Cassandra nodded. “Yes. He told me that he couldn’t bring himself to do so, and now he is trying to find another vampire to Change me.”
Lydia smiled warmly. “I knew he was interested in you since I witnessed your first encounter. He used to watch you so intently when he thought no one was looking. I was afraid he planned to carry you off and devour you.”
“Frankly, he seemed more annoyed with me than interested.” Cassandra laughed bitterly. “Now I fear he is suffering from a juxtaposition of guilt for imprisoning me and gratitude for my healing his arm.”
Lady Deveril shook her head adamantly. “No, Rafe is ruthless as well as a tiresome stickler for the rules. If he didn’t care for you, he would have killed you without a whisper of remorse.”
“He’s never said a word to indicate that he feels anything aside from the aforementioned remorse and thankfulness.” Her heart ached at the admission.
“He is a man of action, not words.” Lydia’s voice remained implacable. Suddenly, her brow rose and a ghost of a mischievous smile hovered on her lips. “Has he kissed you?”
Cassandra’s face flamed, remembering the original bargain Rafe had made with her and its sinful, sensuous culmination. Images of his torrid lovemaking flashed through her mind, momentarily suspending her capability of speech and rational thought.
Lydia gave her a knowing grin. “Ah, I see he has done more than that. Has he made love to you?”
“I don’t know if he has exactly,” she blurted out without thinking, overcome with frustrated confusion. “‘Made love’ seems to be such a placid term for what he…”
The countess’s eyes widened in concern as she placed a hand on Cassandra’s sleeve and whispered, “Did he hurt you?”
“No, not at all…” Cassandra was so embarrassed by the subject that even her ears felt hot. Were all Americans this candid about such intimate subjects? “Though he was quite, ah, vigorous.”
After Lydia made a small relieved sound, her devilish smile returned. “Yes, they can be that way at times. However, vampires are much stronger than humans, so it speaks volumes that he made an effort to not cause you pain.”
Unbidden, a tendril of warmth curled through Cassandra’s belly at the words. She managed a light, awkward laugh. “This is a rather unseemly conversation.”
Lydia nodded, undaunted. “Yes, it is. Very well, I shall change the subject.” Cocking her head to the side, she asked, “Do you love him?”
Cassandra sucked in a breath. Forcing composure, she said in a monotone, “Love is an affliction without any logical basis.”
“Hence its grand mystery, power, and endless capacity for wonder,” Lydia answered levelly. “Now answer my question. Do you love him?”
Cassandra dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to face the woman’s sympathetic gaze. “Yes.” The word choked out against her will. “But there is no sense in it. I cannot understand how—”
“Not everything in this world is comprehensible. Nor is it meant to be, in my opinion.” Lydia’s smooth drawl washed over Cassandra like a soothing balm. “You should permit some mystery in your life.”
“I am not sure that I can.” Cassandra shrugged helplessly. “Such a concept deviates from my nature.” Even now, her capacity for common sense was in turmoil with the idea of conversing with a vampire about romance like a debutante at her first ball.
Lydia seemed to understand Cassandra’s inner struggle. “We can talk more another time.” She closed her eyes and turned her head toward the door, like a doe scenting the air for predators. “Our gentlemen are finishing up in the study.”
The moment Lydia finished speaking, Cassandra heard a door open with a creak and hushed, solemn male voices echoing softly in the corridor outside. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and willed herself to present a serene countenance before they entered the room.
Lord Deveril came in first, blue-gray eyes wide with fascination as they perused her laboratory. When those stormy eyes settled on his wife, they warmed, taking on a hint of turquoise. “And how are you ladies getting on?”
Lydia’s features softened, transforming her into the very image of rapturous adoration. Cassandra wondered if her own face gave away her feelings so readily—and fervently prayed that was not the case.
As Rafe approached her, she turned to the earl. “We are quite well, thank you, Lord Deveril. Would you care to tell me why Rafe and I are pretending to be engaged for the sake of the ton’s approval? And why are we bothering with this nonsense over a ball when war is imminent?”
“I already discussed my scheme with Rafe,” Vincent told her levelly.
Cassandra gave Rafe a stern frown. “Don’t even consider giving me the brush-off as well.”
Rafe chuckled. “I had no intention of doing so, Countess. Vincent believes that if we have a more prominent place in the mortal world, the Elders may be more reluctant to kill me…or you. It may not work, but there is little harm in trying.” For a moment he looked like he would say more; then instead he lit a cigar.
“Well, I can see the reason in such a scheme,” Cassandra said with forced brightness. Her stomach continued to churn in discomfort at certain aspects of the deception.
“It was all I could think of on such short notice,” Lord Deveril said apologetically. “The pair of you will need any scrap of mercy you can garner.”
She managed a wan smile. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Please, call me Vincent.” The vampire bowed with a friendly smile and gestured around her laboratory. “You have a very impressive working space here. Would you care to show me around and perhaps tell me the tale of Rafe’s miraculous recovery?”
Cassandra smiled gratefully at the change of subject and gave him a tour of her laboratory, showing him her surgical instruments and explaining how she had used them for Rafe’s operation. Indeed, it was a relief to talk openly of her procedures rather than evading the truth as when she spoke with Wakley.
Lydia chimed in with avid, perceptive questions. R
afe leaned against the door frame and supplied answers when required, smiling more than she had ever seen him. A rare comforting air filled the room as the vampires looked at her with respect and admiration, rather than the pity and concern they had first displayed.
By the time they left the laboratory and Rafe showed Vincent and Lydia to the guest chamber he’d had prepared for them, Cassandra truly felt as if she had allies in this frightening, confusing situation.
* * *
Once Vincent and Lydia were settled for the day rest and Rafe and Cassandra had returned to their bedchamber, Rafe couldn’t wait a moment longer to pull her into his arms. Dios, she had been so brave. So astoundingly practical and so damned beautiful. For a while, he was content to merely hold her, savoring the much-craved heat of her body against his.
But when he helped her out of her brocade gown, a surge of undeniable lust roared through him as his eyes took in her naked perfection. Rafe gritted his teeth and resisted the primal urge to ravage her. Tonight he would be gentle.
“Would you like me to rub your back, Querida?” he asked softly, unbuttoning his shirt.
She turned to face him, and he sucked in a breath at the sight of her perfect breasts. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
As she lay on her stomach, Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, pretending not to notice her admiring the reflection of his bare chest in the mirror. His pleasure in that observation, however, was impossible to conceal. He hid his face in a curtain of hair and concentrated on massaging her neck and shoulders.
Her low moan of pleasure made his cock harden. Rafe struggled to tamp down his lust. Her muscles were alarmingly tense and knotted, physical testimony of the strain she’d suffered the last few nights.
His gaze narrowed on the fading bruise on her cheek, and a fresh well of rage roared through him. Clayton would pay for hurting her…for merely touching her.
Rafe bit down on his anger, instead focusing on the feel of her silken skin beneath his fingertips as he applied gentle pressure and the heady mixture of triumph and arousal as the tightness eased and she made exquisite, blissful sounds.
