Bite at First Sight (3 page)

William sighed and shook his head. “No, my lord.”

“I do not like this any more than you do.” Quelling his irritation, Rafe softened his tone. “Just do some light dusting for now and then you may go hunt.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Anthony emerged, carrying a tray holding a decanter of ruby liquid and a glass. “No need to dust the kitchens, William. I’ve already taken care of that area. The lady will need to eat, after all. I’ve also poured you a glass of Madeira, my lord. Where shall you take it?”

“Thank you, Anthony. The library will do. Pour yourself one as well. I have a few things to ask you.”

William glared at Anthony and muttered under his breath, “Arse-kisser.”

Anthony shook his head, smiling as they headed up the stairs. Rafe nodded in approval. At least his third-in-command was handling this disaster with competence and dignity.

In the library, Rafe settled in a wingback chair and lit a cigar, taking his Madeira with gratitude. “Tell me, Anthony, can you cook?”

His third frowned. “I doubt I could even boil water. And William likely cannot discern the difference between sugar and salt.”

Rafe blew out a cloud of smoke with a sigh. “Yet another complication. I cannot very well allow the countess to starve, and we cannot rely on fare from inns every night.”

Anthony regarded him strangely, leaning forward. “You behave as if you know her.”

“She is a friend of the Duchess of Burnrath. Naturally we have had a few brief encounters.”

And
potent
encounters
they
were.
Rafe closed his eyes at the memory. While all other members of the
haut
ton
regarded him with suspicion and disgust, Lady Rosslyn had sought him out with bold curiosity. The rapt fascination in her glittering green eyes had been nearly enough to undo him. So he had been rude to her to drive her away, to protect her from himself. Little good it had done.

“So now you’ll have to either kill her or make her one of us,” Anthony mused aloud. “I do not envy you for that responsibility, though I must say that she is very beautiful and seems to possess courage as well as a strong spirit. She may make a fine vampire indeed. And you could do with a bit of companionship.”

Rafe shook his head and took another drink. “I am afraid it is not as simple as that. I couldn’t Change her even if I wanted to.”

Anthony’s brows drew together in confusion before his eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Do you mean you’ve Changed someone recently? Without sanction from the Elders?”

“I owed the duchess a favor.” Rafe nodded with impatience and more than a touch of shame for breaking the law. The Elders required a vampire to notify them any time they intended to Change a mortal, not only to keep track of the vampire population, but also to ensure that no one was Changed who could pose a risk to their kind, such as criminals, prominent figures, or children.

Anthony leaned forward with avid curiosity. “Who did you Change?”

“It is none of your concern, and do not tell anyone, especially the countess.” Rafe ground his teeth. Yet again, the duchess had caused trouble for him. It took years to gain the power to Change a mortal. If he tried it again so soon, Cassandra would likely not survive.

“I could Change her,” Anthony said quietly. “I’m one hundred thirty years of age. Surely that is sufficient power.”

Rafe’s fingers stiffened on the arm of the chair as he struggled to conceal his shock. Gratitude at the vampire’s loyal offer warred with rage at the thought of Anthony’s fangs penetrating Cassandra’s lovely neck.

“Let us wait and see what the Elders say before making any drastic decisions. Besides, you do not want to squander such power lightly.” Rafe stood and crushed out his cigar before Anthony could say anything further. “Now I am going to Mark her.”

Cursing under his breath, he left the library and stalked to his chamber, pausing at the door. Marking her would make things worse for him, but it had to be done. He couldn’t risk her escaping or falling into the clutches of another vampire.

Fitting the key into the lock, he opened the door as quietly as possible. Relief filled him at the sight of her still form on the bed and the sound of her even breathing. He hadn’t the patience to hear more questions for which he did not have answers.

A pang of guilt struck him as he approached the bed, noting that she’d only managed to unfasten a few of the tiny buttons on the back of her gown. Doubtless she was uncomfortable sleeping in such a garment. She would need a lady’s maid to help her with such things…and more clothing, for that matter. Tomorrow they would have to go to her home and fetch her things before someone noted her disappearance. Yet another complication.

Rafe clenched his teeth as he stood over Lady Rosslyn, taking in her tumble of fiery auburn curls, her fine-boned features, the sweep of her lashes, the curve of her lips. Reaching out a shaky hand, he brushed his fingers across that silken mass of hair with a whisper of a touch.

He snatched back his hand with an inner curse. She was too fine to be handled by the likes of him. However, this business had to be done. Raising his index finger to his mouth, he pierced the digit with a fang, watching his blood bead up from the wound. Never in centuries had he imagined performing such an act.

Carefully, Rafe held his finger above Lady Rosslyn’s parted lips, allowing his magical blood to drip into her mouth.

In as low a voice as possible, he recited the words that would bind her to him for the rest of her life. “I, Rafael Villar, interim Lord of London, Mark this mortal, Cassandra Burton, as mine and mine alone. With this Mark I give Cassandra my undying protection. Let all others, immortal and mortal alike, who cross her path sense my Mark and know that to act against her is to act against myself and thus set forth my wrath, as I will avenge what is mine.”

The Mark sang between them with such dark harmony that Rafe stumbled back. Cassandra moaned and her eyes fluttered open.

“What…?” she moaned sleepily.

His breath caught with desire. With her tousled hair and slumberous gaze, she looked like a well-bedded woman. Rafe shook his head. Such thoughts were dangerous.

“Nothing.” He struggled to sound gentle. “Go back to sleep, Countess.”

She murmured something unintelligible and rolled over, groaning in discomfort at her constricting gown. How he wished he could relieve her of it. Instead he headed back to the door and sprawled next to the heavy oak barrier to await the dawn. There would be no sleep for him this day.

29 September 1823

William glanced about furtively as he knocked on Clayton Edmondson’s town-house door. Clayton, Rafael Villar’s second-in-command, answered the door himself. The older vampire seized William by the shoulders and yanked him inside.

“Is it true?” Clayton demanded, eyes glowing with fury.

William nodded, fists clenched in outrage. “You do not know the half of it. She’s a goddamned
countess
…and Villar seems intent on treating her as such. He made me dust the main floor as if I were a common parlor maid!”

Clayton rubbed his jaw. “That does not sound as if he is keen on killing her.”

“Well, he can’t Change her. I overheard him telling Anthony.”

“
What?
” the other vampire growled. “Then he should have killed her right away.”

William leaned back and crossed his arms. “He claims he will wait until the Elders answer his report, but I think he is stalling for time to find an excuse to keep her. She is quite the fancy piece, after all.”

“So he is as big a fool as his predecessor,” Clayton mused. “Well, I think it is time to embark on the plan we’d discussed. Find those who you believe would be receptive and tell them to meet at the abandoned warehouse on the wharf Thursday at midnight.”

William arched a brow. “What of my payment?”

Clayton sighed and strode to a cabinet, pulling out a small wooden box. The cloying odor of opium filled the room as he handed William a small cloth-wrapped parcel.

“This is less than last time.”

Fangs bared, Clayton’s snarl made the younger vampire cringe. “If you expect to become my second, you will have to wean yourself off this vile substance by the time I become Lord of this city.”

* * *

Cassandra thrashed in the bed, biting back a cry as memories haunted her dreams with such vivid clarity that it was like reliving them all over again.

Her
mother’s face, contorted in pain as she struggled to sing a lullaby…the doctor’s helpless shrug…solemn footmen carrying Mother’s shrouded corpse out of the house…

Papa
staring
out
the
window, cold and silent as the statues in the garden…a bottle of port slipping from limp fingers to shatter on the floor…ruby droplets gleaming like blood… There had been no blood when he died a year later. He had simply clutched his chest, muttered a curse, and collapsed…quickly, with no warning. If only Cassandra had known. Perhaps she could have fixed him.

Trembling, Cassandra’s hand is placed in the grip of the Earl of Rosslyn as the parson drones on.
No! I don’t love him! I don’t want to be a countess. I want to be a doctor!

Clammy
lips
pressed
against
hers
in
the
darkened
bedchamber. John awkwardly fumbling beneath her nightgown. Pain…only a few moments… It seemed to last forever.

Whispers
and
laughter
at
Cassandra’s eccentricity echo behind fans at the Devonshire ball. She escapes into the garden and sees John in the arms of her former chaperone. Relief, blessed relief. With her husband occupied, there will be more time to pursue her studies.

John
gapes
in
shock
as
Cassandra
encourages
him
to
continue
with
his
lover. When returning home from Sarah’s embrace, he often brings her a new scientific text.

Sarah
crying
in
Cassandra’s arms. John’s heart gave out with no warning, just as Papa’s had. But why? He was so young. Rifling through her medical books. There must be an answer. Widowhood at least gave her time to study.

Cruel
faces
looking
down
on
her
at
Cambridge, Oxford, and Saint Bartholomew’s. All said the same thing: “I am sorry, Lady Rosslyn, but women are not permitted to attend.” Her fists clenched in fury. She would show them. She would become the best physician in Britain on her own.

Trudging
through
the
cemetery, shivering in the cold, raising her shovel to plunge it into the frosty soil.

Rafael
Villar
emerges
from
the
shadows. Her heart races as he pulls her into his arms. Desire pulses between her legs. Only this man, this dark, dangerous man, had affected her in such an alarming manner. Moonlight glistens on deadly sharp fangs as they pierce her soft flesh—

Cassandra jolted from the dream, a cry dying on her lips as her eyes snapped open. Fresh panic gripped her throat as she took in the almost completely dark bedchamber. Unfamiliar shadows and a foreign, yet compelling scent of spices overcame her senses. This was not her room.
Where
am
I?

Scrambling from the unfamiliar bed, she adjusted the meager oil lamp with trembling fingers. As her surroundings were further illuminated, memories of the previous night crashed down upon her. She was at Burnrath House, a prisoner of Rafael Villar…and he was a
vampire.

Choking back a gasp, she glanced at the doorway. He was gone, but he could return any moment.

Cassandra struggled with the buttons on the back of her gown, shoulders throbbing with the effort. Managing to fasten all but the top one, she sighed and shook her hair down her back to cover it, setting the pins on the nightstand. She was far from presentable, but there was nothing to be done. Besides, why should she care? It was not as if she’d chosen to be abducted by a vampire and locked in his bedchamber without any food or so much as a change of clothing.

A
vampire…
All her thoughts and questions from the previous evening returned. Never before had she encountered such a fascinating being. Rafael possessed unfathomable strength. His speed defied the laws of nature…and his bite,
good
God
, his bite. How could something so macabre feel so pleasurable?

She placed a hand on her neck where his mouth had been, awed at the smooth and unblemished skin. Somehow, he had healed the wound.
Magic.
Cassandra shook her head. Impossible. She’d never believed in magic and she wasn’t about to start. A scientific explanation must exist.

Pacing the room, she observed the lack of windows. Cassandra froze as memories assaulted her consciousness. The Duchess of Burnrath had been responsible for the renovation, removing all windows on the upper floors, claiming to mitigate the recent window tax.

Her breath fled as Rafe’s words to her the previous night came back.
“Is that why you befriended the Duchess of Burnrath?”

“My God,” she whispered as it all came clear.

Gossip
had
circulated about the duke being a vampire after the publication of John Polidori’s story, “The Vampyre.” Cassandra had been in mourning at the time and dismissed the tidbits she’d heard as pure folderol. The talk silenced when the duke married, but the rumors seemed to have been true all along.

The duke and duchess were vampires. That was why Rafael had thought she was a vampire hunter. Her dearest, eccentric friend, Angelica, with whom Cassandra had enjoyed dozens of literary salons, musicales, and phantasmagorias, had been an immortal, blood-drinking creature all along. Now that she thought of it, Her Grace had never once paid her a call during the day.

Now the couple’s eccentricity made sense—they had only entertained at night. Rafael had said he’d been burned by worse than fire. Could he have been referring to the sun? She couldn’t begin to imagine such an unnatural vulnerability.

As she awaited his return, and hopefully a meal, Cassandra pondered her dilemma. What would her servants think when she didn’t return? Granted, they were accustomed to her autonomy and late hours, but even they would take notice if she didn’t return by the morning, or the next…

She shook her head. It was best to focus on things she could possibly control.

She needed to learn more about Villar and his kind. Therein lay the key to her survival. Perhaps if she discovered a way to heal Rafael’s arm, he would allow her to live. Closing her eyes, she devised a tentative plan.

The sound of the key in the lock had her bolting to her feet. It was time to face her captor.

“Good evening, my lady,” Anthony said cheerfully, carrying a cloth-wrapped object.

Cassandra didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to see the other vampire. Then the aroma of seasoned meat and freshly baked bread emanating from the basket he carried teased her nostrils. She’d never passed an entire day without eating.

“I’ve brought you some breakfast. Tea is brewing below stairs. However, I thought you might want this hot and fresh.” Anthony unwrapped the cloth to reveal a flaky meat pasty.

“Thank you very much.” Salivating, she needed all her effort to take the food gracefully and not snatch it from his grasp like a wild beast. Past the capacity for manners, she took a bite of the steaming pie without further preamble. It was much better than the previous evening’s greasy stew. “Is
Don
Villar about?”

Anthony shook his head. “No, my lady. He is out seeking his own sustenance.”

“Ah yes, blood.” Cassandra wiped her mouth with the cloth. “I wonder what makes your kind require it.”

The vampire’s eyes widened at her candor. “I’m sure I do not know, my lady.”

“No matter.” She shrugged. “Who are these Elders to whom Villar is sending a report?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

Anthony shivered and looked down at his boots. “They are a council of twelve of the most ancient and powerful members of our kind. They make the rules and we obey.”

“Ah, so they have decreed that I must be imprisoned to face a potential death sentence?” Despite Anthony’s fearful reaction at the mention of such formidable vampires, Cassandra felt a measure of relief that Rafael hadn’t been directly responsible for her current circumstances.

The vampire nodded. “Yes, and he was obligated by law to report your situation, lest he be punished. For the safety of our race, they need to be notified any time a mortal is apprised of our existence. It may be small comfort, but I believe Rafe doesn’t want to kill you.”

A light laugh escaped her lips. “Actually, that is a
substantial
comfort.” Though the prospect of becoming a nocturnal blood-drinker alarmed her, it was far preferable to being slain by one. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and whispered, “Do you think he will Change me then?”

Again the vampire looked down. “It is not really my place to say, my lady.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Truly, we shouldn’t be having this conversation. The master will not be pleased.”

She sighed in defeat. “Very well. I shall have my meal as well as my tea in the parlor. Please inform
the
master
that I should like to speak to him there.”

Anthony gaped, but he was no match for her long-held authority as a countess. He seemed to know it, because a small smile of admiration crossed his lips. “Very well, Lady Rosslyn. I shall escort you there and bring your tea shortly.”

Tamping down her trepidation, Cassandra squared her shoulders and followed the vampire down to the parlor. Her tea was delivered soon after, much weaker than she preferred, but she was grateful all the same. Hopefully it would help calm her nerves.

“Ordering my people about already, I see.” Rafael’s richly accented voice poured over her like dark honey as he strode into the room with the grace of a panther.

She rose from her seat quickly. “I, ah, wished to speak with you.”

His amber eyes glittered. “I gathered as much. You may carry on.”

Folding her hands behind her back so he couldn’t see them shaking, Cassandra began. “I have put some thought into this situation and I have come to a few conclusions.”

“Oh, have you now?” His deceptively mild tone belied his raised brow.

She forced herself to meet his burning gaze. “Well, first off, the Duke and Duchess of Burnrath are vampires as well, are they not?”

He scowled and did not answer.

Cassandra chuckled. “I shall take that as confirmation. However, that is not among my main concerns.”

“And those would be?” he inquired, eyeing her as if
she
were the newly discovered species.

She refused to let him unnerve her further. “I shall need food. It would be silly indeed if I were to starve to death before you decide to kill me properly.”

He inclined his head, that silken black hair falling forward to frame his face. “Your logic has merit. What else?”

“I need more clothing.” Before he could mock her, she held up a hand. “This is not an issue of vanity, only mere practicality. You cannot mean to keep me here when I only have one gown to wear.”

Leaning against the door frame, he regarded her with what appeared to be amusement. “What makes you presume so?”

She swallowed. “You can’t possibly be so cruel.”

He stalked closer to her like a feral predator. “Oh, I can be cruel, Countess. I can be
very
cruel indeed.”

Cassandra willed her knees to cease trembling and lifted her chin. “Well, if you can be cruel, sir, then
I
can be difficult, though I would prefer to not be so.”

Rafael’s eyes narrowed and he bared a hint of fangs. “What do you mean?”

She held her ground, fighting the instinct to step back. “I mean, I-I’ve been quite cooperative with your abducting me and facing a possible death sentence and, well…”

“Well?” he prompted in a dangerous, velvety voice.