Page 12 of Bite at First Sight

“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.

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