Page 13 of Bite at First Sight

And yet there he was, pacing the drawing room as he waited for Mrs. Smythe to help the countess dress. Rafe himself was immaculate in a black dinner jacket, pressed trousers, and a meticulously knotted cravat. He carried a jeweled walking stick to disguise the uselessness of his arm.

“I am ready, Don Villar.” Cassandra walked down the stairs, breathtaking in a shimmering gown of turquoise watered silk. Rafe’s mouth went dry. The male guests of the party would really despise him now, not because of his disfigurement, but because he would have this beautiful woman on his arm. A woman he was completely unworthy of.

“I appreciate your punctuality, Countess,” he said gruffly. “The carriage is ready.”

She beamed as she took his arm and immediately began to prattle on with unabashed enthusiasm about medical journals and scientific innovations.

Rafe fought back a surge of lust at her proximity. Perhaps he agreed to this ordeal out of a perverse desire for self-torture. Perhaps it was impossible to resist her infectious smile. Or maybe it was because she’d said he wasn’t grotesque with such sincerity in her sparkling eyes that he could almost believe it.

Five

4 October 1823

As Sir Patrick’s butler led Cassandra and Rafael into the drawing room, everyone fell silent, staring at Villar as if he were a new breed of insect. Cassandra’s lip curled in irritation at their rude scrutiny. Lifting her chin, she moved closer to him, declaring her allegiance.

“Lady Rosslyn!” Sir Patrick Blythe called out jovially as he rose from his seat. “I am delighted you were able to attend!” He gave Rafael a warm smile and extended his hand. “And this must be Don Villar, the infamous pugilist. I’ve heard impressive tales of you. Welcome to my home.”

The vampire blinked in surprise at Patrick’s friendly tone and slowly shook his hand. “I am honored, sir.”

Cassandra’s heart warmed. In publicly welcoming Villar, Sir Patrick had made it clear to his guests that they were to treat Rafael with courtesy. She gave Sir Patrick a grateful smile.

As the other guests were introduced, a few cast censorious glances her way. Oddly, she felt a measure of satisfaction. At least Rafael was not singled out to be a figure of disapproval.

Thankfully, the guests were few. Cassandra detested large gatherings, and she guessed that Rafael shared the sentiment. However, when introduced to Thomas Wakley, it was all she could do not to squeal in excitement and prattle on about his wonderful journal. Sir Patrick then presented the physician Philip Brewer, a sullen fellow who appeared to have a foul taste in his mouth. Hamilton Crowley, a prominent apothecary, looked to be already deep in his cups, though he was a cheerful enough fellow, and as usual, the Earl of Densmore was there.

Aside from herself and Sir Patrick, Lord Densmore was the only other member of the peerage in attendance. Cassandra was the sole female. Patrick had never cared for inane customs such as balancing the guest list according to rank or sex. His only concern was having guests who could provide new knowledge and stimulating conversation. It was one of the many reasons why Cassandra placed him among her dearest friends. Patrick never cared a whit about her sex. He had treated her with as much scholarly respect as he did his other friends.

Suddenly, Thomas Wakley, who’d been most blatant in staring at Rafael, charged toward the vampire. His face broke into a wide grin. “It’s you! You’re the man who saved my life!”

Rafael winced as if displeased at being recognized. However, he did not pull away as Wakley clasped his good hand and pumped it vigorously.

“We have a hero in our midst?” Sir Patrick’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “Do tell.”

Wakley turned to address his host and the other guests. “Three years ago a gang of ruffians broke into my home in the middle of the night. They beat me to a pulp and set my house aflame. This man pulled me out just before the roof collapsed.”

Cassandra gasped as she remembered something Rafael had said the night he’d taken her prisoner. “I had mistakenly believed you were hunting my people. You’re fortunate that they didn’t take action themselves. That you weren’t beaten bloody by a mob, your house set aflame…”

“I recall reading about that incident in the papers.” Mr. Crowley leaned forward. “Wasn’t it the Thistlewood gang?”

Wakley nodded. “The authorities were never able to prove anything, but who else could it have been?”

His attackers hadn’t been the Thistlewood gang. They were vampires who’d believed Wakley was a hunter. He must have been exhuming corpses in St. Pancras. Cassandra shut her gaping mouth as Villar gave her a warning look. But Rafael had saved him.

“Why would you suspect them?” Lord Densmore inquired. “Weren’t they only targeting members of Parliament?”

“Some believe that I was the hangman when Arthur Thistlewood and his fellow conspirators were executed. Utter nonsense, of course,” Wakley answered absently before turning back to Rafael. “I owe you a debt, Villar.”

The vampire shrugged his good shoulder. “It was nothing.”

Nothing? Cassandra longed to shout. After what happened to you, you had to have been very brave to run into a burning house to save a stranger! A small, secret smile curved her lips. The Lord Vampire of London wasn’t the terrifying monster he wanted her to believe he was.

Sir Patrick clapped Rafael on the shoulder. “It is an honor to have such a valiant hero here all the same. Well, shall we adjourn to the dining room?”

The vampire nodded in relief.

“I wish the Duchess of Burnrath could be here,” Patrick told Cassandra as he walked beside them. “Her Grace always facilitates lively discussions. I do so miss her literary salons.”

Lord Densmore cut in with a sneer. “Yes, you do have an affinity for scandalous women, Patrick.” As always, he gave Cassandra a scornful glare.

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