Page 14 of Bite at First Sight

Rafael’s scowl deepened and Cassandra fought back her usual grimace of disgust. She’d never liked the pompous earl. He’d been friends with Patrick since their days at Oxford, so she’d been forced to become accustomed to his odious presence.

Patrick coughed awkwardly. “Shall we be seated?”

Everyone complied with tangible relief. As the only female, Cassandra was placed at the host’s left. Rafe sat across from her, between Thomas Wakley and Lord Densmore. He looked displeased with the arrangement.

“Lady Rosslyn,” Lord Densmore said in an artificial sugary tone, “I haven’t seen you since you applied to attend Oxford last year after you’d shed your widow’s weeds. It is a relief to see that you’ve recovered from such a fanciful delusion and have now taken a position more suited to your femininity.” He looked over at Rafael, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “However, I must say your choice of protector is quite…unconventional.”

Rafael stiffened and slowly turned his head to face the earl. His amber eyes took on a fiery glow.

Before she could make a warning sound, Thomas Wakley interjected, “Oxford, eh? What did you aim to study there?”

“Medicine.” She fought not to stammer.

Densmore, Dr. Brewer, and Mr. Crowley guffawed. Cassandra tamped down a wave of humiliation. She had long since become accustomed to such ridicule. Yet it was difficult to feign composure in front of Rafael, the man who’d turned her life upside down, and Thomas Wakley, a man she idolized.

“A female doctor!” The apothecary wiped tears of mirth from his cheeks.

Rafael’s lip curled up, revealing a glimpse of his fangs. Cassandra met his blazing gaze and shook her head in warning.

Wakley did not laugh. “Good for you, Lady Rosslyn. I have learned the most practical and effective medicinal treatments from nurses and midwives. In fact, if our dearly departed Princess Charlotte had had a midwife in attendance, rather than that bumbling fool Sir Richard Croft, she might have lived. I think it completely daft of academic institutions to exclude women from attaining a university degree.”

The anger in Rafael’s eyes dimmed as he raised his glass in Wakley’s direction, still glowering at Lord Densmore. “An apt observation, Mr. Wakley.”

Cassandra met his gaze and her heart turned over at his support.

“Didn’t you also apply to the Royal College of Surgeons?” Densmore continued in his mocking voice. “I heard that Sir William Blizard laughed until he fell out of his chair.”

Before Cassandra could respond, Wakley interjected, “The Council of the College of Surgeons remains an irresponsible, unreformed monstrosity in the midst of English institutions—an antediluvian relic of all that is most despotic and revolting, iniquitous and insulting on the face of the earth.”

Brewer, Crowley, and Densmore gasped as if he’d spoken blasphemy. Rafael and Sir Patrick laughed and raised their glasses.

Densmore opened his mouth, doubtless to deliver a blistering retort, but Cassandra quickly spoke. “I’ve studied the first issues of The Lancet, sir, and I must say it is the most edifying medical publication I’ve read. I completely agree that only proven treatments should be published.”

“Why, thank you, Lady Rosslyn.” Wakley smiled. “Your praise is most humbling. Tell me, how long have you studied medicine?”

“Ten years. I’ve studied the texts of Galen, Vesalius, and de Luzzi, and have kept up with all current medical publications. I’ve also successfully stitched wounds without infection setting in, as well as having treated a variety of minor ailments for my servants.”

Wakley stroked his chin. “If that is true, you’d be more than prepared for the Oxford examinations.” Suddenly, he turned to Dr. Brewer. “Tell me, Doctor, if a man falls and cracks his skull open, how would you treat him?”

Dr. Brewer straightened his cravat. “First I would give the poor fellow laudanum to ease his suffering. Then I would bandage his head tightly, bleed him, and advise him to stay abed for a month.”

“And what would you do, Lady Rosslyn?” Wakley queried, eyes intent, though with no trace of mockery.

Cassandra swallowed. “I would not allow the patient to sleep for several hours. I have read from many sources that victims of head injuries can die if they fall asleep. I would then carefully clean the wound of all debris and bone shards and stitch the wound shut. Afterward, the patient would be kept under continual observation for signs of fever or swelling of the brain. If swelling did occur, I would trepan the skull.”

Brewer laughed. “You would close his skull and open it back up again?”

“If necessary.” She nodded. “No two head injuries are alike. Surely you’ve learned that over the span of your practice.”

The physician opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes, that is true, my lady. However, I cannot say I’d condone such a dangerous procedure.”

“I regret interrupting such an edifying conversation”—Crowley’s face had taken on a greenish cast—“but I am being put off my meal. Pray could you leave off until we are finished?”

“Of course, Mr. Crowley,” Wakley answered politely. “I apologize.” He lifted his fork and tipped Cassandra a subtle wink.

Rafael remained silent throughout, nibbling halfheartedly on his meal. Cassandra realized she’d never seen him eat before. His house had not been stocked with food when she’d first arrived. Was he even able to digest solid food? Or were vampires limited to blood for their diets? She would have to ask him later.

The conversation shifted to the weather and continued through the remainder of the meal. Rafael resisted all attempts to engage in the dialogue, claiming that he was content to listen. However, he continued to stare at her with an intensity that was most unnerving.

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