Page 49 of Bite at First Sight

“Shhh, it’s all right, Querida.” Rafe neared the bed and slowly reached out to stroke her cheek with his left hand—an action he’d never have been able to do if not for her. The realization was humbling…and it would take humility to save her.

Reluctantly, he withdrew his newly healed hand and pulled the bedcovers up over her shoulders before placing a chaste kiss on her brow. “I’ll return soon. There’s something I must do first.”

God help him, he didn’t want to leave her, not even for an hour. Before he could succumb to the temptation to climb back into bed and hold her, Rafe turned away, threw another log on the fire, and left to feed.

He took his meal from a passing mortal at the end of the street and rushed back to Burnrath House, the death clock still ticking in his mind. “I won’t let her die.” He repeated the mantra under his breath as he squeezed the leather ball in his pocket to exercise his spasming muscles.

Once settled in his study with a cigar and a snifter of brandy, Rafe closed his eyes and mentally listed all vampires he could call “friend.” Damnably few suited such a description. And even fewer were able to Change a mortal at this time. Ian had Changed his bride the same night Rafe had Changed the writer John Polidori, and his newest friend, Vincent Tremayne, Lord of Cornwall, had Changed his ward—illegally—only last year.

A surprised chuckle escaped his lips. Since when did he consider Tremayne to be a friend? The vampire had caused an inconceivable amount of trouble for Rafe and Ian—beginning with delaying Rafe from taking over London and ending with the lot of them having to testify to the Elders on Vincent’s behalf.

Yet somehow, throughout the debacle, Rafe had grown fond of the Lord of Cornwall and his brave fledgling, Lydia. And it would serve Vincent right to be called for a favor. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to help with Rafe’s predicament.

Rafe drew deeply on his cigar and swirled the brandy in his glass. He’d become amicable with a few other vampires over the centuries. He could only hope one would offer aid in his time of need. Setting down the glass, he picked up his quill and parchment and began to write.

After composing five letters, Rafe sealed them and took out another piece of parchment, dread and humiliation coiling throughout his being. Loath as he was to admit ineptitude, Ian had to know of the strife in London, as well as Rafe’s catastrophic situation with Cassandra. At least he could take comfort in hoping the Duke of Burnrath might be able to provide a solution to at least one of his problems. Taking up the quill, he explained his predicament as succinctly as possible. A chord of discomfort rang along his nerves as he sealed the missive with the Lord of London’s insignia.

Setting down the seal, Rafe stood and stretched, marveling at the new strength in his left arm. Eyeing the letters, he prayed that they would provide salvation for the woman responsible for making him whole again. With renewed hope, he tucked the letters in his breast pocket and went upstairs to help Cassandra dress.

When he opened the door, he spied her shapely silhouette behind the privacy screen. It appeared that she had tried to dress herself.

“Thank goodness, you’re here,” she said. “Wakley will be here any minute for another lesson, and I cannot get these accursed laces tied!”

“My apologies, Querida.” He quickly crossed the room and tied up the back of her dark blue wool gown, biting his lip against a hiss of pain as his arm spasmed.

Thankfully, she was too distracted to notice. “Tonight he’s going to educate me on the muscles and ligaments in the hands so I am prepared for the fine work on yours.”

Honestly, she seemed more nervous than he was about the upcoming operation.

Unable to resist, he kissed her ear. “I have full confidence in your abilities, Dr. Burton.”

She beamed at his praise and hurried down the stairs just as Anthony escorted Wakley to the drawing room.

The surgeon’s usual jovial face was ruddy with rage.

Cassandra’s brows drew together in concern. “Are you quite all right, Mr. Wakley?”

He heaved a gargantuan sigh. “It’s that blasted cur, James Johnson.”

“The editor of the Medico-Chirurgical Review?”

Wakley nodded impatiently. “The scoundrel all but accused me of burning down my own house to collect the insurance money!”

“That bastardo,” Rafe growled. “The insurance company declared you innocent of fraud and compensated you two years ago.”

Rafe knew because he and Ian had personally ensured that Wakley received rightful recompense for a tragedy for which they felt responsible. He wondered if the tightfisted insurance man still had nightmares.

Wakley didn’t appear to have heard him and continued in high dudgeon. “As a journalist, he has all the morality without a scintilla of the intellect of Machiavelli. His bad faith as a controversialist is neutralized by his utter feebleness. In his method of arguing he resembles a clumsy card sharper who, with all imaginable disposition to slip a card, has not sufficient quickness to elude the vigilance of the spectators. He is disingenuous without plausibility; and dishonest without dexterity. He has the wriggling lubricity without the cunning of a serpent!”

Cassandra applauded the impassioned monologue as Wakley caught his breath. “You are as skilled an orator as you are a journalist.”

Rafe nodded, biting back a grin at the volley of witty insults to Wakley’s rival journalist. “Have you ever considered running for Parliament?”

The surgeon nodded gravely. “I plan to do so when my children are older.” A measure of his temper seemed to have abated with his outburst, and he gave Cassandra a cordial smile. “I apologize for my raving. Shall we carry on with your lesson?”

Rafe left them to it, going to seek his meal and fetch his fastest runner to deliver the letters. As he walked out the gates of Burnrath House, he nodded at a vampire who stood in the shadows.

He’d hired James to watch over Wakley ever since he began giving Cassandra lessons. The last thing he needed was for the surgeon to end up in danger from his kind once more.

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