Page 62 of Bite at First Sight

The thought of never seeing her again made Rafe’s heart contort in agony. He loved her; he knew that now. He loved her intelligence, her boundless inquisitiveness, and her formidable determination in the pursuit of miracles. He loved how she never saw him as a crippled aberration or an object of pity. He loved the way she came into his arms like someone arriving home.

Because he loved her, he would have to let her go if it became necessary. For her to die would be more than he could bear.

Still, Rafe clung to a faint wisp of hope that she could be Changed, that the Elders would give him more time…that they could be together…that she could somehow love him too.

His lips twisted in self-mockery. Doubtless she would laugh if she knew how he felt. No woman in her right mind could love a monster that had cruelly abducted her and put her life in danger. But she didn’t loathe him, and for that incredible gift, he would move heaven and earth to see her safe.

Rafe paused with his hand on the doorknob. The hand Cassandra had restored to him with her medical magic. Dios, his debt to her was insurmountable.

He opened the door. “Querida, we must talk.”

There was no answer.

“Querida?” He stepped into the room. His gaze lit on the rainbow mess of gowns strewn across the bed and darted to the gaping empty wardrobe.

Though her Mark still screamed with pain, it was drawing farther and farther away.

She was gone.

Rafe’s heart clenched in agony as icy terror coursed through his veins.

She truly had believed he would kill her. Bitter regret flooded his mind, thick enough to choke on. Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Because of his foolish pride, she was out in the cold London night, placing herself in danger from Clayton and his allies or even a human cutthroat.

Biting back a roar of impotent fury, he rang for Cassandra’s housekeeper.

“Yes, my lord?” Mrs. Smythe inquired timidly.

“Lady Rosslyn had a fit of pique, I’m afraid,” he said as civilly as possible. “Please see that these gowns are put back properly…and see that someone dusts her laboratory.”

Mrs. Smythe bowed, not bothering to hide her perplexed frown. “Yes, Don Villar.”

Refusing to indulge her curiosity, Rafe left the room and strode down the stairs to inform Anthony and Elizabeth of Cassandra’s flight. His fists clenched at his sides as he cursed this disaster and silently vowed that he would see her safely returned home tonight.

* * *

Cassandra hefted her valise over her other shoulder. Her arms and back muscles continued to scream in protest from lugging its pendulous weight for seven blocks. She stared down the expanse of Marlborough Street, the light of the gas lamps obscured by the thick night fog. There was still no sign of a hackney or any other mode of transportation.

Too late, she realized that this would not be the best location to find a ride. The little season had not yet begun and Marlborough Street was all but deserted, most of its aristocratic residents still tucked away in their country estates.

Go back, that meddlesome, unreasonable inner voice pleaded yet again.

But she couldn’t. Rafe would kill her! But her words held even less conviction than her previous utterance.

What if he didn’t intend to kill her? What if he had another plan in mind? Cassandra shook her head, refusing to indulge in such whimsical thinking. He had made the rules governing her situation quite clear.

Yet some wayward part of her continued to cry out for Rafe with every step that took her away from him. It cried out to see his tender smile, to hear him call her “Querida” in that gentle tone, to feel his sensuous kiss, to experience the furious storm of his lovemaking once more.

With an aching sigh, she plodded forward.

Suddenly, the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestone reached her ears. A carriage at last! The sound came from one street over. Cassandra gripped her valise and ran with every vestige of strength she could muster.

But it wasn’t enough. She rounded the corner just in time to see the carriage’s rear wheels disappear into the fog.

Cassandra threw down her heavy baggage and sank to her knees, panting in exhaustion. Had this night anything but misfortune to bestow upon her?

It was then that she realized she hadn’t any money with which to pay for a ride. A harsh, bitter laugh like the sound of a crow escaped her lips.

“My, my,” a soft, male voice remarked amiably. “You are a queer one.”

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