Page 66 of Bite at First Sight

Rafe cut him off. “Leave, both of you!”

“Where, my lord?” Elizabeth asked timidly.

“I do not care, as long as you do not return until tomorrow night.”

A hollow chord of dread echoed through Cassandra’s soul at his words. The last whisper of hope vanished like fog from a windowpane. He truly was going to kill her. Why else would he have ordered them away?

Anthony took Elizabeth’s elbow and led her off, glancing back over his shoulder at Cassandra. The sympathy in his warm eyes brought a lump to her throat.

A hackney rolled near and Rafe flagged it down. Cassandra bit her lip, holding back a bitter chuckle. Of course one would come for him when it was convenient. Briefly she contemplated calling to the driver for help, but she dismissed the thought immediately. Rafe would tear him apart.

After dictating the destination to the driver, Rafe lifted Cassandra into the rickety carriage and sat down, keeping a firm grip on her hand. She shivered. It was all so similar to when he’d first taken her prisoner.

“Cristo,” he growled. “Your hands are like ice.” He proceeded to rub them roughly, bringing forth more than one kind of warmth.

“Why should you care about my hands when you are going to kill me soon?” she whispered, trying to pull away.

Rafe’s hands clamped down on hers. “I am not going to kill you, Querida. The deadline is in nine nights, but I refuse to do it. Not after everything you’ve done for me. Not after…” He shook his head and leaned forward and stared into her eyes as if he were trying to capture her soul. “How could you be so foolish?”

Her pulse stopped for a moment. She was barely able to utter, “There was a deadline? Then why—”

“We will discuss that later.” His tone was so harsh, so final that all arguments died in her throat.

Cassandra slumped back against the bench so hard that her back cried out in protest. She would have a bruise tomorrow. The side of her face where Clayton had hit her emitted a twinge in agreement. Her arms chimed in as well, aching from where both he and Rafe had grabbed her. All right, then she would have several bruises tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The magnitude of the word struck her full force, for there would be one for her. Rafe was not going to kill her. Aside from the immediate relief of knowing that simple fact, a multitude of contradictory emotions swept through her with dizzying intensity. Joy at the prospect of returning to her laboratory and being with Rafe warred with her trepidation about countless unknowns.

If he did not intend to kill her, then what was he going to do?

Twenty-one

Rafe paid the driver and lifted Cassandra from the carriage, his countenance still blazing with fury. As he set her down and led her into the house, a heavy weight of foreboding settled in her belly.

Mrs. Smythe glanced up from dusting a gas lamp, eyes wide with concern as she took in the sight of Cassandra shivering in her sodden clothes.

“Is there a fire built in our bedchamber?” Rafe all but growled.

The housekeeper nodded, still eyeing Cassandra. “Yes, Don Villar. Do you require anything else?”

Rafe shook his head. “You may retire for the night. Remind me tomorrow to double your wages.”

Mrs. Smythe froze and blinked at him for a moment before curtsying and bustling away.

Placing a firm hand at the small of her back, Rafe guided Cassandra upstairs. Her knees quaked.

They entered the bedchamber and she sighed in appreciation at the welcoming warmth of the fire.

Rafe slammed the door and jerked her into his arms, claiming her lips in a devouring kiss. Her body melted into his embrace of its own volition, as if this was the home she’d been seeking. Cassandra’s legs turned to jelly and she nearly collapsed before he dragged his mouth from hers.

Eyes still burning with unholy wrath, he drew back and lightly stroked her bruised cheek. “Jesucristo, mujer tonta! Foolish woman! How could you have put yourself in such danger?”

Before she could answer, he once again pulled her into a fierce embrace and covered her face with kisses. Her breath fled as Rafe clung to her so tightly that she could feel the strong beat of his heart.

A stream of Spanish words poured from his lips between kisses. They sounded like curses. The dichotomy between his words and actions made what little remained of her common sense reel in confusion. The rest of her reveled in his touch and yearned for more.

Still muttering angrily in his beautiful language, Rafe tore off her soaked velvet cloak and shrugged out of his coat. “Turn around, Querida.”

“What are you doing?” She felt foolish the moment she asked.

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