Bite at First Sight (23 page)

A wave of sympathy infused Cassandra at the young vampire’s words. Rafe said Lydia had been Changed suddenly and without consent. She could not imagine such a drastic introduction to the preternatural world. “It must have been very difficult for you, being human one moment and waking up a vampire the next.”

“It was, though not nearly as miserable as sailing across the ocean after being orphaned only to be repudiated by my own kin.” Lydia sighed. “Vincent is my family now, and I have been more welcomed and respected in the vampire world than in my mortal life.”

Cassandra’s heart ached for her. Then a sudden thought made her frown in confusion. “Why didn’t Vincent mentor you? He was the one who Changed you.”

“Because he believed that I hated him for doing so,” Lydia said quietly. “His guilt was so pervasive that I had a devil of a time convincing him otherwise.”

“Oh my!” Cassandra breathed. Now the awkwardness between the couple before their sudden marriage made sense. Her heart clenched in sympathy. “I couldn’t imagine such a terrible misunderstanding.”

Lydia nodded. “Rafe was the one who cleared up that agonizing matter, which proves that he is not nearly as cold and heartless as he wishes to appear.”

A small smile played across Cassandra’s lips. “He never fooled me for an instant.”

“Who?” Rafe called from the distance before emerging from a copse of trees.

She didn’t bother to shout. Obviously he could hear her from where he was. “Never mind.” In an effort to hide her heated cheeks, she finished loading her gun.

He stalked closer, scowling at Lydia. “If that gun misfires…”

Before he could finish his warning, Cassandra aimed at the target and pulled the trigger. This time, she hit the pail, leaving a hole a few inches from the one Lydia made. A surge of primal triumph surged up from her toes.

“Huzzah!” Lydia shouted.

Cassandra grinned. “You may just make a marksman out of me yet.”

“It was a good shot,” Rafe said grudgingly. “All the same, don’t become overconfident and careless.”

Lydia raised her gaze heavenward. “Now you see what I had to endure.”

Cassandra attempted to laugh, but the pistol suddenly grew heavier in her grip. Rafe had a point. She was being taught to shoot vampires, not milk pails. To be careless could mean her death.

4 November, 1823

Rafe tapped his foot in impatience and resisted the urge to tug at his suffocating cravat. “
Cristo
, what is taking them so long? I want to get this damned ball over with.”

Vincent gave him a sympathetic smile. “As do I. You’d better remove that scowl from your face before we arrive at the Wentworths’ town house. We must do our best to pretend to enjoy ourselves or our suffering will be for naught.”

“Suffering is certainly the appropriate term for this. I only pray it is worth enduring.”

He stopped speaking as Cassandra made her way down the stairs.

Garbed in a Grecian gown of blue-green satin that matched her eyes perfectly, she looked like a goddess descending from Olympus to bestow a rare blessing. Her upswept auburn hair gleamed like burnished copper with silken tendrils framing the sculpted perfection of her face and brushing her smooth bared shoulders.

The breath fled from his body. Surely he was unworthy of touching such a miraculous creature.

“Rafe?” She frowned.

He dragged his gaze from the curves of her breasts. “Yes?”

Her frown deepened and she gave him a strange look. He realized she must have asked him a question.

“I am sorry. What was that,
Querida
?”

Vincent guffawed behind him, but fell silent as Lydia appeared in a matching gown of gold-spangled ivory. “
God
, Lydia…” He breathed.

“You look quite smart as well, my lord,” she drawled sweetly. “Albeit a trifle overdressed for my taste.”

The Lord of Cornwall eyed his wife. “I could say the same of you.”

Rafe looked down at his feet and sighed. The sight of those two mooning over each other used to make his stomach roil. Now a twinge of envy gnawed at his heart. If only Cassandra would look at him with such adoration. If only they could share such suggestive, silly banter.

“The carriage awaits.” Vincent interrupted Rafe’s thoughts, bending down comically low to kiss his wife’s hand.

Cassandra’s eyes widened with a curious blend of excitement and trepidation. Rafe bowed before her and held out his arm as her escort, not daring to place his lips on her gloved hand.

As he led her to the carriage, he cursed himself for such ridiculous cowardice. He’d savored and tasted every inch of her naked body. Why was he now so reluctant to touch her through a thin barrier of shimmering fabric?

She looked up at him and gave him a tremulous smile that made the world seem lighter. Rafe decided to put his worries aside for the time being. Paradoxes and mysteries were more her area of expertise anyway.

Cassandra was quiet throughout the ride. Signs of strain were showing around her eyes. Had she not slept well? Seeing that she was preoccupied, Rafe felt a twinge of concern. Was she ashamed to be seen in Society with him? Was she repulsed at the prospect of becoming his bride? Though she obviously enjoyed their sojourns between the sheets, matrimony could be a far different matter. Especially for his kind, when it could mean eternity.

His scars burned as he remembered her offhand rejection of his mocking proposal after her former mother-in-law had accused her of becoming Rafe’s mistress. Perhaps she still felt the same.

But when they stepped down from the carriage, Cassandra seized his hand and moved closer to him. Her face paled and she began to tremble. When the butler took their cards and announced their names to the glittering throng, her grip tightened so fiercely that it would have hurt a mortal man.

She’s afraid of crowds
, he realized with humbling astonishment. That is why she was so indifferent to being scorned by the
ton
and, in fact, appeared to welcome them shunning her. Rafe had at first thought she’d possessed the same spirit of blind rebellion that characterized the Duchess of Burnrath.

Now he realized he’d been a fool. Every time her kind had rejected her, Cassandra had felt a sense of blissful reprieve at not having to endure another large gathering, rather than the impish glee that would have been typical of Angelica.

A brief wave of joyous relief warmed his heart. Her rigid tension wasn’t because of him. She wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with him. Now as she shivered at his side, Rafe was immediately overwhelmed by an all-encompassing need to protect her.

He opened his mouth to tell her they could turn back, could order his carriage to return and take them back home. A fleeting vision teased his will…of carrying Cassandra upstairs and then locking her in their bedchamber with him, of holding her and shielding them both from the worries of their worlds.

Vincent gave Rafe a sharp look, as if reading his thoughts. Either way, it didn’t matter. Rafe gritted his teeth. Deveril’s plan was their best hope of ensuring Cassandra’s safety when the Elders found out that he’d failed to kill her. They could not go back now.

Thankfully, the gathering was half the size of a typical fete. How, Rafe wondered, had Cassandra handled grand-scale balls during the official Season?

As they took their place in the receiving line, several people raked Cassandra with contemptuous gazes, while many of the men openly leered at her lush curves and exquisite beauty.

Rafe didn’t know who he wanted to pummel first. Many stares were directed toward him as well. He ignored the familiar morbid curiosity and whispers laced with mockery and disgust. His usual annoyance paled in the face of their snobbish scrutiny of Cassandra.

His only consolation was that Vincent and Lydia were drawing a significant amount of attention of their own. Their scandalous marriage and subsequent disappearance had set tongues wagging for more than a year. From the
ton
’s reaction, the Deverils’ return was seen as a treat to dine on with relish.

Rafe lifted his gaze heavenward. The four of them seemed to be a banquet of scandal, packaged and delivered for the
ton
’s enjoyment.

The Duchess of Wentworth greeted them with a cheerful smile and genuine warmth. The scorn on many of the faces in the room changed to surprise and curiosity at such amiability from their hostess. As Rafe kissed her gloved hand, he wondered
why
she was so welcoming. He knew she had a tendency to associate with eccentrics as well as those who were less than paragons. That was why she and the Duchess of Burnrath had become such fast friends. Still, welcoming a disfigured foreigner and his mistress would be seen by many as far beyond the pale.

As she kissed Cassandra’s cheek, the duchess looked at a group of disapproving matrons and gave them a triumphant grin. Ah, so she enjoyed flouting custom and causing a stir.

Rafe froze suddenly. His preternatural senses vibrated at the presence of others of his kind. Muscles tensed and poised to fight, he scanned the drawing room and relaxed as he caught sight of the Lord of Blackpool entering the ballroom. That was right, Blackpool was a viscount and the Wentworths had mentioned inviting him. The others he sensed must be his retinue.

He nodded and bowed before Cassandra. “Shall we dance, my lady?”

More shocked glances and speculative whispers echoed in his ears at that. He hadn’t danced since his injury. But Cassandra’s astonished gaze made him determined to show everyone—especially her—that he was no lout.

* * *

Cassandra fought the urge to flee as Rafe led her into the grandly lit, mirrored ballroom. He was supposed to have killed her tonight, but this was nearly as frightening. She’d always despised being among large groups, but after her years of isolation and mourning, her discomfort with these situations seemed to have intensified.

A few of her former acquaintances gave her the cut direct, and all she could feel was relief. However, many also eyed her curiously and appeared to be on the verge of approaching her for the typical delicate dance of questions. Dread rose at the sight of them. As if sensing her disquiet, Rafe squeezed her hand.

Just as Lady Pemberly smiled and lifted her skirts to approach, he gently pulled Cassandra toward the dance floor. The musicians struck up a waltz, and Rafe took her in his arms. She couldn’t keep from raising a brow.

Did he even know how to dance? The only time she’d seen him at a ball was at Burnrath House, and throughout the dancing, he’d leaned against a pillar and cast a pall on the festivities by scowling at everyone.

Rafe gave her a roguish smile and led her in the steps with such practiced grace that it was as if he danced every night.

“You seem astonished by something,
Querida
.” His voice was low and teasing. “Did you assume that I could not dance?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I had never seen you do so before…and with your arm…”

“What about it?” He deftly whirled her and she nearly missed the right step.

Her face flamed in embarrassment. “It seems I am the one who is unaccomplished.” She looked down at her feet, encased in fragile satin slippers, and laughed awkwardly. “Truly, I never was good at this sort of thing.”

“Neither was I.” His hand gripped her a little more firmly and moved closer, reaching the verge of impropriety. “But if you try to relax and simply concentrate on the music, perhaps this ordeal will be less distasteful.”

Her heart gave a little twinge.
He
thinks
I
do
not
want
to
dance
with
him.
Lifting her gaze to meet his, she gave him a shy smile. “It is the fact that I am dancing with
you
that makes this enjoyable.”

He blinked in surprise, and the sudden tenderness in his amber eyes made her belly flutter. For a moment he seemed about to say something, but then his hand squeezed hers and he merely smiled.

So Cassandra did exactly as he advised, concentrating solely on the music and the fluid beauty of the dance. Everything else vanished from her consciousness, and for a while, she and Rafe were the only two beings in the universe. Never had she felt such sublime tranquility. Now the breathless manner in which other ladies spoke of the waltz made sense. Though it went beyond impropriety, she rested her head on his shoulder. People stared. She paid no mind.

“Rafe?” she murmured.

His deep voice rumbled against her ear. “Yes?”

“Do you ever wish that it could just be this?”

“What do you mean?”

“That we were here not to save our reputations or in a likely fruitless attempt to ensure our survival.” To her dismay, a lump formed in her throat, threatening to rob her of speech. “That we were here to dance and laugh like everyone else, instead of facing a war.”…
And
that
our
engagement
was
real
, she added silently.

Rafe’s knuckles brushed her cheek in a soft whisper. “I wish it above all things.”

As if to mock such an impossible dream, the music stopped and the waltz ended. She could have cried in frustration.

A fresh wave of trepidation swept through her insides as she took her place beside the other ladies for the contra dance. Cassandra focused on Rafe, drawing strength from his presence.

It’s only a silly dance
, she scolded herself as the musicians struck up a merry tune.
I’ve done this at least a hundred times.

Yet dizzying dread threatened to topple her where she stood. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, willing herself to feel composed. If she fainted, fresh scandal would abound. The last thing she and Rafe needed was for people to assume she was pregnant. Lydia had vehemently advised her and the dressmaker to fashion this ball gown to emphasize the flatness of her belly. She couldn’t render those efforts useless.

Just in time, she joined hands with Rafe and made the proper steps. His smile and steadying grip secured her world once more. Unfortunately, their time together for this dance was all too brief and she was spun to her next partner.

Sir Patrick grinned at her as they whirled in time to the music. “Lady Rosslyn, it is such a pleasure to see you again!”

She returned the smile, cheered at the presence of an old friend. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be so unbearable after all. “And you as well, Sir Patrick.”

“I hope you do not think me too forward, but I noticed that you’ve danced with
Don
Villar twice in a row.” His normally ruddy face turned crimson. “People are already talking…and unless an engagement is to be announced—”

“One will be.” She cut off his words and whispered, “Tonight.” She winked. “Please do not spoil the surprise.”

His eyes widened and he tripped slightly on the next step. “Brilliant! That gives me great relief for your sake. And, I confess, a measure of dismay on my account.” His smile dimmed as his lips formed a rueful frown. “I had hoped to court you one day. I suppose I waited too long to work up the courage.”

“Oh, Patrick.” She placed a hand on his sleeve. “I had no idea…”

He shook his head. “Nor did I give you reason to. I have always been a bumbling fool at this sort of thing. Either way, I suppose it is for the best. I will always value our friendship, no matter what. And to the devil with what others say. I believe you would have made a damned fine physician. Mr. Wakley told me that you treated Villar’s arm, and I do not know a sawbones who could have performed such a miracle.”

His praise lifted her spirits. Irrational though it might be, she dared to hope that everything would turn out all right—that Rafe would win his war, and that she would be allowed to live and be Changed and maybe even practice medicine.

Rejuvenated with optimism, she spun to her next partner, and then her stomach plummeted to her feet.

“Hello again, Lady Rosslyn.” Clayton leered down at her.