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When the table was cleared, Sir Patrick declared that as she was the only female, Cassandra did not have to retire to the drawing room while they enjoyed their port and cigars.

Boldly, she asked Rafael for one of his. She’d always enjoyed the smell of his cigars. Hell, if I’m a fallen woman, I may as well act like it.

The vampire gave her an odd look but held out his case for her to select one. He even lit it for her, using his good hand to strike a match with practiced efficiency. Everyone stared. Cassandra ignored them, pretending she was accustomed to having a dangerous Spaniard lighting her cigars. Despite her feigned indifference, she didn’t know which held more heat: the flame or his gaze as he held the match.

Their fingers nearly touched. Cassandra drew deeper than she intended and exhaled carefully, trying not to cough. It had been months since she’d last smoked. Rafael’s lips twitched with what looked like amusement.

“Don Villar, I have heard you are an infamous pugilist,” Sir Patrick ventured.

“Not anymore,” Rafael answered brusquely.

Dr. Brewer eyed his scars. “Is it because of your, ah, injury?”

“No.” He did not elaborate.

Cassandra wondered if his duties as new Lord Vampire of London prevented him from boxing anymore.

Lord Densmore’s voice was laced with skepticism. “How were you able to box with only one arm?”

“I am very fast.”

Densmore leaned forward. “I am quite a proficient pugilist myself. Although I was trained at Gentleman Jack’s, rather than Scallywag John’s.” His smug tone implied whose training he considered superior. “I don’t suppose I could challenge you in the ring?”

“I said I’ve retired.” The vampire’s voice held a dangerous note.

Wakley looked at Densmore. “If you’re looking to spar, I’d be happy to accept a challenge.”

Densmore paled before lifting his chin. “I only spar with peers, though Villar’s foreign title hardly counts, now that I think of it.”

Dr. Brewer laughed. “More likely you’ve heard of Wakley’s reputation.”

Rafe eyed Wakley with speculative appreciation while Densmore’s knuckles whitened with anger as he gripped the edges of the table.

Sir Patrick steered the discourse to more amicable territory. “Will you attend the auction tomorrow night, Lady Rosslyn? I heard that a genuine Van Leeuwenhoek is up for sale.”

Cassandra gasped. “You’re joking!”

“I am not.” Sir Patrick grinned. “I swear it on my mother’s honor.”

Rafael raised a brow. “What is a Van Leeuwenhoek?”

She turned to him with a grin. “Van Leeuwenhoek invented a microscope that can magnify up to five hundred times. Even after more than a century, no one has been able to duplicate his miraculous lenses. If I had one, my research could rapidly progress.”

“Not if I win it,” Densmore drawled.

Cassandra ground her teeth. Before she could deliver a cutting retort, Sir Patrick announced that it was time to adjourn to the conservatory.

“Hobbyist,” she grumbled loud enough for Densmore to hear as they filed from the room.

Rafael leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I could pummel him for you.”

She laughed, unsure whether he was jesting or serious. “As much as I would love to see that, I do not think it will help his disposition.”

Sir Patrick’s conservatory was the most unconventional in London. Instead of housing orchids and roses, the room was a trove of fantastical curiosities. Skulls of various beasts adorned the walls alongside stuffed birds from around the globe and trophies of antlers, horns, and tusks. Shelves lined the chamber, displaying collections of rocks, shells, and fossils.

The men settled into various chairs and sofas cast off from the main house. Rafael remained standing in a corner near a mounted lion’s head, cloaked in shadows.

“Ugly fellow, isn’t he?” Lord Densmore muttered to Mr. Crowley.