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She swallowed, thighs trembling at the potent memory. “As you wish, ah, Rafe.” Her cheeks burned at addressing him in such an intimate manner.

His eyes flared intently. “I will join you in your laboratory after your lesson later this evening so you may resume poking and prodding me.”

On weak knees, Cassandra sat back down on the bed after he departed. What were his motives in giving her such a priceless gift? Was the action akin to giving a mistress a bauble? After all, not only did all of London Society already believe she was Rafe’s mistress, but her bargain with him was indeed similar to prostitution.

But he only wants me to trade him kisses, her mind protested. The hot pulse between her thighs while she was pondering those kisses argued otherwise.

Cassandra shook her head, fighting off the confusing emotions. Likely his gift was motivated by guilt at imprisoning her. She lifted her chin. He should feel guilty.

She had not asked to be hauled from her comfortable life and busy studies. And she most certainly did not ask to be imprisoned in his bedchamber every day, facing either death or transformation into a legendary creature that should not logically exist.

Unbidden, her speculative mind pondered such a transformation. Being forced to drink blood and suffer such vulnerability from the sun were distasteful prospects to be certain, but what of the advantages? Rapid healing, lack of aging, superhuman strength, speed to rival a hornet…those were quite tempting compensations. One would think that Rafe would be happier with such abilities and not act so surly.

Yet Cassandra couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy for him. From the moment he’d removed his fangs from her throat, Rafe had made it clear that he did not want this situation any more than she did. In fact, she could almost believe that he detested the predicament more than she did.

Her brow furrowed. Was she destined to be a burden on everyone? From the time her parents died and she was taken into her aunt’s home with obvious reluctance to the moment she was foisted off in marriage to a man who loved another, this had been the pattern.

Yes, Rafe’s present was likely motivated by guilt. But what a glorious gift it was! Once more she caressed the finely made brass edges of the microscope. Either way, what was done was done. They could do no more than make the best of the situation. She with her fascinating new study, and Rafe with his kisses.

And there would be more this night. Cassandra’s belly fluttered and a tender ache pulsed between her thighs. She frowned. Was she anticipating that more than her studies? No, that certainly wouldn’t do. She was a doctor, not a mindless wanton.

What should be foremost in her mind were the questions she should ask Wakley tonight. Already, a multitude resided in the forefront of her mind, but first she must eat. That would be impossible later, with her stomach’s irrational manner of pitching about whenever the enigmatic Spaniard was in her presence.

Her course of action decided, Cassandra took her microscope and made her way downstairs to the monstrous dining room, made even more cavernous by the shadows cast about in meager candlelight.

Anthony immediately emerged from the kitchens, a soup tureen in one hand and a bottle of claret in the other. “Good evening, my lady,” he said with exaggerated, albeit warm formality as he ladled the soup into her bowl.

Cassandra couldn’t help but smile. “A vampire footman,” she mused aloud. “How very original.”

The vampire grinned, displaying a curious dichotomy of deadly fangs and charming dimples. “Only as you require the next course.” As if to prove the point, he plopped down in the seat to her left, pulled the tureen in front of him, and sipped the soup directly from the ladle. “Mmmm. Salmon chowder.”

Hiding a smile at his outrageousness, Cassandra tasted her own soup. The chowder was indeed delicious. Remembering the greasy fare she’d been served her first night here, she reminded herself to thank Rafe once more for allowing her to bring her cook.

“I say, what the bloody hell is that thing?” Anthony interrupted her thoughts, frowning at her microscope. “It looks like something devised by the Marquis de Sade!”

Cassandra raised a brow. “Who?”

“Never mind. I forget I am in the presence of a lady.” Unbelievably, the vampire appeared to be blushing.

Shaking her head at his incongruous reaction, she explained, “It is a Van Leeuwenhoek microscope.”

“A what?” Anthony’s brows creased.

Cassandra sighed. Did nobody read these days? “It is a device that allows me to see the fine details of the smallest things. This one is said to magnify five hundredfold. I hope to observe Rafe’s blood cells and see how they compare to mine.”

“What are cells?”

By the time Cassandra finished explaining, her soup had gone cold and Cook was making tsking sounds at Anthony from around the corner. With a murmured apology, he swept away the tureen and her bowl and returned with a platter of roast beef.

“So you mean to learn more about what makes Rafe and me what we are,” he said as if the delay hadn’t occurred. “Fascinating. This whole time I thought it was magic. I never entertained the notion that science could explain us.”

Cassandra fixed him with a level stare. “Science can explain everything.”

“I don’t know about that. I’d rather believe in miracles. By the by, I couldn’t help but notice your preoccupation with Rafe’s injured arm. Do you intend to heal it?”

She nodded and replied with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I mean to try.”

The vampire’s eyes widened. “You cannot fathom what it would mean for you to succeed.”