Page 27

Wakley stroked his chin, suddenly looking speculative. “Lady Rosslyn?”

“Yes?”

“The enterprise that you are about to undertake is admirable and ambitious. I would very much like to publish a portion of your results in The Lancet.”

Her breath caught as one of her most secret dreams was voiced. “You want me to write for The Lancet?”

He nodded. “Anonymously, I’m afraid. If word got around that the articles were penned by a female, my journal would be discredited.”

“You wish me to write about the surgery?” The implications of his request chased away her elation. Rafe was a vampire and the operation she planned was unlikely to work on humans. And that would surely be more damaging to The Lancet than studies published by a dowager countess.

He shook his head. “Alas, no. Though it could very well prove to be a monumental medical breakthrough, I’m afraid that the mere mention of such an unprecedented operation would raise far too many questions among our peers. Instead, I would like you to reveal your observations on the various anesthetic treatments you’ll be trying.”

“I would be honored.” She couldn’t keep the palpable relief from her voice. Joy suffused her being. Writing for The Lancet! Her! Making a contribution to the best medical journal in Christendom!

Anthony arrived before she abandoned propriety and dissolved into girlish vapors.

Once the cadaver was stored in the icehouse and Wakley had departed, Cassandra gave Anthony the list of supplies she’d require from the apothecary and returned to the laboratory to examine Rafe’s blood.

As she was placing the slide under the microscope, a shadow fell over her.

“Is my gift pleasing to you?” Rafe’s voice slid over her flesh like warm silk.

The slide fell from her numb fingers to shatter on the floor. “Yes, Don Villar.”

His eyes narrowed on the shards of glass at her feet. His scowl deepened as he met her gaze. “I thought I told you to call me Rafe.”

Cassandra’s knees trembled as she avoided his gaze and fetched a broom. “I-I’m sorry. I am unaccustomed to informality. That is not how I was raised.”

Her explanation seemed to vex him further. “Give me the broom,” he growled, snatching it from her grasp. “It is my fault you dropped…whatever that is, and only fair that I clean it up.”

With amazing dexterity, he swept up the broken glass with his one good arm, fetched a dustpan, and removed the mess, only experiencing momentary awkwardness with the last. “Does it have to be so goddamned bright in here?”

Cassandra stiffened. “You could ask me nicely to turn them down.”

“I apologize, Cassandra.” Something flashed across his features before his countenance softened. “I was dwelling on some unpleasant news.” He strode over and extinguished one of the lamps before she could reach it. “I’ll leave the others on for whatever you intend to do with me tonight.”

Not knowing how to respond to his odd shift in demeanor, Cassandra moved a chair into the light and got straight to business the moment he sat. “W-well, Rafe, I would like to try something, but I’m afraid I will need to cut you.”

One black brow rose. “Cut me?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Not too much, only a tiny incision on your left extensor carpi ulnaris.”

Now both brows lifted. “My what?”

“Roll up your sleeve and I will show you.”

Rafe complied and Cassandra choked back a gasp at the still formidable muscles displayed under his scarred flesh. Tentatively, she reached out and caressed a section of his forearm. “This, right here.”

“Very well.” Rafe sighed. “And do not worry about hurting me, I have little sensation there.” After a long pause, he frowned. “Won’t you require a blade?”

Cassandra glanced down. Her finger was still trailing lightly up and down the muscle.

Cheeks burning at the inappropriate contact, she snatched her hand away and crossed the room to fetch a small table and a clean scalpel. “Now, rest your arm on the table and keep it still. I do not want to cut anything vital.”

Taking a deep breath and whispering a silent prayer for steady hands, she made the incision on his forearm. Not daring to meet his gaze, she retrieved the fresh vial of Anthony’s blood along with a dropper.

“That appears to be blood,” Rafe commented, though he sounded more perplexed than disturbed.