Demon of Mine

by Ranae Rose

  Finally satisfied that every speck of dust had been removed from the library, Elsie stepped back out into the hall. The housekeeper had left her on the second floor after a brief explanation of its contents and layout, assuring her that she would disturb no one, as neither Damon nor Lucinda were home, and there were no guests. Being unfamiliar with the house wasn’t as unpleasant as Elsie had imagined it would be. There were fewer occupants in this country home, which left her to explore in peace, and there was a certain novelty to opening a door without knowing what lay behind it that she’d begun to enjoy. Curious, she turned a new knob and stepped into the next room.

  It was a bedroom. A huge four-poster bed was the largest piece of furniture in the spacious chamber, closely followed by an immense and ornately carved wardrobe. She crossed the room to pull back one of the heavy velvet curtains, letting in enough light to dust by. She worked her way around the room with practiced efficiency, admiring a dressing screen painted with peacocks and a large stone fireplace. A bundle of logs rested on the hearth, ready to burn. The room was a bit dark and chilled now, but with a fire crackling, it would be downright cozy. Perhaps the perfectly made bed and firewood awaited the arrival of a guest. Or could the bedroom belong to a regular resident, perhaps even Damon? Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper, had said his bedchamber was on this floor.

  The thought lit a spark somewhere in Elsie’s middle. She glanced around the room, looking for signs of an owner. Everything was perfectly neat. Even the writing desk in the corner opposite the dressing screen was devoid of any personal clutter. But wait, what was that? Something gleamed by the edge of the dressing screen. Retreating to the corner where the screen stood, she stooped to pick up the small object.

  It was a button. Made of perfectly polished silver, it might have once belonged to a gentleman’s coat. Perhaps it had fallen off as its owner disrobed behind the screen. It seemed fine enough to belong to Damon, but that also meant it could have been lost by a wealthy guest. She held the finely shaped bit of metal in her hand, wondering if Damon had worn it. Carefully, she touched it to her breast, her memories of the carriage ride flooding back to her in vivid detail. Though Damon had been quiet and reserved, that hadn’t stopped her heart and her foolish imagination from running wild. Would she feel as excited each time she encountered him at the manse? He’d left at dusk, and the housekeeper had said it was a regular habit of his. But surely he’d be back soon, and she’d see him the next day. Staying at Hertfordshire was going to be quite the ordeal for her heart if the novelty of being so close to him didn’t wear off soon.

  But she supposed it would. She was, after all, just a maid who allowed herself to indulge in silly fancies. Damon would never know, and she’d eventually grow accustomed to encountering him. She looked down at the button she held in her palm again, sighing. As she stared, it blurred to an indistinct silver smear. She looked up to find the room spinning around her. The peacocks on the dressing screen became blue and purple smudges, highlighted by brighter golden paint, and the bed a vast sea of jacquard dressings. Her knees wobbled and failed her, dropping her to the floor. Her own trembling hand was the last thing she saw before everything faded to nothingness.

  Chapter 2

  A dull ache between Elsie’s eyes was the first harbinger of consciousness. Something was hard against her cheek – the floor, she realized. A crackling sound filled the air, and for one terrifying moment she thought she’d awakened into a real-life nightmare, as she had seven years ago. But the only smell was the pleasant aroma of burning pine, not charred bodies, and she could breathe easily. Something was pressing into her palm – the button. Her stomach sank. She must have had another one of her episodes. How long had she been lying on the floor behind the dressing screen in the empty bedroom? She turned her head and blinked up at the screen. The housekeeper or one of the other servants might have come looking for her and missed her, hidden as she was behind it. Even now she was in darkness, obscured in shadow while firelight danced on the floor at the edge of the screen.

  Firelight. Her stomach twisted unpleasantly as a spike of alarm pierced her hazy thoughts, bringing her fully back to consciousness. A heavy sigh from somewhere beyond the screen doubled her chagrin. Clearly, she wasn’t alone in the room. Barely daring to breathe, she slowly drew her legs up beneath herself. One of them was asleep. She frowned and pinched her calf, hoping to banish the pins-and-needles sensation. When she finally regained mobility and managed to assume a kneeling position, she dared to peek around the corner of the screen.

  Her heart stopped for a moment. A man was sitting on the edge of the large four-poster bed, a man she’d recognize anywhere. Da-mon, Da-mon, Da-mon her heart beat frantically. What should she do? Expose herself, apologize and rush from the room? But he was already undressing. He shed his waistcoat as she watched, revealing a white shirt smattered with crimson spots.

  Elsie’s stomach lurched as she stared at the morbid stains in disbelief. When she noticed the red streak that was smeared across one of his high cheekbones, she couldn’t look away from it. At least, not until he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

  Her breath hitched in her throat, escaping her in a silent rush. His torso was perfect in every way, from the broad but graceful slopes of his shoulders to his flat stomach. A diamond of ebony hair in the center of his chest stood in stark contrast against his pale, creamy skin and tapered to a sensual stripe that disappeared beneath the waist of his tightly-fitted pantaloons. He would have been a perfectly heavenly sight if it hadn’t been for the crude stripe of blood that stained his face. What on God’s earth had he been doing?

  Jenny’s words rang in Elsie’s ears. A demon. Well, he almost looked the part with that frightful bloodstain on his cheek. But there had to be some reasonable explanation for why he’d come home in the middle of the night painted with blood that didn’t look to be his own. If only she could think of one, maybe her stomach would stop tying itself in uncomfortable knots. And maybe, just maybe, she could bring herself to move out from behind the dressing screen.

  When he unbuttoned his pantaloons, she knew it was too late. She also knew she should look away, but that seemed just as impossible. She stared in fascination as the fabric parted, revealing more of the night-dark hair and in the center of a bed of it, his cock. It was stiff and thick, rising tall in his lap. Whatever he’d been doing, it apparently hadn’t involved sexual release. The expression on his face was tense and wistful, and his dark eyes glittered. Instead of feeling ashamed, Elsie wondered what – or who – he was thinking of. His expression made it seem as if some intense memory or fantasy were teasing him. He settled a hand in his lap, closed his fist tightly around his shaft and sighed. An emotion Elsie couldn’t quite identify filled her as he began to move his hand, causing her heart to seize and swell with a bitter-sweet combination of longing and something like sadness.

  He didn’t hold back. And why should he have? Of course he thought he was alone. Heat finally flooded Elsie’s cheeks as a wave of guilt washed over her. She shouldn’t be watching this. It was an unforgiveable intrusion on his privacy, and it was stirring feelings in her that were best left unaroused. Every inch of her body burnt with desire as she watched him, and her nipples hardened to tight points beneath her dress and undergarments. She hadn’t felt like this since… No, she’d never felt quite like this. It was glorious and agonizing all at once. Dampness crept from her core as Damon pumped himself toward release, his hand rising and falling, gripping his cock so firmly it looked almost painful.

  The moans that escaped from between his full, parted lips might have been mistaken for pain too, if it hadn’t been for the expression of ecstasy on his face. His lips were curled in a half-smile, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. At least he couldn’t see her. No doubt he’d send her straight back to London if he caught her watching him, poor health or no.

  With a deep moan he threw himself back onto the bed, landing on his back with his head among the many pillows and his
dark locks spread about his face in wild disarray. He was clearly close to climax, stroking himself furiously as he breathed deeply, his breath rushing over his lips. Elsie watched, rapt, hanging on his every breath. She’d never seen anything more entrancing. She wasn’t a virgin, but there was still much she hadn’t experienced, including watching a man bring himself to release. Did it really feel as good as it looked and sounded?

  Apparently it did. He grunted and shuddered, sighing something that would have frozen Elsie where she crouched, had she not already been so perfectly still. “Elsie.” It was little more than a whisper, but in the quiet room, it might as well have been a gunshot.

  His seed spilled from the blunt tip of his cock, arcing through the air and splattering across his flat belly. Several more strokes and he was finished, breathing hard with his motionless fist still wrapped around his shaft. His seed gleamed from among the dark hair that striped his torso.

  Elsie watched, trembling with shock and burning with longing, as he wiped his semen from his body with his discarded shirt and settled into bed, rolling over onto his side with a final sigh. She wouldn’t leave until she was absolutely sure he was asleep. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she was discovered – it would either be a scene from a nightmare or a fantasy. She didn’t dare find out which.

  ****

  Elsie willed herself not to stir as the door creaked open and soft footsteps sounded, muffled by the thick Oriental rug. She’d been lying awake for twenty minutes already, waiting to be discovered where she’d settled on the library floor, behind a plush armchair in the farthest corner from the entrance. She’d tiptoed out of Damon’s room and into the library a few hours ago and gleaned from the clock on the mantle that it’d been nearly three in the morning. Lying down on the floor with her skirts carefully mussed to look as if she’d fainted, she’d wondered about Damon until she’d fallen asleep. The bedroom scene she’d witnessed in secret had played over in her mind at least a dozen times, until exhaustion had brought a temporary end to her fantasies. Now they were back in full force.

  She desperately tried to shove away the image of Damon clutching his hard cock. What would the housekeeper, or whoever was about to find her, think when they saw her face? She could feel that it was red. People didn’t blush in their sleep, did they? Probably not, unless they’d been having the kind of dreams she’d had after finally drifting off on the library floor. Her dreams had been brazen, if not surprising, after what she’d witnessed. Her mind had conjured up image after image of Damon, and sometimes she’d even found her dream-self in his arms. Once, in his bed. She swallowed and lay perfectly still as the footsteps came within a few feet of her. She’d made sure that the top of her head was just barely visible, to ensure she wouldn’t be overlooked.

  “What have we here?”

  No. God, no. Her discoverer’s low, silky voice sent a spike of alarm through her heart and a shiver of anticipation down her spine. How was it that Damon had already risen when he’d gone to bed just a couple hours before? Why, God, hadn’t the housekeeper come looking for her? His clothing rustled faintly, and it sounded as if he’d knelt, though Elsie didn’t dare to look.

  She nearly jumped when his fingertips brushed her neck. Struggling not to tremble, she forced herself to keep still as he pressed them into the hollow of her throat, waiting. “Not dead, then,” he breathed, sounding surprisingly relieved. Her heart sped, and her pulse pounded against his fingers. Could he tell she was feigning slumber? The idea was mortifying, and she felt like an idiot lying on the floor, pretending to be unconscious. A few moments passed before he removed his touch. Elsie’s terror mounted with each and every second.

  He drew a deep breath and sighed, low and long. The sound conjured memories of the night before, when he’d sighed in much the same way and moaned. When he’d said her name. Elsie. She hadn’t had a clue that he’d even remembered her name, let alone thought of her when he sought release. It was almost too much to believe, unless…

  Of course. God, she was a fool. She surely wasn’t the only Elsie in England, and if Damon longed for a girl with that name, it surely wasn’t her. The frightful tension in her muscles eased just a little, but her discomfort heightened as disappointment rushed through her. She’d never felt more wonderful, more loveable, than when she’d heard her name escape Damon’s lips.

  “Elsie.” Damon placed a hand on her shoulder and let it rest there for a moment before shaking her lightly.

  So he did remember her name. She tried not to take too much pleasure in that fact. It didn’t mean she was the only girl he’d met that went by Elsie, or that he’d thought of her since he’d last seen her. Still, hearing him say it lifted her heart and sparked a slow burn in her core, rekindling the passion that had seized her the night before. She couldn’t pretend any longer – her blushing would surely give her away, and it was incredibly difficult to lie still instead of responding to his touch.

  She opened her eyes and blinked up at his handsome face, giving herself a few moments to pretend recognizing him – as if she didn’t know him by his delicious voice – before speaking. “Sir?” She didn’t have to feign a look of consternation.

  “Have you been lying here all night?”

  She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat and lied. “I suppose I have.” The falsehood didn’t go over well with her already knotted stomach, but admitting that she’d spent the better part of the night in his bedchamber was out of the question.

  “Are you ill? My mother mentioned that you might have…episodes.”

  She forced down a wave of mortification and nodded.

  “Here.” He grasped her arms with surprising gentleness and helped her into a sitting position. “Do you faint often, then, with no warning? Forgive me for asking, but my mother told me little about the nature of your symptoms.”

  She nodded again. “Sometimes. Other times I only collapse and am still conscious. When that happens I must wait until the weakness in my limbs passes until I am able to rise.”

  “Odd.” For a moment, his eyes looked even darker than usual – something Elsie hadn’t imagined was possible. “How often do these things happen to you?”

  A sinking feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. “It used to be that I’d go weeks between episodes, but I fear it’s been growing worse over the past few months. Now, scarcely a day goes by that I don’t collapse, at least. Sometimes it happens up to three times a day.”

  His full, luscious lips turned down into a deep frown that made her want to kiss him for caring about her problems. “And you’ve seen a physician?”

  Her elbow ached at just the thought. “Many times.”

  He gripped her arm and helped her to her feet. The spicy scent of his cologne teased her nostrils as his coat brushed her face. The white of his shirt peeked from above the collar, pristine. She tried not to think of the blood-stained garment he’d come home in the night before. “I could call for another physician,” he said. “Perhaps a second opinion might be of some use. There’s a doctor of some renown not far from here by the name of—”

  The library door swung open, whooshing quietly on well-oiled hinges to admit the sturdy form of Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper. Though the woman was greying, her robust figure didn’t seem to be weakening with age. She stood in the doorway with her ankles apart, hands pressed against her breast. “You’ve found her, sir!” She marched across the Oriental rug, her face fixed in a somber expression. The key ring she carried in an apron pocket jingled with every step. “Was she harmed?”

  Elsie barely had time to feel disappointed as Mrs. Hughes whisked her from Damon’s side.

  Firmly caught in Mrs. Hughes’s iron grasp, Elsie had no choice but to stand by the woman’s side, gazing wistfully at Damon. “She fainted here, behind the armchair,” he explained. The few feet between them might as well have been an ocean for all the chance Elsie had of escaping Mrs. Hughes’ hold.

  The housekeeper sighed and inclined her head towar
d Damon. “My apologies, sir. I shouldn’t have allowed her to work yesterday evening. Doubtless the journey from London was too much for a girl in her state of health. I should have sent her straight to her bed, should have—”

  “There’s no use crying over spilled milk, Mrs. Hughes,” Damon said. “You weren’t aware of how delicate her state of health is. Neither was I, for that matter. You’ll just have to be more careful in the future.”

  Elsie struggled to maintain a neutral expression as her cheeks smoldered. Delicate? She’d been laboring with her hands – not to mention a strong back – since she was six years old. All that and she’d been reduced to ‘delicate’ by a single fainting spell. The worst part was that she’d faked it. Of course, it wasn’t a total lie – she had fainted. And as embarrassing as this was, she knew it wouldn’t hold a candle to what Damon might say if he discovered the true location of her ‘episode’.

  “Of course, sir. I’ll see her to bed myself.” Mrs. Hughes tightened her hold on Elsie’s arm and began to steer her toward the door.

  “Mrs. Hughes.”

  The housekeeper turned at once toward the sound of Damon’s voice, her expression attentive. “Yes, sir?”

  “Perhaps you should see that she drinks some of the herbal tea Lucy brought from London last month. She swears it helps her headaches.”

  “An excellent idea, sir.”

  Excellent indeed. Elsie resisted the urge to scrape her tongue against her teeth as she remembered the bitter flavor of the herbal beef tea mixture she’d had to drink twice daily back at the London estate. God send that the tea they had here wasn’t as bad. She’d thought she’d escaped the foul brew when she’d left the city. But as putrid as the tea was likely to taste, she had to admit that it’d warmed her to hear Damon take such an interest in her health. Her heart fluttered as she remembered the feel of his fingertips pressed against her neck. He didn’t seem at all the demon he was so often made out to be.