Demon of Mine

by Ranae Rose

  Elsie swallowed and looked him in his moonlit eyes. “Neither.” Of course she felt a considerable measure of loyalty toward the Remingtons, but not so much that she would blind herself to danger and place her own neck on the chopping block. No, she knew that he was innocent. Not only had she been moved by the sincerity – the anguish – in his voice, but she knew he had indeed been in his own bed at three in the morning, when Lord Griffith had apparently been discovered dead. She alone knew, and the fact both fueled her seeming bravery and gnawed at her from the inside. He wouldn’t need a talking horse if she had the courage to admit that she’d seen him.

  “You perplex me,” he said simply.

  She was overcome by the sudden feeling of finding herself backed into a corner. She leaned ever so slightly backward, and the prick of a thorn against the small of her back enhanced the sensation. Perhaps she’d said too much. Maybe she should have rattled off something about her faith in the virtue of the Remingtons and scuttled off to bed. But no, she didn’t have the time or the will for such lies – not when her every breath was precious. She would not lie to Damon. She would treasure this bit of night always as the time she’d held Damon Remington’s undivided attention. It would be a sweet memory, untainted by dishonesty. “Forgive me,” she said simply. “That was not my intention.”

  A small smile played around the corners of his mouth, and the sight of it toyed dangerously with Elsie’s knees. They wobbled slightly. Thankfully, her skirts seemed to hide the fault from Damon’s eyes. “And yet you continue. Do you intend to tell me why you are so sure of my innocence? I would very much like to know why a maidservant trusts my character when even my own sister doubted me.”

  Elsie sucked in a quick breath, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Damon held her gaze, favoring her with a hint of a smile while the stars hung overhead, statically bright, not twinkling. Even her own heart skipped a beat. The truth danced on her tongue, dangerously close to escape. At the idea of divulging her secret she felt almost as brave as Damon seemed to think she was, and then horribly ill. What would he think of her – oh God, what would he think? But he wanted an answer, and the courts would demand the same from him. He spoke as if there was no one else to say he’d been home when the clock had struck three. She could tell the truth. Maybe she could even help his case. “I saw you.” She said it before she could stop herself, and then there was nothing to do but elaborate. “I saw you that night, after you arrived home. I know you couldn’t have killed Lord Griffith if his body was still warm at three, for you were in your bed then.”

  Not a single cricket had the mercy to interrupt the silence that stretched between them then.

  “I was in your room, behind the dressing screen,” she said softly. “You’re furious with me. I understand.”

  “No.” There was an odd note in his normally silky voice, a hint of discomposure that was at odds with his reputation and his family name. “I am not angry. I cannot be – not when I have watched you in secrecy so many times.”

  Elsie’s mouth went dry. “Watched me?” Her heart surged, sending blood racing through her veins. There had to be some mistake.

  “Whenever I had the chance,” he said softly. “Whenever I could, I watched you. Not during any…intimate times.” Elsie’s cheeks flooded with heat as he continued. Intimate indeed. “But I’ve always noticed you among the servants here at the London house, and whenever you caught my eye, I would watch. While you cleaned, when you strode through the garden or city streets on your day off...”

  She pressed the kerchief to her face, desperate to conceal what must have been a gaping expression. What could possibly possess Damon to watch her? She could hardly imagine a duller sight than a housemaid polishing a candlestick or shopping for a cheap trinket in the city, ignorant of her observer. “Why?” she asked simply, fighting the pleasantly dizzying effect of the soft cloth, heavy with Damon’s scent.

  “Would that I could tell you the entire story,” he said softly.

  “Can you tell me at least a little bit?” she asked, emboldened by the shock of his perplexing confession.

  “Of course. You remember, surely, the day my mother hired you?”

  “How could I forget?” A familiar sensation of bone-deep regret washed over her as she remembered the odor of her parents’ death in the air, the scrape of the cobblestones against her work-calloused palms.

  “The sight of you stirred my heart that morning,” he said. “I’ve never forgotten you.”

  Elsie suppressed an incredulous noise. “Stirred your heart – me, the young wretch sopping on the side of the street?” She vividly remembered the water running grey from her ash-stained hair and face, as well as the singed and threadbare fabric of her pauper’s gown.

  “Yes.” His voice was velvet-smooth again.

  “You have an unusually kind heart. Were it not for you, your mother never would have taken me on. God knows what sort of misery I’d have been consigned to without your family’s Christian kindness.”

  One corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.

  “Is that it then?” she asked. “My pathetic state made such an impression on you that you’ve never forgotten?”

  “That’s not it at all. I know my explanation is lacking, but it’s all I dare divulge.” He smiled wickedly, and even the mischievous curve of his lips was somehow regally handsome. “Still, it’s quite a bit more than you’ve given me. You haven’t said why you were hiding behind the dressing screen in my bedchamber.” If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it.

  Finally, a chance to justify her actions, even if only a little. “I fainted there while dusting. When I awoke you were already undressing. I couldn’t summon the courage to come out. I’m sorry.”

  “So you waited until I fell asleep and then fled to the library and pretended you’d been there all along?” There was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Yes.” She had to force herself to continue to meet his gaze.

  “Then you know.”

  Elsie’s heart seized as visions of his bloodied shirt loomed in her mind. Was he going to explain the stains? “Know what?” she breathed.

  “That I find you anything but pathetic.”

  She exhaled sharply, sending the edges of the fine kerchief fluttering. Damon’s scent whirled around her, mixed with her own breath. Elsie. She remembered the sound of her name on his lips as clearly as day. Her stomach flip-flopped and fluttered with the revelation that there was no other Elsie. He’d truly been saying her name. “Do you mean it?” Her cheeks flamed as she asked, but she had to know.

  “Yes.”

  Her heart jumped when he reached out and laid a hand on her arm. This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be. It was as if her wild dreams from the night before had bled into reality and turned everything upside down. Her own name rang in her ears as she remembered him gasping, breathing hard as he clutched his cock. It was all too much. None of it made any sense. “Tell me the rest of the story,” she implored. “Tell me why…”

  He laid his other hand on her arm and squared her body with his, pulling her so close her breasts nearly brushed the front of his coat. He fixed her with his dark eyes, silvered by the moon. “Perhaps it’s only that you’re so beautiful.”

  Yes, her dreams must have somehow crept into her waking hours.

  “You are,” he said, his voice suddenly low. “You don’t have the face of a housemaid. A princess, perhaps – a face that should be framed by finery and displayed for the admiration of all. But you are here, in my home, all of your beauty confined to this country house for my enjoyment only.” He tightened his grip on her arms. “It’s more than I can bear. I knew during the carriage ride alone with you that I would not be able to sleep that night until I found release. Perhaps I should apologize. Perhaps I should stop being so frank. But I can bring myself to do neither.”

  Elsie trembled. He could surely feel the tremors in her arms, but there was nothing she could do to stop them.
She should be glad she’d managed to remain standing in the wake of his confession. She felt as if she’d been slammed into by a savage, cresting wave. Every secret part of her, every little nook in her heart she’d dared to fill with dreams of Damon, was rejoicing. The rest of her was too stunned to do anything besides shake.

  “Have I offended you?” His breath brushed her forehead softly, snapping her out of her shock and igniting a spark in the core of her being.

  “No, but you have stunned me.”

  He loosened his hold on her just a little. Elsie wished he hadn’t – her knees were feeling dangerously weak, and she was glad of his support. “I apologize,” he said. “The shock can’t be good for your health.”

  “If the physician’s suspicions are true, my health is past the point of repair. Say whatever you wish. Your words are doing my heart good, if nothing else.”

  He breathed a long sigh and pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his chest. She was instantly aware of the hardness that pressed against her belly, and visions of his lonely passion filled her mind. She vividly remembered the sight of the engorged length of flesh that teased her now, thick and hard with unfulfilled desire. Her core ached for him, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to part her lips when he crushed his mouth against hers.

  His tongue was as smooth as his voice, gliding past her teeth and entwining with her own. She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and clutching handfuls of his coat. A lock of his hair brushed her cheek, and his intoxicating scent filled her lungs. All the anxiousness and the toll it had taken on her frayed nerves had been well worth it for this.

  It was a long while before their lips parted, and even then, she only complied so she could catch her breath. Opening her eyes, she blinked up at the stars.

  They weren’t there. She stared in bafflement at what first seemed an endless, lightless sky. But no, it wasn’t quite that. There were stars, but they were smaller and duller than usual, blurred almost beyond recognition. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach caused her spirits to plummet. She closed her right eye, and was promptly plunged into darkness. Opening it again, she shut her other eye. Now she could see, but her vision was poor. She clung desperately to Damon. “Don’t let me go.”

  “I won’t.” He wrapped his arms even more tightly around her body.

  Her feet were useless against the ground, the feeling in her legs gone. Caught up in passion, she hadn’t noticed the numbness at first. She moved her head from side to side, blinking. Everything was darker than it should have been in the moonlight, and blurry besides. “God help me,” she despaired.

  “What is it?” There was a sharp note of alarm in Damon’s voice.

  “I can’t see.”

  He tensed against her. “What?”

  “My vision.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “It’s gone in one eye, and impaired in the other.”

  He shifted his hold on her.

  “No!” she protested. If he let go of her, she’d collapse to the ground below. More than that, she needed someone to hold on to, craved a human touch to keep her grounded while she felt so close to panicking. “Don’t drop me. My legs are numb, too.”

  “An attack,” he breathed. “You’re having one of your attacks?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to reply calmly. This was by far the worst episode she’d ever had. She’d never lost her vision before, though it had been slightly blurry at times. Outright blindness was a new terror altogether.

  “I’ll send for the physician at once,” he said, still holding her steady.

  “Please don’t. There is nothing he can do. My attacks come and go on their own. It is a waiting game.” At least, she hoped it was. Hopefully this episode would pass with time, just like the rest. She tried not to think of the doctor’s haunting story of how his patient’s symptoms had grown worse and worse until she’d died, unable to rise from her bed. Could this be the first of a series of permanently debilitating attacks?

  No, she wouldn’t think that way, wouldn’t cripple her health further with pessimism. This would pass.

  “What can I do then?” he asked, his silky voice tempered with urgency.

  She sighed, resigning herself to practicality. Deep down, she wanted to erupt into melodrama, wanted to tell him to hold her through the night, to never let her go. “See me to my bed. Please.”

  “Shall I carry you?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

  He scooped her into his arms with perfect grace, as if she weighed nothing at all. She closed her eyes as he carried her toward the house, content to immerse herself in his scent, in the feel of his muscles shifting against her. The moment was as perfect as it dared to be in light of her condition.

  “Shall I take you to an extra bedroom? There are many and you are more than welcome to recuperate in one of them.”

  “Take me to the maids’ quarters, please.” She didn’t want to imagine what the other servants would say if she bedded down in one of the spare rooms as if she were a visiting lady. Besides that, Mrs. Hughes’ reaction would surely be outrageous if she caught wind of Elsie’s midnight escape. “The feeling is already coming back into my legs. You need only to deliver me to the corridor, and I shall be able to make my way inside and to my bed myself. I’d rather no one knew that I ever strayed from my bed tonight.”

  “I understand.” He was silent until they reached the hallway that lead to the maids’ quarters on the third floor. “Are you sure you’ll be able to manage if I leave you here?”

  “Absolutely.” Her legs were tingling terribly, but sheer determination would see her to her bed, if nothing else.

  He lowered her gently and she managed to stand while gripping his arm for balance. The moonlight streaming through the window at the end of the corridor was just enough to let her make out the blurred, rectangular shape of the door that would separate her from Damon, plunging her once again into her true world – the world of a housemaid. The magic of the unexpected intimacy she and Damon had shared still caused her lips to tingle and encouraged her to linger, gripping his arm for half a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “Thank you,” she whispered, lest anyone should hear.

  He lowered his head, and his lips brushed her ear, sending shivers of delight down her spine as he spoke. “I’m sorry if my actions triggered your attack. I never meant to harm you.”

  “You’re not to blame. My episodes often occur at the most inconvenient of times.” The remembered sounds of shattering china tumbled through her mind, complimented by passionate moans she knew she’d never forget.

  “Goodnight, Elsie.”

  At last she relinquished her hold on his arm and turned away. She paused for a moment, but it was dreadfully clear that he intended to see that she at least made it through the door safely. Her cheeks burning, she stepped unsteadily, resting a hand on the doorframe and slowly pushing it open. Thank God the Remington houses were kept in perfect order, so that the door hinges never squeaked. Inside, she made her way carefully to her bed and slipped gracelessly beneath the covers. When she shut her eyes, her memories of the kiss she and Damon had shared gave way to dreams of what might have happened next had she not suffered an attack.

  Chapter 5

  Much to Elsie’s relief, Mrs. Hughes decided the next morning that Elsie would benefit from some time in the gardens for ‘a spot of fresh country air’. Elsie had feared that the housekeeper would demand that she spend the entire day in bed again, especially when she learned of her vision trouble. Her left eye was no longer completely blind, but her vision in both was frightfully blurred. Straining to look at anything for too long gave her a headache.

  “It’s a pity you have to see the gardens for the first time in this condition,” Mrs. Hughes said as she guided Elsie to the rose bushes behind the house, walking at a slow gait that was a far cry from the housekeeper’s usual brisk pace. “The roses are lovely.”

  Elsie’s cheeks warmed. Of
course, she didn’t let on that she’d already visited the gardens. “I can smell them. The scent is wonderful.” The flowers appeared as little more than colorful blurs against the dark green of the foliage that bore them.

  Mrs. Hughes nodded approvingly. “Now just sit here,” she guided Elsie to a bench, “and relax. It’s early enough yet that the sun shouldn’t be a bother, and I’ll have the herbal tea sent out to you at half past the hour.”

  Elsie sat on the stone bench, agreeably clutching Mrs. Hughes’ proffered arm despite the fact that she didn’t really need it. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.” She couldn’t wait for the woman to be gone so she could sit in privacy, basking in the tempered early morning sunshine and memories of her time among the rose bushes the night before. She could have spent an eternity pondering that kiss, though she still found it difficult to believe it had really happened. It had been much more real than any dream though – the softness of Damon’s lips, the silky glide of his tongue against hers... Her imagination never would have been able to duplicate the perfection if she hadn’t experienced it in reality. Just thinking about it brought her breath up short. Would she ever feel such ecstasy again?

  She told herself not to be greedy. Who knew if Damon would approach her again; if he regretted what he’d done the night before or if he thought about it now, just as she did? She would cherish the memory for the rest of her life – however short that might prove to be – but she wouldn’t get her hopes up. She’d learned her lesson well from Lord Wilkes. Not that Damon was of the same shoddy caliber as that cad, but she could hardly expect a Remington to truly fall for an ailing maidservant.

  “Your tea.”

  Elsie turned toward the sound of a slightly impatient voice, startled out of her thoughts of Damon. The maid had approached from the murky fields of Elsie’s peripheral vision, and she hadn’t noticed her. She squinted now at the tray-bearing figure, noting mousy locks that protruded from beneath a mobcap. The girl sounded young, and her slender, almost boyish figure supported the supposition. “Thank you,” Elsie said, taking the smooth polished-wood tray and balancing it on her lap. Having personally served tea a thousand times over, Elsie easily navigated the tray by feel. She clutched a halfway filled cup and let its warmth seep into her fingers as she waited for the maid to stop staring at her and leave.