Demon of Mine (3 page)

Elsie felt the color drain out of her
cheeks, then return with a burning vengeance. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about. It’s Wednesday, and I always dust Mrs.
Remington’s curio collection on Wednesdays. That’s all.”

Jenny sighed. “Oh, please, Elsie. I’ve
seen the way you look at him.”

Elsie began to protest, but Jenny laid
a hand on her arm and squeezed with surprising force. “Listen to
me. If you are to go to Hertfordshire, you must abandon your
foolish fancy of Damon.”

Elsie stammered. “I do
not—”

Jenny gave her a slight shaking.
“We’re best friends, aren’t we? I’m only trying to help. You know
what they say about the Remingtons. I’m not one to speak against
our mistress, but if there was ever a demon in the Remington
family, Damon is it. I’ve heard the most terrible things about him.
He stays out until the wee hours of the morning every night;
gambling and getting up to other things the servants daren’t
mention, coming home—”

“
Shhh, Jenny. Those habits
would only make him a rake at worst, and I don’t believe he’s that.
Whatever you’ve heard, those things are nothing more than idle
rumors spawned by jealousy. You know as well as I do that the
bloody
haute ton
begrudge the Remingtons their wealth because they have no
title. Wealth is no longer just for the nobility, and they can’t
stand it. There are no demons among the Remingtons.” She cut Jenny
off before she could offer a rebuttal. “Besides, I do not fancy
Damon.” She blushed a little beneath Jenny’s incredulous gaze, her
lie blossoming across her face. “Well, not really. I admit I enjoy
admiring him from afar, but I would never presume to, to…” The heat
in her cheeks flared. God, she must be absolutely red!

“
You needn’t presume,”
Jenny said, sticking out her chin and fixing Elsie with a knowing
look. “There are those who would take advantage of an innocent
maid.”

Elsie’s heart sank, even as a wave of
irritation rolled over her. “Must you always bring that up? I was
young, and—”

“
You were eighteen. You’re
only nineteen now. It was scarcely a year ago.”

“
I know how long ago it
was. Do stop talking about it.”

“
As your friend, I will
not. Every time I see you look at Damon, I worry that your
experience
has whetted
your appetite for more. It would be foolishness to allow him to use
you the way Lord Wilkes did.”

Elsie barely heard the rest of Jenny’s
words. Her eyes stung, and her ears rang as if they’d been slapped.
That was very nearly how she felt. “So that’s what you think of
me?” she choked out, taking an unsteady step backward from her
friend and seeing her in a new and unflattering light. “That I’m a
common whore who can’t help but throw herself at the feet of any
passing man?”

“
I’m not calling names. I’m
only trying to talk some sense into you. For your sake.”

Hurt flared in Elsie’s heart, leaving
her feeling vulnerable and stained beneath her friend’s prim gaze.
The conversation had turned sour so quickly that she’d been stunned
by Jenny’s accusations, left with no time to collect her feelings.
Now Jenny continued to stare at her as if she were a dirty bit of
muslin, and a rush of anger swept through Elsie. Her lip trembled
as her emotions spiraled. Hopefully Jenny would mistake the motion
for an after-effect of her recent spell of weakness. She turned on
her heel and fled the room before the angry tears she was
struggling to suppress could begin to fall.

****

Elsie eyed the sliver of light that
the hidden panel in the hallway admitted. She should step back out
into the corridor and see to the dusting of Mrs. Remington’s curio
collection, or at least go to bed as she’d been told to, but she
couldn’t bring herself to do either. She’d been sitting in the
stuffy hidden passage for the better part of half an hour, crying
angrily but quietly into her apron. The flood of tears hadn’t quite
tamed her emotions as she’d hoped it would – a fact that left her
feeling like a fool for allowing herself to weep like a child.
Still, when she thought of what Jenny had said, fresh heat flooded
her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but clench her hands into fists.
She’d always had a tendency to cry when she was angry, a habit she
wished she could abandon. Unfortunately, it seemed as much a part
of her nature as her brown hair and green eyes. At least she had
the secret passage – here she could give in to her tears without
embarrassing herself in front of anyone else.

How could Jenny have said such things?
She and Elsie had become fast friends four years ago when Jenny had
been hired. They were of an age, and had been practically
inseparable since. Jenny did have a righteous streak though, and it
had worsened after Elsie had lost her virginity to that cad, Lord
Wilkes.

But what was she supposed to have
done? The man had cornered her in an empty bedroom during a party
the Remingtons had hosted. She’d been dusting, thinking herself
safely out of the way on the third floor while the festivities
raged on the first. Maybe she shouldn’t have helped herself to a
bit – or more – of the party punch, but still. Lord Wilkes had
practically tackled her onto the perfectly made bed. Her stomach
fluttered and churned at the half-shameful, half-exhilarating
memory. Thank God Jenny didn’t know about the punch she’d imbibed,
or that she’d had a second encounter with Lord Wilkes a fortnight
after.

She’d even been disappointed when he
hadn’t sought out her company again. More so than she cared to
admit, in fact. Weeks had passed, then months, and now nearly a
year. He’d attended a couple of parties at the Remington estate
since, but he’d never come for her, or even given her so much as a
sideways glance on the few occasions when they’d happened to pass
each other in a crowded room or hallway.

Yes, thank God Jenny didn’t know about
all that. There were some things the model-maiden couldn’t possibly
understand, like how good it felt to be wrapped in the safety of a
man’s arms –  to feel, even if just for an hour, like more
than a lowly housemaid. Warmth began to spread through Elsie’s core
at the memory, but she fought it, consigning herself to reality.
She would never be more than a servant, and she should be grateful
that she was even that. Time hadn’t erased the calluses on her
fingertips and palms, nor the memories of how she’d worked to earn
them in the textile manufactory. She was more than fortunate to
have this life.

She was older and wiser now, even if
she was only nineteen. She would never again lose herself in
idiotic fancies of being swept off her feet by a man and into a
life of love and luxury. She’d keep her head on straight and her
skirts safely around her ankles where they belonged, however strong
the temptation to do otherwise might be. She’d never throw her
heart or her body at another man. She’d only be used and forgotten
if she did. She would, however, allow herself the pleasure of
admiring Damon Remington from afar. There was no harm in
that.

Taking a deep breath and using a
corner of her apron to wipe the last traces of tears from her eyes,
Elsie slid open the hidden panel and stepped out into the
corridor.

She wasn’t alone. Footsteps so soft
she barely heard them sounded just as she emerged into view, her
slippers silent against the long runner rug that she labored to
beat clean every Saturday. She made to step back into the obscurity
of the secret passage, but she was too late – the panel had already
closed behind her. A man rounded the corner, tall, slim and
heart-wrenchingly handsome.

Damon
. Her heart beat his name frantically.
Da-mon. Da-mon. Da-mon.
Only her
heart had the audacity to call him by his Christian name. “Sir,”
she said, dipping into a curtsy that was rendered less than
graceful by her wobbly knees, as if the display of formality would
make up for her highly personal feelings.

He paused in front of her, and when
she dared to look up at him, he met her eyes. They were just as
stunning as they had been seven years ago when she’d first looked
into them, only now they belonged to a man instead of a sixteen
year-old boy. My God. She could have lost herself in those dark
pools, could have stared forever…

“
I’m looking for someone,”
he said, his voice deliciously low and smooth. If she’d heard it
coming from any other man’s lips, she would have thought he was
planning seduction. But Damon always spoke that way. It was part of
his natural perfection, his undeniable appeal. How in the bloody
world did Jenny keep from gaping at him when he passed by? It was
nearly as if she wasn’t a woman at all.

“
Who, sir?” Elsie finished
her curtsy, pleased to find her voice relatively steady.

“
A housemaid called Elsie.
Do you know where I might find her?” His dark eyes flickered as his
gaze traveled from her head to her toes.

Elsie tried to ignore the wave of heat
that swept over her along with his gaze. “That’s me, sir. I’m
Elsie.”

He looked her up and down again, and a
definite gleam passed through his eyes. “Indeed?”

She willed her legs to support her.
The last thing she needed was to collapse at his feet. After all,
she’d just promised herself she wouldn’t do that. And besides,
she’d look like a fool. “Indeed, sir. At your service.” She managed
to perform another shaky curtsy without falling over.

“
Come with me then. My
mother says you’re to spend some time at the country estate. She
feels the fresh air may do you some good.” He just barely raised an
eyebrow at her, and the sight of it reminded Elsie instantly of his
mother. How much had she told her son about Elsie’s illness? Even
if her interactions with him would be limited to the everyday
inanities that might pass between a master and a servant, she’d
rather he didn’t think of her as a feeble invalid. “She told me you
used to be one of her best servants before your health declined,”
he continued in his sensuously silky voice. “She hopes your health
will improve at Hertfordshire so that you may return here
soon.”

Return. Of course she would return.
But right now, it was difficult to think of anything other than the
fact that she’d be admiring Damon from perhaps not so far away for
some time.

****

The Remingtons’ country estate was
even larger than their home back in London, though it somehow
seemed more charming, perhaps because of the perfectly-tended
flowers that were in bloom beneath every first floor window.
Feeling out of place in the stately brick manse, Elsie had begun
doing the only thing that was sure to make her feel at home –
cleaning. Apparently, Damon had delivered instructions from his
mother to the housekeeper to make sure Elsie performed only light
work. The only thing she’d been able to talk the woman into
allowing her to do was dusting. Now she whisked a feather-duster
over a clock resting on a mantle in a library on the second floor,
thinking of the carriage ride from London to
Hertfordshire.

She’d shared the carriage cab with
only Damon, sitting across from him on a cushioned bench covered
with plum velvet, her small bundle of belongings on the seat beside
her. Not a word had passed between them, but his eyes… They’d
scarcely strayed from her, and she’d felt his gaze, burning and
intense. Did he look at everyone like that? It’d taken all her
willpower not to tremble beneath his silent attention. Thank God
she hadn’t had another episode since that morning when she’d nearly
dropped the tea tray in Mrs. Remington’s antechamber. Maybe the
country air was already working its magic. She could
hope.

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.