Demon of Mine (31 page)

“
Bloody bacon-brained chit,” the man mumbled as he stepped into
the room. Elsie counted his paces as he strode toward her – there
were six. “Bosoms from here to the continent though, I’ll give her
that.”

“
I
‘eard that!” Véronique called, sounding only half
displeased.

He snorted and
– by the sound of it – knelt in front of Elsie, who was letting her
head loll on her shoulder. Relatively fresh air hit her face for
the first time as the sack over her head was lifted halfway. She
peeked from beneath partially opened lids, desperate for a glance
of her captor, or at least her surroundings.

The room was
dimly but thoroughly lit, as if there were a window somewhere
above. Unfortunately, all Elsie could see was a hint of dusty floor
boards, the front of her own body and a large thumb that was hooked
around the edge of the sack, which apparently was very thick
indeed. She quickly forgot the dirty floor as her gaze focused on
the thin white muslin that only half-concealed her breasts, not to
mention the rest of her. She still wore only her shift. It was
suddenly very difficult to maintain the pretense of being relaxed
and oblivious.

Fortunately,
the man seemed intent on completing his task and escaping the room.
Elsie nearly sputtered when he snatched the gag out of her mouth
and shoved something rudely against her lips, popping a thumb into
the corner of her mouth and forcing her to open her jaws as if she
were a stubborn horse reluctant to take its bit. She swallowed the
bitter-tasting liquid he poured into her mouth out of reflex. A
good bit of it ran down her chin and spilled down her front,
dampening her already scandalous excuse for cover. Apparently too
occupied by thoughts of Véronique’s transatlantic bosoms to care,
the man pulled the sack back down over Elsie’s head and rose.
Something light brushed Elsie’s arm, but she was afforded little
time to wonder what it might be. The sound of the closing door was
the last thing she heard before her thoughts blurred and fuzzed,
blending into an unnatural, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 18

Jenny wove her way through the London crowds without really
seeing anyone. It was Sunday afternoon, and rather than taking a
walk in the estate rose garden or languishing over a book in the
library, she’d fled the house as soon as she’d been relieved of her
half-day’s duties. The hysteria that had gripped the other maids
was unbearable, and the more time she’d spent in their company, the
closer she’d felt to tipping over the edge herself. Even now,
despair threatened to overwhelm her. Offering up a quick prayer for
strength in the face of hardship, she turned a random corner,
heading down a row of shops she didn’t care about this Sunday. The
only way she could possibly fight off the feelings of uselessness –
the only way she could possibly do Elsie any good – was to keep
thinking logically. There
was
an answer, even if she hadn’t been able to find it
yet.

“
Oh, Elsie…” Saying her friend’s name brought a rush of
memories and intensified her pain, rather than bringing her any
amount of comfort. Every time she thought of Elsie – which was
constantly – she saw the footman’s crushed skull in her mind’s eye.
Whoever had done that had taken her. The fact that Elsie was
immortal didn’t ease her worries. If there was no way she could be
harmed, then why would a violent criminal have kidnapped her? She
cursed her lack of knowledge, wishing she knew more about the
vampires she shared a house – albeit a very large one –
with.

But no, she
shouldn’t be spending time mulling over idle curiosities. There
were only two things she needed to be thinking about: who had
kidnapped Elsie, and where they had taken her. Naturally, she would
need to determine the first before the latter. That was where logic
would come in. Simple logic had never – well, almost never –
steered her wrong in the past. If she just thought about it long
enough, she was bound to come up with an answer, or at least some
sort of guess to go on. Deftly stepping around a pile of horse
manure, she mentally combed over the conversation she and Elsie had
shared the evening before. If there was one advantage she
possessed, it was that her memory never failed her – she was as
likely to forget anything as a pig was to fly. The trouble was that
it would be easier to avoid stepping in filth on a crowded London
street than it would be to successfully mine useful bits of
information from the dead-end wonderings and wild speculations she
and Elsie had indulged in.

“
Ah! Deesgusting!” A heavily-accented voice somehow managed to
cut through the drone of noise that filled the busy street. Jenny
looked up to see an aristocratic-looking woman lifting her skirts
and shaking a foot as if it were on fire. Bits of manure flew from
her boot, splattering unfortunate passersby, who glared at her in
return. A few locks of the woman’s vividly red hair flew out from
beneath her bonnet as she whipped her head around, doing her best
to return each and every bitter look. Jenny’s stomach plummeted
down to her toes when she recognized the woman.

What was
 Véronique Renard doing in London? She’d disappeared days ago,
as soon as she’d presumably discovered that Damon had brought a
wife with him to London. Her flight had been relegated to the
backburner of popular discussion, overwhelmed by news of Elsie and
Damon’s marriage. Everyone had naturally assumed that Véronique had
returned to Paris, humiliated, and yet here she was, muttering
uncomplimentary things in French as she finally dropped her skirts
and stalked into a shop. The sign hanging above the entrance
indicated that it was an apothecary.

Jenny side-stepped a plump woman with two children in tow,
escaping the flow of foot traffic as she pressed herself against
the shop’s brick front, her mind whirling. It was obvious that
Véronique
hadn’t
returned to Paris to lick her wounds. As the daughter of a
wealthy family, she was almost certainly not used to not getting
her way, and according to gossip, she was known for being rather
temperamental. Could it be possible that she’d remained in the
city, purposely keeping a low profile, with intent to exact some
sort of revenge on Elsie for taking Damon?

It was a
rather sensationalistic idea – more the sort of thing chattering
maidservants would come up with than likely reality. And yet, it
was all Jenny had to go on. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to quietly
follow her after she left the apothecary, at least to see where she
was staying. If anything seemed suspicious, she would tell Damon –
provided that she could find him, of course. Last time she’d seen
him, he’d been fleeing the house, looking as desperate to escape it
as she’d felt.

****

Damon upended
the drawstring purse he held, spilling dozens of coins onto the
surface of the table. The men who stood at its edges eyed the pile
of silver with eyes that shone with lust – some widened and some
narrowed, just as some were brown and others blue. “Take one, each
of you,” Damon said, his voice devoid of passion, “as a token of my
good faith.”

The
men scrambled for the money, snatching up coins and quickly tucking
them into their deepest pockets. Their eyes glimmered with the
desire for more, which was exactly the effect Damon had been
pursuing. “There are plenty more where those came from,” he assured
them, trying to inject some semblance of enthusiasm or
encouragement into his voice. It was a difficult task when every
fiber of his body burned with the desire to move, to do
something
to find Elsie on his own
instead of delegating the task to a lot of thief-takers. Stuffing
the empty purse into a pocket, he forced himself to meet the eyes
of each and every one of the men in turn. This was without a doubt
the most useful thing he could be doing, even if it felt like
anything but. “Two hundred and fifty pounds to the man who brings
me information that leads to my wife’s safe return. Five hundred to
anyone who manages to bring her back to me safely. You have my
solemn word. Now go.”

The men rushed
from the room, many of them moving with nearly vampiric speed. When
they were all gone, Damon pulled out a chair from the table and
collapsed into it, cursing. He’d rented this room in a tavern and
summoned every thief-taker London had to offer. Many had come, and
still it was not enough. He slammed a fist down on the tabletop,
causing a crack to spread through the surface. If only he had not
gone out the night before – if only he’d stayed in bed with Elsie,
as she had longed for him to do. The killer had not struck again on
the streets last night, but in his own home.

Yes, he was
sure the fiend who’d slain three innocent humans was the same who’d
invaded his house, murdered his footman and kidnapped his wife.
Before, he’d been convinced that the original three killings held a
message, though what it was and who it had been meant for had
eluded him. A bitter taste filled his mouth now that he thought
about it. In retrospect, it was obvious who the intended recipient
had been – himself. The message was clear, too – the two young
lovers who’d had their hearts carved out were clearly
representative of himself and Elsie. Had it been meant as a threat
or a promise? He’d asked himself that a thousand times already.
What the actress’ death meant was also still a mystery, but who
cared? Elsie had been taken, and that was all that mattered. He
already felt as if his own heart had been ripped out.

****

The fog faded
slowly from Elsie’s mind, teasing her with tastes of consciousness
and alternately plunging her back into restless sleep. When all
that remained was a dull sort of headache, she tested her bonds.
They were the same – heavy, snug and totally unyielding. She worked
her hands and feet anyway, testing for the faintest hint of
weakness, the smallest bit of slack. It pained her to do so, but
sitting still and quietly waiting for her next dose of the
sleep-inducing elixir seemed an unbearable alternative. She had to
get free.

Removing the
sack that covered her head seemed like the obvious first step. Once
she could see again, she’d be able to take her first look at her
bindings and inspect them for any flaw that might allow her to get
out of them. The way her mysterious male captor had raised and
lowered the sack had made it obvious that it had been simply
slipped over her head, apparently not tied or secured in any way.
With her hands behind her back, any sort of manual method of
removal was clearly out of the question. But if she could manage to
turn her head more or less upside down…

She ended up
lying on her side on the floor – a position which she’d eased
herself into as quietly as possible. Once there, she pressed the
side of her face against the floor and began to twist her neck,
determined to remove the sack by sheer friction or, if she was
lucky, by forcing it to catch on a splinter or some other fortunate
flaw in the woodwork.

It was slow
going, due not least of all to the fact that she had to keep her
movements in check, trying not to jingle her chains. For the first
time, their painful snugness seemed a blessing. Had they not been
biting into her flesh, they would have made a terrible lot of
noise.

The sack
succumbed to her efforts inch by agonizingly slow inch. By the time
she was finally free of it, the intense sensation of relief and
exhaustion that followed seemed as if it might have been more
appropriate for a woman who’d just given birth, not escaped a
simple head covering. Still, the success was heartening, and she
immediately committed herself to studying her
surroundings.

The room was
small and bare; the corners dusted with a light film of dirt. A
high window admitted sunlight that cut through the air in a thick
bar, motes dancing within the beam. Elsie twisted her neck,
straining for an outside view, but only the pale blue of an
afternoon sky was visible, relieved here and there by the
occasional wispy cloud. Her headache intensified instantly, but it
was worth it to be out of the dark sack. Looking away from the
window, she gave the room another onceover. The balled-up piece of
fabric her captors had used to gag her lay in a soggy little heap
to her left. It nearly hid the small object that lay behind it, but
not quite. Straining to return to a sitting position, Elsie craned
her neck for a better look at what lay behind the discarded
gag.

It appeared to
be a folded piece of parchment. A fuzzy memory returned to Elsie as
she began to scoot quietly towards it – something had brushed her
arm after her captor had forced the tea down her throat. It must
have been the square of paper. Mingled hope and curiosity nearly
overwhelmed her. Whatever had been written on the parchment –
assuming it wasn’t blank – might provide another piece to the
puzzle that was her kidnapping. Her chains jingled a little as she
moved, causing her to wince. If her captors were in the next room,
as they had been last time she’d woke, a single sound might be
enough to alert them that she was awake. But she’d be damned if she
was going to sit still and wait for her next dose of
tea.

It took a
couple of the slowest minutes of her life, but she eventually
succeeded in sidling up to the mysterious bit of parchment. Of
course, this accomplishment presented a whole new problem – how
could she possibly manage to pick up the letter and unfold it? Her
feet were too clumsy, and the chains around her ankles tended to
make the most noise. She’d have to use her hands. Moving in a slow
circle, she eventually managed to turn her back to the piece of
paper. Once that was done, it was a matter of seizing it with
clumsy fingers and unfolding it behind her back while staring at
the door and hoping desperately that no one had heard
her.