Demon of Mine (5 page)

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 toward 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.

****

“
Drink it while it’s
hot.”

Bundled as she was in several
ridiculous layers of blankets, it took Elsie a few moments to free
her hands and take the cup from Mrs. Hughes. Tendrils of steam
curled from the surface of entirely too much clear amber liquid.
Here and there, bits of herb leaves spangled the mysterious brew.
It didn’t have much of a smell, but Elsie didn’t dare let that
raise her hopes too much. With a stoic nod, she raised the drink to
her lips.

The tea’s taste was surprisingly
underwhelming. Perhaps she’d escaped the foul ritual the London
physician had prescribed her after all. Another perk of life at
Hertfordshire. If only she could convince Damon and Mrs. Hughes
that she wasn’t ‘delicate’, she’d be well on her way to
contentment. Of course, it would be nice to have a friend, too –
she would have wished for Jenny, if the thought of her closest
friend didn’t still set her blood boiling. She shoved the image of
Jenny’s perfectly tamed curls and self-righteous expression from
her mind, frowning.

“
Drink up, dear. I have
entirely too much to do after seeing you to bed.” Mrs. Hughes
glanced around the kitchen – the cook’s domain. Standing idly by
while supervising Elsie’s sipping didn’t seem to agree with the
housekeeper.

When the tea had cooled enough to gulp
without risking a burnt tongue, Elsie downed it as quickly as she
dared, equally eager to escape the kitchen. The heat radiating from
the ovens was overbearing, and she’d begun to sweat beneath the
blankets Mrs. Hughes had forced upon her. Hopefully Damon was still
on the second floor where he couldn’t catch sight of her trundling
through the corridors like a massive bundle of over-heated
incompetence. Even perching on her stool receiving curious glances
from the kitchen maids was embarrassing. She’d hardly be popular
with the other staff if she spent her time at Hertfordshire lolling
about in bed. Perhaps she could feign refreshment after a half hour
or so of rest and convince Mrs. Hughes to allow her to resume
dusting.

“
Very good. Now come
along…” Mrs. Hughes took Elsie’s empty cup, deposited it on a
counter and whisked Elsie from her seat. “It’s about time you
became acquainted with your bed,” she said, guiding Elsie from the
kitchen. “You’ll find that the servants’ quarters are nicer here
than most. But of course, I’ve heard that the arrangements at the
Remingtons’ London estate are similar. At any rate, you shouldn’t
have any difficulty getting some rest.” She arched a steel-grey
brow at Elsie. “And I
do
expect you to rest. I won’t be held responsible
for incapacitating one of Mrs. Remington’s favorite servants. I’ve
been entrusted with your health and I don’t intend to destroy it.
Is that understood?”

Elsie nodded, doing her best to
suppress the sinking feeling in her stomach. The other servants
were bound to think her a sloth. The thought set her teeth on edge,
but she wasn’t about to defy the housekeeper on top of it. She had
to maintain some shred of respectability.

Apparently satisfied with Elsie’s nod,
Mrs. Hughes moved briskly but silently. As they approached the
foyer, Elsie’s stomach sank. Damon was standing in the doorway, the
footman by his side. They appeared to be conversing with a visitor,
but all she could see of the shorter man Damon was speaking to was
the top of his tall hat. With any luck, the visitor would keep him
engaged in conversation until she could hurry past and disappear,
safely out of sight.

It seemed chance would grant her no
such luck. Damon turned abruptly, showing the visitor his back. His
sudden change in position put Elsie squarely in the field of his
vision, making her feel like a mouse caught trying to sneak behind
a cat. At least she didn’t squeak, though the look in Damon’s eyes
made it difficult not to. How was it that eyes so dark could appear
to be on fire? The footman moved with surprising haste, shutting
the door as the visitor took his leave, heading down the steps to a
waiting horse. The floor shook as the frame received the heavy
oaken door.

“
Come along!” Mrs. Hughes
urged, seizing Elsie by an elbow that barely protruded from her
wrappings. Even as she was tugged toward the corridor, Elsie
couldn’t help but stare at Damon. His eyes were flashing, his
normally luscious mouth compressed into a tight line. He looked as
if he were on the verge of snarling. He was crushing something in
his fist – a bit of parchment, it looked like. When his eyes met
hers, her blood ran alternately hot and cold. The mystery behind
his anger consumed her, and for half a moment, she even forgot what
an idiot she must look like while being towed along in her unwanted
blankets.

Tripping over the corner of a quilt
brought an abrupt end to that. Her cheeks were flaming before she
even hit the floor. From her lowly vantage point, she had a clear
view of Damon’s shoes. He rushed toward her, along with the
footman. She frantically moved her arms, trying to cast off the
blankets and rise on her own before she could be humiliated
further.

“
Goodness!” Mrs. Hughes
exclaimed from above, her tone a mixture of alarm and
agitation.

“
Is she having another one
of her episodes?” Damon asked, shoving the unidentified piece of
parchment into a pocket as he neared her.

“
No!” Elsie managed to say,
flinging off the damnable quilt that’d caused her fall. Smoothing
her skirts, she stood. “I’m fine!” Damon, the footman and Mrs.
Hughes had formed a sort of triangle around her. Surrounded, she
gave them her best attempt at a repentant expression. At least she
was rid of the bloody blankets. “I tripped and fell. I’m sorry to
have alarmed you all.” Her ankle had somehow become entangled in
the quilt again. She kicked it aside hastily.

“
I trust you aren’t
harmed?” Damon asked, giving her a not-so-quick onceover she might
have mistaken for more than polite interest if she hadn’t known
better.

“
Not at all.” Her
ridiculous wrappings had cushioned her fall.

“
My apologies, sir.” Mrs.
Hughes laid an authoritative hand on Elsie’s arm. “The girl’s
illness has made her clumsy.”

Elsie resisted the urge to grind her
teeth. Illness nothing – if anyone was to blame for her fall, it
was Mrs. Hughes and her insistence on blankets. Of course, it might
have helped if she herself hadn’t been gaping at Damon, but how
could she have helped it? The fire still lingered in his eyes,
though it seemed to be smoldering now instead of raging.
Apparently, he could keep a firm handle on his emotions when he
needed to. But what had upset him so severely in the first
place?

It was not for her to know,
unfortunately. With a final apology, she let Mrs. Hughes guide her
away. As she made her way toward the maids’ quarters, listening to
Damon’s footsteps echo on the staircase that landed in the foyer,
she realized that for the first time, she’d encountered him without
thinking of what she’d witnessed in his bedroom the night
before.

Of course, the temporary
reprieve from those spellbinding memories ended as soon as she
thought of it. Images of his lonely passion danced in her head,
swirling with visions of his anger in the foyer. What would she
give to have a look at the parchment he’d tucked into his pocket,
to know his secrets? His mysteries were part of his allure, and
this fresh enigma would have perhaps been the most perplexing of
them all, were it not for her memory of his blood-stained
homecoming. It was quickly becoming apparent why those who weren’t
close to him – in other words, the entire English population,
including the eternally gossiping
haute
ton
– called him ‘Demon
Remington’.

“
Into bed with you,” Mrs.
Hughes said, turning back the neatly made linens on a narrow bed
that waited among a dozen others.

Elsie climbed beneath the blankets and
heard Mrs. Hughes sigh when she shut her eyes, committing her mind
completely to Damon. It was impossible to erase him from her
thoughts. Having decided not to try, she let her mind whirl with
memories and speculations as she pretended to rest in the empty
room.

****

“
What’s the matter with
her?” The maid’s mattress rustled beneath her weight as she settled
onto it.

Elsie hadn’t given any indication that
she’d been awake when the other maids had begun to file into the
room, where she’d spent the day. Mrs. Hughes had stalwartly refused
to let her out of bed without a physician’s blessing.
Unfortunately, the hours had slipped by until the day had waned to
evening, and the physician had never arrived. Elsie was thusly
consigned to hoping for tomorrow.

“
I heard she’s got some
sort of queer illness,” answered another maid. “Has fits,
apparently. They say she’s delicate.”

Another maid snorted. “Whoever heard
of a delicate housemaid?”

“
It’s her health that’s
delicate, I suppose.” The first maid sounded doubtful. “Apparently
she’s a favorite of Mrs. Remington’s.” Her tone livened as she
delivered a juicier piece of fodder. “I heard she was being groomed
as a lady’s maid before she took ill.”

An extremely unfeminine guffaw
resounded throughout the room. “A lady’s maid? Her? I can’t see
why.”

The first maid sounded doubtful again.
“I suppose she is pretty.”