Demon of Mine (7 page)

Elsie focused on one of the high
windows, not looking at her arm as the physician cut into the crook
of her elbow, where her tender skin was covered in a cross-hatched
pattern of white and pink scars. She hardly felt the pain, or the
warm streams of blood that trickled into the cup Mrs. Hughes held
beneath her elbow. The doctor’s revelation seemed to have numbed
her. Was she really going to die of this perplexing illness? She
waited for panic to assault her, but it didn’t. It just didn’t seem
quite…real. Not yet.

****

It had to be midnight, at least. The
other maids were asleep – their snores and the distinct absence of
their gossiping voices told Elsie that. Finally. Her bones ached
with melancholy, and restlessness burned in her veins. Her stomach
was a ball of knots. She’d been lying in bed all day, trying to
come to terms with the physician’s words, and she’d had more than
enough of it. She was going out.

Pushing aside her blankets and
slipping out of bed, she moved as carefully and quietly as she
dared. Still, she paused to stuff her pillow beneath the
bedclothes. If any of the other maids awoke and happened to glance
at her bed, they’d think it occupied. If they didn’t look too
closely, anyway.

Elsie’s heart slowed a little after
she closed the door behind herself, escaping successfully into the
abandoned hallway. She’d never taken off the clothing she’d donned
earlier that day, and was still fully dressed. The August night
would be warm enough that she wouldn’t want for a shawl or any
other extra garment. A small mercy, for she didn’t dare reenter the
maids’ chambers to retrieve one.

She encountered no one as she slunk
quietly through the house and exited through a door in the kitchen.
Outside, the night air was just cool enough and the sky was
brilliant with a million diamond pinpricks. She took a deep breath
and uncurled her hands from the fists she’d balled them into. It
felt so good to be out of the house, breathing in the country air
she’d heard so much about. There was a little moonlight, enough
that she was able to keep from stumbling as she began a solitary
walk through the back garden.

Darkness dulled the fiery reds and
vivid pinks of the gorgeous blooms that dotted the rosebushes, but
did nothing to suppress their sweet aroma. Leaning toward one
perfectly trimmed bush, Elsie caressed one large blossom and
smelled it delicately. A petal drifted down and landed on her toe.
She retrieved it and stroked its cool, smooth surface with a thumb.
After a day spent trapped in bed, every sensation was
precious.

“
No!” A voice drifted from
beyond the flowering shrubbery, softened by distance but so
vehement that Elsie heard it clearly anyway. She jumped, and her
skirt tore as it caught on a rose thorn. Fortunately, whoever was
speaking was surely too far away to have heard. Elsie carefully
plucked the hem of her skirt from the bush and stood perfectly
still, listening to the soft murmur of voices – yes, there were
definitely two.

With a feeling that was half guilt and
half secret delight, she realized that she recognized one of the
voices. It was all soft velvet and quiet intensity. Who else spoke
like that? No one she’d ever heard. Images of Damon flooded her
mind as she relished the distant cadence of his speech, and a touch
of corresponding heat crept into her cheeks. Who was he speaking
to?

The other voice was undeniably
feminine – pleasant in pitch and faintly musical. A little bit like
Mrs. Remington’s. Surely it wasn’t hers, but might it be her
daughter’s – Lucinda’s? The young woman did sound somewhat like her
mother. Well, that was one mystery solved. But what were she and
Damon arguing about?

She shoved the question from her mind.
It was none of her business, after all.

Her resolve to turn a deaf ear to the
conversation soon wavered. She should have left and gone back into
the house. She knew that. But once again, she let her fascination
with Damon lead her. The sound of his voice was so becoming that it
left little room in her heart for guilt. She only wanted to have a
look at him. That was all. Under Mrs. Hughes’ strict rule, who knew
when she’d have a chance to see him again? It was lucky that she’d
been able to slip outside tonight, and even more so that she’d
happened upon Damon in the garden. Yes, she’d take a look – if what
the physician said was true, it might be her last, or too close to
it for comfort.

She wound her way around the rows of
rose bushes, following the sound of Damon’s voice. At last, she saw
him, standing at the edge of the garden, scarcely two feet of space
between himself and a figure in a fine midnight-blue gown. Lucinda.
She was every bit as beautiful as her mother, whose coppery hair
color she’d inherited. As she spoke to her brother, her pretty face
was distorted by frustration. She was his junior by two years, but
she might as well have been his elder – the stern look she was
giving him was one a woman might show her little brother. “Murder!”
she hissed. “It is a serious charge, but money speaks, Damon. You
must avoid this trial, for your own sake and the
family’s.”

He shook his head, and his dark,
glossy hair gleamed in the moonlight. “Indeed it does. But even a
Remington is not above the law. I have been spared spending the
days leading up to it in prison, but I must attend the
trial.”

Lucinda compressed her mouth into a
tight line. “And if, God forbid, you are convicted? What then? Can
you imagine the scandal if they tried to hang you, or even to whip
you? The whole country would know our secret, and it would be the
end of us.”

He shook his head. “I will not be
convicted. As you said only moments ago, money speaks. It has
already kept me out of prison easily enough.” Some of the tension
went out of his voice as he adopted a soothing tone. “It was easier
than it should have been to secure my freedom with the magistrate.
A few pounds and a promise not to leave my home until the trial was
all it took, really.”

Lucinda dented her lower lip with a
surprisingly sharp-looking tooth. “Would that I could be so sure.”
She reached out and laid a hand on her brother’s arm, the air of
attempted authority draining out of her voice. “I am worried,
Damon. So worried. If there’s even the smallest chance that you
could be found guilty…” She lowered her gaze as she chewed her
lip.

A moment of silence stretched between
them. After a little while, Lucinda looked up to meet Damon’s eyes
again. “Are you, Damon? Guilty, that is?”

He snatched his arm away from her
touch, as if she were on fire. His eyes flickered with indignation
and something else – betrayal? “No! I’m not like…” His gaze
darkened, and he seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about
to say. “How could you even consider the possibility,
Lucinda?”

Though she seemed embarrassed, she
didn’t lower her eyes. “You’re always having those strange midnight
escapades. You were gone that night, weren’t you?”

His tone was flat. “I am gone every
night.”

“
I thought that
perhaps…”

“
I was not at the club when
Lord Griffith was killed. Nowhere near it, in fact. Whatever
happened to the man, I had nothing to do with it. I was already
here, in my own bed, by the time he was discovered lying still warm
in that alleyway at three in the morning. Would that I had someone
to vouch for that fact, but…”

“
But you rode alone, as
always,” Lucinda said tersely, “and told no one where you were
going. Yes, Damon, I know you pride yourself on being the
consummate man of mystery.”

The set of his shoulders was rigid.
“Have I any choice? No one in this family understands me. Not even
you, Lucy.”

She sighed. “I am sorry. I should not
have asked.”

He shook his head in dismissal. “Don’t
be sorry. I’ve already forgotten that you did.” He let his
shoulders drop just a little and chuckled wryly. “Would that Ares
could talk… He’s the only one who could testify that I was nowhere
near Green’s club.”

Lucinda gave a small snort. “If your
horse could talk, I fear none of us would ever hear from you
again.”

“
Of course you would.
Anyway, Lucy, you mustn’t fret over the trial. I’ll see that the
necessary persons are well paid to deliver the only true verdict –
innocence.” His tone was wry. “If I may take the liberty of calling
any Remington ‘innocent’.”

Lucinda arched a brow. “You think too
much, brother.”

“
You already know what I
would say if I had a will to disrupt the peace between
us.”

She held his gaze in silence for
several moments before replying. “Good night, Damon. If I were
still a girl, I would pray that our money will be enough to silence
the charge against you. As it is, I will have to settle for
hoping.”

Lucinda glided past her brother, her
skirts rustling faintly as she headed in the direction of the
house. Left alone under the stars, Damon sighed.

Elsie sighed too. How terrible it must
be for him – accused of murder. A thorn snagged her hand, the
sudden sting as unexpected as the realization that sometime during
her eavesdropping, she had come to believe that Damon was innocent.
She studied the slumped set of his shoulders and the way he pushed
his hands into his jacket as he tilted his head back and looked up
at the stars. If he was reading something there, he didn’t like it.
With a disgusted sigh, he turned abruptly on his heel and began
taking long strides toward the rose bushes. Within moments, he’d
come within a few scant yards of Elsie.

She pressed herself against the
bushes, hardly daring to breathe as she ignored the sharp little
pains of thorns piercing her clothing and digging into her
skin.

Damon breezed past her, the heady
aroma of rose blossoms drifting behind him as he brushed a bush,
disturbing its foliage. Elsie was on the verge of sighing with
relief when he stopped. Guilt crashed down on her as she stood
frozen, and she experienced an eerie sense of being watched. That
was impossible, of course – his back was to her. But as she waited
breathlessly, he slowly turned and looked directly at
her.

Chapter 4

Elsie didn’t say anything. How could
she? This wasn’t as bad as if she’d been caught watching Damon in
his bedroom, but it was a fairly close second. What would he think
of her and her motives for eavesdropping? There was no way she
could explain to him that she’d only wanted to have a look at him,
to hear his voice, because she feared she’d die soon and knew she
couldn’t possibly get enough of him before that day
came.

Surprise flickered across his face,
but he quickly tamed it. “You’ve been here for a while, haven’t
you?” His voice wasn’t the velvet rage she’d expected. If anything,
it was calmer than when he’d spoken with his sister.

“
Yes.” Elsie answered,
feeling as if someone else had spoken for her. Someone who wasn’t
thanking God that it was too dark for Damon to see how red her face
was.

He stood perfectly still, peering down
at her with an unreadable expression.

“
I’m sorry,” she said. “I
didn’t mean—”

“
What are you doing out
here?” he interrupted. “It’s past midnight. You should be in your
bed.”

“
With all due respect sir,
I’ve had quite enough of my bed. That’s why I’m here.”

He strode forward, stepping into the
shadow of the bush she was still pressed against. She forced
herself to relax a little and breathed an automatic sigh of relief
as the sting of the thorns ceased. The distance left between them
now was polite, but it sent her heart racing nonetheless. She could
smell the spicy, musky scent of his cologne. “Did it go poorly with
the physician, then?”

He remembered? Elsie would have felt a
spark of pleasure, had she not had to relay such grim news. For a
moment, as she’d breathed his scent, even she had forgotten about
the physician’s prognosis. “It did. I… He does not expect me to
survive my illness.”

He might have frowned, but the shadow
they stood in was too deep to tell for sure. “I am truly sorry to
hear that.”

“
You’re too kind, sir.” She
was trembling now, though for once it wasn’t a symptom of her
sickness. The full weight of the doctor’s news seemed to crash down
on her at once, and it was staggering. Why, God, did she have to
lose her calm now, while standing in Damon’s shadow? It was
difficult enough for her to maintain her composure when near him
under normal circumstances.

“
Here.” Damon reached into
his coat and pulled out something white.

Elsie took the kerchief, her hand
trembling as her fingertips brushed his. Heat crept through her
body, a slow burn to vie with the crushing regret that had
descended upon her so suddenly. Nineteen years of life. First as an
impoverished child-laborer, and then as a maid. Her steady working
existence had been interrupted only twice, by brief sensual
encounters that were no more than memories, and not even cherished
ones. Was that really all she’d ever taste of life? Nineteen years
seemed like both a very short time and a very long time. She dabbed
at her eyes, feeling Damon’s gaze on her as she wiped away the
moisture.