Demon of Mine Page 2

  The full lips Mrs. Remington had passed down to her children plunged down at the corners, forming a graceful pout. “Over a month of treatments and no improvement. I fear the physician’s remedies are ineffective.”

  Obviously. Elsie said nothing as she tried to move her knees. They resisted. God willing, the fit of weakness would pass in a few moments, and she could go back to her duties. Perhaps she could escape for a little while to the laundry room, where she’d be out from under Mrs. Remington’s troubled hazel gaze. The last thing she wanted was to have some foul new concoction sprung upon her by the physician, or to be prodded and bled again. The man subjected her to a fresh hell each time he visited.

  “The city is no place for a girl in your state of health,” Mrs. Remington continued, causing Elsie’s stomach to twist in apprehension. Where else could she possibly belong? She’d been born and raised in London and had seldom strayed outside the city’s bounds. She strained to flex her knees, desperate to stand. Was she about to be dismissed, after seven years of service? The Remingtons’ London estate was the only home she’d known since the hovel she’d shared with her parents had been destroyed by a fire seven years ago. Surely not, but… She had to admit, she did her mistress little good while lying on the floor like a landed fish.

  A surge of dark thoughts flooded Elsie’s mind as she cursed her health troubles. Before her fits had started, Mrs. Remington had been preening her to become her personal maid. A lady’s maid! Traveling around the city in style with Mrs. Remington would’ve been a fine change from dusting mantles, polishing silver and beating rugs from dusk ‘till dawn. She’d even had hairdressing lessons, but her chances of ever putting them to use seemed to be dwindling with every attack she suffered.

  And yet, an eternity spent as a housemaid was vastly preferable to dismissal. Mrs. Remington had been kind so far. God send her generosity would outlast Elsie’s health woes.

  “Surely the city is not to blame.” Elsie managed to keep her voice steady despite the panic that was making her heart beat in double-time. “Doubtless this is some misfortune that would have befallen me no matter where I’d made my home.” She attempted to flex her knees again and achieved some small measure of success. If she could just get her legs under her, she could at least kneel – anything would be more dignified than lying on the floor with her head in Jenny’s lap while practically looking up her mistress’s skirts.

  “I disagree.” Mrs. Remington’s words sent real fear lancing through Elsie’s heart. The woman’s word was as good as law on the grounds of her estate, as well as in more than a few locations throughout the city. As the wife of one of the wealthiest men in London, few dared to openly contradict her, let alone a lowly maid who owed her life to her generosity. If not for Mrs. Remington taking her on as a young scullery maid despite her complete lack of experience, Elsie likely would have starved or suffered worse fates to scrape by. She swallowed the thick lump of anxiety that’d formed in her throat as Mrs. Remington continued. “If anything will do you good, it’s fresh country air. I have a mind to send you to our Hertfordshire estate.”

  Jenny gave a small gasp, her fingers tightening around a clump of Elsie’s hair.

  Mrs. Remington continued as if she hadn’t heard. “I’m sure the air and quiet there would improve your health greatly.”

  Hertfordshire? Elsie’s heart thumped madly as she swallowed another lump. It wasn’t far from London, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away for all she’d get to see Jenny, or her other friends among the household staff. The thought was depressing, but there was a silver lining by the name of Damon Remington – the heir to the Remington industrial empire. She’d harbored a deep fascination with him ever since he’d rescued her by convincing his mother to take mercy and hire her as a scullery maid. He lived mostly at the country estate in Hertfordshire with his sister Lucinda, and Elsie was seldom treated to a sight of him. When he did visit his parents at the London estate though… Her heart fluttered at just the thought. To think of living in his household, of seeing him nearly every day…

  She was a fool, of course. Swooning over Damon, the impossibly handsome and unfathomably wealthy heir, was something she’d have left to girls both younger and more foolish than herself, if she’d had any sense. She allowed herself the private indulgence though, a bit of secret excitement in her relatively dull housemaid’s life. Damon would never know. Her heart would keep the secret, and beat all the faster for it.

  “Elsie, do you think you can stand?” Jenny was lifting Elsie’s head out of her lap and trying to coax her into a sitting position, apparently doing her best to convince Mrs. Remington that Elsie was perfectly fit for service at the London estate.

  Elsie nodded, her head swimming with visions of Damon’s midnight hair and dark eyes. With Jenny’s help, she managed to make it to her feet. Her knees wobbled, though whether from lingering weakness or simply thoughts of the Remington heir, it was impossible to tell.

  Jenny put an arm around Elsie’s shoulders and held her steady. “Shall I see her to bed, Mrs. Remington?”

  A knock came at the antechamber door, swiftly followed by a handsome footman, who announced that Mrs. Remington’s son, Damon, had arrived for a visit.

  That was Damon, always mysterious and fond of arriving unannounced. Elsie was grateful for Jenny’s support, though she hoped to break free before her friend could usher her into bed. She didn’t intend to miss a chance to lay eyes on Damon, even if only for a moment in passing.

  “Very well,” Mrs. Remington said, showing just an inkling of surprise before she smoothed her beautiful features. “Tell him I shall wait here for him. And have one of the maids bring another tea tray.” The faintest hint of a frown tilted her mouth as she watched the footman go. “Jenny, see that Elsie goes straight to bed. I’ll summon the physician for one last treatment, and she’ll leave for Hertfordshire with Damon whenever he deigns to return.”

  ****

  “I will not lie in bed and wait for that old codger to come and jab my elbow. He’d bleed me dry if I let him.” Elsie gave Jenny her best attempt at a stern look. “I’m perfectly capable of working.” She bounced on her toes and spun in a circle. It was a pathetic display of athleticism – she tripped and nearly fell across her narrow bed in the maids’ quarters. “Loose floor board,” she mumbled, smoothing her skirts and pushing a stray lock of hair off of one flaming cheek.

  “Those are the mistress’s orders,” Jenny said imperviously, fixing Elsie with a steady blue gaze. Her red curls were tamed into perfect order, neatly tucked beneath a mobcap. “You’re to go straight to bed and wait for the physician. You’d best get under the blankets before you break your silly neck.”

  “I will not.” Elsie adjusted her apron. “I have dusting to attend to. And you’d better get back to mending the curtains. That wicked cat has been climbing them again, hasn’t he?”

  Jenny smirked, ignoring Elsie’s question. “And I suppose you think that if you leave right now, you might pass a certain young master in the hallway?”

  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 men
tion, 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.

&
nbsp; “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.