Demon of Mine

by Ranae Rose

  He lowered her hand into his lap again and gripped it tightly in his own. “No. It needn’t be that way. There are alternatives.”

  She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “You don’t have to give me your answer now. Consider my offer…decide if you could bear to be like me.”

  Her voice was faint, her energy drained by the momentous weight of the decision he’d set upon her. “I will think on it.”

  “I’m glad to know you’ll consider it. There is much more I have to tell you, much more for you to know. My offer is not an act of pity, though I will not deny that my heart aches for you. But it is too much for one night. If you decide you could stand to become what I am, I will tell you the rest.”

  She nodded, still feeling as if her head were spinning.

  “There is one more thing I must ask of you tonight,” he said.

  She watched his face, waiting for him to continue.

  “My trial is tomorrow, as I’m sure you know. You are the only witness who can attest that I was home when Lord Griffith was killed. I need you to give your testimony in court, in London tomorrow. I’m sorry to ask it of you in your current state of health, but I must.” A hint of humor entered his voice. “It would be a dreadful thing if I was convicted, for no amount of whipping can make me bleed, and however long I hung from a noose, I would not die.”

  Her stomach lurched at the thought of Damon hanging at the end of a rope, even as her cheeks flamed at the idea of giving a truthful testimony. If called upon by the court, she would surely have to omit certain details. She nodded. “Of course.”

  “We leave at dawn. Come, I’ll escort you back to the maids’ quarters. You must get some sleep.”

  He brushed his lips across hers one last time and rose from the bench, offering her his arm. She stood and let him guide her, her mind whirling with possibilities.

  Chapter 6

  Despite the early hour and the fact that she’d had next to no sleep the night before, Elsie felt alert and completely awake. How could she not when she’d soon be sharing a carriage with Damon? His presence set her senses on fire, and her brain registered his every move, every whiff of his pleasantly masculine scent. When he took her by the hand and helped her into the cab, her cheeks warmed as she remembered his words from the night before.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked as she settled her small bundle of belongings beside herself on the velvet seat. They were alone in the cab, a fact of which she was supremely aware. She’d expected Lucinda to ride with them, but she’d apparently opted for an extra hour of sleep and her own carriage, which would leave at a later hour. Damon, who needed the morning to spend with his lawyer, couldn’t afford to waste time. He’d asked if Elsie would rather travel with Lucinda, but she’d declined. She was already up and ready, after all, and she wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to be with Damon.

  The carriage rolled forward at a jaunty pace, and the horses snorted above the clopping of their hooves as they exited through the gates.

  “I’m afraid not. My mind wouldn’t allow it.” She’d lain awake until scarcely an hour before dawn, contemplating the enormous decision that loomed before her. Whenever she’d feared that it had all been a dream, she’d touched the puncture wounds on the inside of her wrist and the tip of her finger. Damon had done her a favor by giving her those tangible reminders of his true identity.

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” He sounded genuinely regretful. “I managed to secure a time slot for my trial. It isn’t until two in the afternoon. I will spend the morning in conversation with my lawyer at the London estate. You will have until we depart at one to rest.”

  Elsie nodded, privately thinking that it would be difficult to succumb to sleep, between the strain of the choice he’d given her and her anxiety over his trial. She believed he was innocent, but what if the jury decided otherwise? At times, her fear seemed almost ridiculous. The Remingtons were incredibly wealthy and regarded by most with a certain vague, fear-tinged sort of superstition. Surely a combination of money and intimidation would be enough to sway the jury and the judge.

  But what if it wasn’t? It was either a very brave or very stupid soul who dared to accuse Damon of murder. The fact that the late Lord Griffith’s younger brother had done so either proved that he genuinely believed Damon to be guilty, or had some ulterior motive. It was the latter possibility that scared Elsie. What if the younger Lord Griffith had also been pulling the strings of wealth and fear, contriving some nasty fate for Damon?

  Elsie sighed. All she could do about it was to give her testimony. It seemed a small thing, but it was better than nothing. How could she not put forth her best effort to clear Damon’s name when he’d offered her healing and life?

  She bit her lip and wrung her skirts as she considered his offer. She’d already decided that she wanted, very much, to say ‘yes’. Freedom from her mysterious illness was undeniably alluring. But even more than that, the chance to somehow level the playing field between herself and Damon called to her. If she allowed him to change her, she would be like him – immortal. Surely the same old strictures that stood between them now would be lessened at least somewhat, wouldn’t they? After all, who’d ever heard of an immortal housemaid?

  But that was the trouble. What would she do afterward if she allowed Damon to transform her? Would she be expected – would she be allowed – to go on doing her regular duty as a maid, hopefully promoted, as she’d been promised before, to the position of Mrs. Remington’s personal attendant?

  Her head swam with confusion. She longed to ask Damon her questions, but didn’t dare – not now in the carriage during broad daylight. Things had been different in the secrecy of the moonlit garden. He seemed less the living legend now and more the handsome, human heir. If she wasn’t mistaken, his formerly tapered canines looked more like regular teeth than fangs. It was as if the daylight had tamed him. It was easier now to imagine the carriage horses sprouting wings than Damon professing his intent to make love to her while he tasted her blood. Only the twin wounds on her wrist and the pinprick dot on her fingertip evidenced his true identity. She was resigned to waiting until he asked her to meet him again or broached the subject himself.

  ****

  Elsie couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as she stepped through the doors and into the foyer of the Remingtons’ London home. Everything about the place, from the sheen of the polished floor tiles to the cool, clean smell of the house welcomed her. This was her home, where she’d lived since the age of twelve. Whatever thrills her time at the country estate had provided, it felt good to be back. She drifted toward the maids’ quarters where she’d spend the morning in rest, per Damon’s insistence. He left her side, heading for the sitting room with an immaculately dressed lawyer he’d addressed as Mr. Hastings. Damon had offered to escort her further, but she’d turned him down, assuring him that she knew the house so well she could’ve made her way to the servants’ wing with her eyes completely closed if necessary.

  Along the way, she passed several other maids. She nodded and smiled at each one, glad to see their faces, even if they were blurred. They were so much lovelier than the gossiping chits at the country estate. No doubt there’d been a fair amount of rumor-mongering while she’d been gone – as usual – and she wasn’t so naïve as to believe that none of the tales had included her, but at least these girls knew her. They’d witnessed how hard she’d worked over the years, meticulous in her duties. They’d never accuse her of faking an illness or milking it out of laziness. Here, she was liked – something she’d learned not to take for granted. By the time she reached the maids’ quarters, she was stepping lighter despite her worry over Damon’s offer and the impending trial. She might even be able to get some rest.

  Her bed awaited her, neatly made beside Jenny’s. Elsie thought of her friend with a pang of regret and a spark of curiosity. Surely Jenny had already caught wind of her arrival. Would she seek her out and speak
to her, or avoid her? A part of her hoped for some sort of reconciliation, while a nastier side of her personality was tempted to turn a cold shoulder when she encountered her old friend. Vowing not to act a bitter shrew if she got the chance, she settled into her bed and closed her suddenly tired eyes.

  She awoke some time later to the distinct, unnerving sensation of being watched. She blinked sleep from her eyes, wondering how long she’d been out as she swept her gaze from side to side, searching for the person whose presence she felt.

  A lonely figure was in the far corner of the room, perched on the edge of a distant bed. Elsie squinted to make out dark skirts. It could have been any maid, had it not been for the bright blur of red hair that caught her eye. “Jenny, is that you?”

  Slippered feet beat an anxious rhythm against the floorboards as the woman hurried across the room, her skirts rustling. “Yes! It’s me.” Jenny settled onto her own bed, scarcely three feet from Elsie’s side.

  Almost palpable tension filled the silence, and for a short while, neither of them dared to break it.

  “I’m sorry,” Jenny finally said, her voice sounding unusually tight and strained. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you before you left for Hertfordshire.” She hesitated for half a moment. “Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course.” A weight seemed to lift from Elsie’s shoulders, and she smiled. “I’ve missed you terribly. The maids at Hertfordshire are the most unpleasant lot I’ve ever met.”

  Jenny sighed in apparent relief. “I’m so glad. I don’t know what came over me. When I said those things I—”

  “You needn’t worry about it any longer,” Elsie interrupted hastily. Jenny hated to be wrong and rarely admitted it when she was, but when she finally mustered up the will to apologize, she was known to go on doing it for days at a time. Though Elsie had been gone from London for less than a week, it suddenly seemed a very long time to have gone without a genuine conversation with a friend. “Let’s talk about something else. What’s happened while I’ve been away?”

  Jenny sucked in a quick breath, and though she struggled to make it out, Elsie could easily imagine the look of reluctant censure that was surely spreading across her friend’s face. “The trial has been the talk of the house, of course.”

  Elsie nodded. Of course it had been. How could they avoid talking about it when she’d returned to London for the very purpose of testifying on Damon’s behalf? “He’s not guilty.”

  “You’re sure?” Jenny didn’t sound convinced, though she didn’t state her doubt outright – probably only because she and Elsie had just made up.

  “Yes,” Elsie replied adamantly. “I’m going to testify on his behalf in court today. I saw him at home at the same time Lord Griffith’s body was discovered, still warm. He couldn’t have killed him.”

  “You’re sure it was Damon you saw? It’s not possible that you could have mistaken someone else for him, from a distance perhaps, or—”

  “I’m sure.” Hopefully Jenny wouldn’t notice the blush that had crept across Elsie’s cheeks. God, she was sure, but there wasn’t half a chance she’d reveal the circumstances of her sighting to Jenny. “Anyway, I’m sure Damon will be found innocent. What else is there to discuss? What’s happened here in the house during the past few days?”

  “Nothing of import. Mr. and Mrs. Remington have been quite upset over the accusation against Damon, but that’s to be expected. What of you and Hertfordshire? Has the country air improved your condition?”

  Elsie shook her head slowly. Apparently, the exact state of her health wasn’t known yet among the servants here in London. Jenny probably didn’t even realize that Elsie could hardly make out her facial features. “Not yet. I had two attacks at Hertfordshire, and my eyesight has been damaged.” She thought of Damon’s offer as Jenny drew a sharp breath. “Don’t worry too much on my account. I have a feeling that the country air will do me much good in time.”

  Jenny’s voice was shaky. “I certainly hope so.”

  “It will.”

  “How affected is your eyesight? Can you see at all?”

  “Yes. I can see, but everything appears blurred to me, as if I’m gazing through a foggy window. It’s not as bad as it was at first, though. I’m sure I’m recovering.” She didn’t share the physician’s diagnosis with Jenny. It would only upset her, and if Elsie accepted Damon’s offer, there would be no need to ever tell her.

  “I hope things aren’t blurred too badly for you. No doubt you’ll want to see Damon’s fiancé. She’s supposed to arrive here for a visit any day now, and everyone says she’s a great beauty.” Jenny tempered her praise with the sort of judicious comment Elsie had long ago learned to expect after a compliment. “Though I’ve heard nothing of her intelligence. I suppose she’s wealthy and comely enough that she doesn’t need it.”

  “Damon has a fiancé?” Elsie’s mouth dried rapidly, until she almost expected her tongue to crackle like old parchment. Her stomach plummeted, and the sudden shakiness in her limbs made her glad she hadn’t risen from bed.

  There was a hint of pity in Jenny’s voice. “You didn’t know? I thought for sure that the servants at Hertfordshire would be gossiping about it. I suppose they must have forgotten in all the excitement of the trial.”

  Elsie lay propped against her pillows with her hands knotted in her lap. She’d felt the color drain out of her face and knew she must look pale. The smart thing to do would be to feign innocent interest in Damon’s beautiful fiancé for the sake of avoiding another lecture from Jenny, but Elsie couldn’t bring herself to do anything other than lie there, feeling vaguely ill. It was stupid, of course. How could she possibly be jealous of a woman she’d never met because of a man she had absolutely no claim to? Never in a thousand years would one of England’s wealthiest heirs be betrothed to a housemaid he’d rescued from the filthy factory slums. A sensitive boy could have just as easily taken pity on a stray cat as a pauper’s orphan. So why did it come as a surprise to hear that he was engaged to a suitable woman?

  Jenny’s voice was cautiously wary. “You and Damon… Did you steer clear of him while at Hertfordshire, as I warned you to?”

  Elsie said nothing.

  “Oh Elsie, tell me you did!” Jenny pulled Elsie’s hands from her lap and forced her own between them, squeezing tightly. “Please tell me you haven’t become involved with Damon.”

  “I haven’t. Truly.” The answer came automatically to Elsie’s lips, and she was unsure of whether or not it was a lie. While she hadn’t gone to bed with Damon, they’d shared a greater sort of intimacy – something more than simple lust and curiosity. For Heaven’s sake, he’d tasted her blood! To say that she’d been ‘involved’ with him was an understatement, to say the least, but not in the way Jenny assumed.

  Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry. I thought… The look on your face…” She was clearly anxious to avoid another fiasco like the one their last conversation had ended in.

  “I’m surprised, is all. The servants at Hertfordshire gossip a great deal, and I hadn’t heard them breathe a word of it.”

  “Yes, well, the trial—”

  “Of course.”

  The door swung open, mercifully interrupting the awkward silence that had sprung up between the two maids. Elsie’s sigh of relief quickly turned to a barely-stifled groan when she saw who had entered.

  Even with her poor vision, she could make out the short, rotund shape of Mrs. Remington’s preferred physician. She managed a polite greeting, pretending that the mere sight of the man didn’t make her want to climb out one of the windows. Pulling her hands from Jenny’s, she awaited the inevitable bleeding. It came soon enough, along with a slew of questions about her recent episodes and vision problems. Jenny gasped when the physician rolled up Elsie’s sleeve. “Where on earth did those marks on your wrist come from?”

  Elsie grimaced as the physician lanced into the tender skin in the crook of her arm, releasing a stream of blood. “I’m not su
re. I only know that I sustained the wounds as I fell, during one of my attacks. They were there when I woke.”

  “They look ghastly. Do they hurt much?”

  Did they really look that bad? Elsie squinted at the pinpricks, dark with dried blood, and cursed herself for not asking the physician to bleed her other arm instead. She’d forgotten about the wounds, and her explanation was a lame one. “No. I forgot they were there, to tell the truth.” She clenched her hand, hiding the tiny puncture mark on her fingertip. “I’m so glad you came, Jenny. But won’t you be in trouble if you don’t get back to your duties?”

  “Not at all. Mrs. Remington said that I might stay by your side and tend to your needs until you leave for the trial.”

  “How kind of her.” A part of Elsie was glad. Another part of her dreaded having to show a brave face to her friend, pretending that the news of Damon’s engagement was nothing more than an interesting bit of gossip.

  ****

  Elsie fought to suppress a wave of nervousness as the carriage rolled to a stop. Having determined that Elsie would need a guide to navigate the courthouse without embarrassing or hurting herself, Mrs. Remington had assigned Jenny to the task. Elsie let her friend help her out of the carriage, gripping her arm as she climbed out of the cab to stand in front of the sizeable edifice that was the Central Criminal Court of England. Old Bailey, the servants had called it when they’d gossiped about Damon’s impending trial. The term seemed too casual, too friendly and familiar for this foreboding structure. Inside, Damon’s fate would be determined, and Elsie would play a role in reaching – or missing – justice. Everything passed in a blur of flapping tail coats, rustling skirts and excited voices until somehow they were inside the court room, and a clerk began the session by reading Damon’s sentence.

  The word murder rang throughout the overly warm, crowded courtroom, silencing the buzzing remnants of conversation that had persisted until then. The crime levied against Damon was apparently grave enough to convince the chatterers that their silence would be rewarded with riveting drama. Griffith’s lawyer spoke first, his voice ringing with a level of pomposity achieved only by those who know they are at the center of attention in a matter that has monopolized an entire city’s gossip mills. As everyone listened in a dead hush, he painted a story of debt and flaring tempers that ultimately ended in a murderous rage.