by Ranae Rose
“How do their faces look?” Elsie whispered into Jenny’s ear, aware of the anxiety in her own voice.
“Bleak,” Jenny said flatly.
What did that mean? No matter, the judge had lifted his gavel once again. The hammering he gave his desk was merely a formality – the courtroom was as silent as death, the tension heavy as the verdict was awaited.
“Damon Remington, you have hereby been found innocent of the murder of Lord Jeremiah Griffith.”
The judge abused his desk with his gavel, but was unable to bring silence.
****
“Aren’t you glad?” Jenny’s neat white cap and blue eyes invaded the corners of Elsie’s vision.
Lying down in the maids’ quarters, Elsie looked up at her friend, who sat perched on the edge of the bed beside her. “Of course I’m glad.”
“You’ve been markedly dispirited ever since we left the courthouse.”
Elsie shook her head. “Not dispirited. Thoughtful.”
Jenny widened her eyes in silent question.
Elsie’s stomach promptly tied itself in knots. Yes, she’d been lost in thought since the trial had ended an hour and a half ago. Part of her mind still lingered in the court house, contemplating the ridiculous and mercifully just trial. But another part of her consciousness – a larger part – had found new worries to consider – namely, concerns centering around Damon’s mysterious fiancé.
She sighed, shifting her gaze from Jenny’s face to the ceiling. She didn’t dare close her eyes. Every time she did, she was plagued by vivid memories of Damon embracing her in the garden, kissing her and – most tantalizingly of all – asking to make love to her. For the first time, she felt truly miserable over the decision that lay before her, though the only thing that had changed was that she now knew of Damon’s engagement.
Apparently, Damon was not put off by his betrothal. Elsie couldn’t muster the same indifference. Any way she looked at the situation, she was reminded of what a fool she’d been. Why did Damon’s engagement torture her so? Honestly, she wasn’t worrying out of deference to his nameless, absent fiancé. Her reason was selfish. She was bothered because the fact that he was promised to another meant that she could never have him.
God, how she hated to admit it. She was an idiot to have even entertained notions of ever becoming a suitable match for Damon. But she’d been unable to resist, driven to insane fancies by his promise of new life – something she’d mistaken for a promise of equality. Now she saw that it was only charity. He’d claimed otherwise, but of course he’d done that to spare her feelings. He was too kind to her, but she should have known better. After all, she’d learned her lesson a year ago. She was not marriageable – at least, not to someone of Damon’s wealth and status. She almost wanted to forget their encounter in the garden altogether, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.
There was still her life to consider. Perhaps she should accept Damon’s offer after all, and then do her best to fade quietly into the background. Her heart fluttered, and the sensation was accompanied by a rebellious stirring in her core as she imagined meeting him under the cover of night and accepting his offer of transformation – and love-making.
“Elsie?” Jenny leaned further over the bed, her brow furrowed with apparent concern. “Are you going to tell me what you’ve been thinking about?”
The lie came easily enough to Elsie’s lips. “The trial. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it?”
Jenny nodded. “Quite.”
“I can’t comprehend why Griffith would go through all the trouble and expense of securing a trial and false witnesses just three days after the murder, and then mount such a feeble persecution.”
“I’ve a feeling the lightskirt – Ms. White – rather ruined it for him.”
Elsie nodded half-heartedly. “Perhaps she would have been more convincing if she hadn’t been so deeply into her cups.”
“Or falling out of her clothing,” Jenny added.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted their conversation, a fact for which Elsie was grateful. As curious as the trial had been, she had trouble keeping even half her mind on the matter. She turned to the door, her enthusiasm fading when it opened to admit the physician, escorted by a young housemaid.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Jenny said, her tone perfectly prim.
Elsie echoed her friend’s greeting, careful not to sound as annoyed at the doctor’s appearance as she felt.
“Mrs. Remington wished me to see you,” he explained, already lowering his bag full of equipment to the floor. “She feared the excitement of the trial might take its toll on your health.”
It came as no surprise when the doctor concluded, after a brief examination, that the lightest of bleedings was just what Elsie needed. Apparently, he didn’t think he’d drained quite enough of the stuff from her that morning. She kept her expression neutral as Jenny neatly rolled up her left sleeve, her fingers brushing the scars in the crook of Elsie’s arm. “I’m not keeping you from your duties, am I?” Elsie asked. There was no reason Jenny should have to aid in the rather distasteful procedure. She was a housemaid, after all, not a nursemaid.
“Not at all,” Jenny replied, gripping Elsie’s hand as the doctor held his scalpel aloft. “Your care is my duty until you leave for Hertfordshire again. Mrs. Remington has declared it so.”
Elsie smiled rather weakly as her arm, still sore from her last bleeding, was sliced open again. While a part of her was glad for Jenny’s company, being under her devoted watch all day would make it virtually impossible to manage any contact with Damon. If Jenny was going to remain by her side during the day, she’d have to make sure she found Damon that night – if his fiancé hadn’t arrived by then and claimed his attention.
Chapter 8
The garden behind the Remingtons’ London estate was smaller than the one at Hertfordshire, but it boasted rows of equally impressive rose bushes. Never had Elsie been so grateful for their cover. Though she’d had no word from Damon, she’d left the maids’ quarters as soon as she’d dared – at nearly half past one. She had no assurance that he would be waiting for her in the rose garden – only hope.
It seemed that his mysterious fiancé hadn’t arrived that evening after all. Elsie couldn’t quite bring herself to be ashamed of how glad she was for that fact. Vaguely, she wondered where the woman was. Perhaps she came from the country and had been delayed in her travels. The thought sent Elsie’s stomach churning. This night might be the only chance she had to speak with Damon before his fiancé arrived – if he even happened to show up in the rose garden at all.
She drifted slowly down the path that wound through the perfectly trimmed bushes, pausing to feel the silky texture of a rose petal here and there. While she couldn’t see them well, her sense of touch lent a certain clarity that had otherwise eluded her since her vision had become so blurred. She was becoming too used to her visual handicap for comfort. After all, her vision would be restored soon. Wouldn’t it? A now familiar tightness seized her womb at the thought of how the healing would come about. She wasn’t truly afraid of the pain of transformation, but if Damon desired to ease it for her, she wasn’t about to refuse his chosen method of distraction.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Elsie whirled, almost losing her balance in the darkness. “Damon.” Relief flooded through her, pure and startlingly strong. Until she’d heard his voice, she hadn’t realized quite how afraid she’d been that she wouldn’t find him. Slight tremors of relief coursed through her body, and she couldn’t help the breathy laugh that rushed over her lips.
“Do you need me to guide you?” He stepped forward and offered her an arm.
She didn’t need his assistance. She was as familiar with this garden as the back of her own hand. She’d walked the winding path during many a Sunday afternoon, but she took his arm anyway. “Thank you.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, following the path to where a bench waited, not far
away. “The trial today,” she said as he guided her to the seat. “It was…”
“Surprisingly easy to win?” he finished for her.
“Yes.” She meant to comment further on Griffith’s lackluster efforts, but something entirely different tumbled from her mouth. “I’m so glad you were declared innocent.”
“I have you to thank for that,” he said, holding onto her arm as she eased onto the bench.
“Hardly.” She adjusted her skirts as he settled down beside her, wonderfully close. Their knees brushed. “I’m afraid I embarrassed you more than I helped.” A flush heated her cheeks as she remembered the half-whispered speculations concerning her reason for being so near Damon’s bedroom during the night of the murder. Not that she was truly undeserving of such speculation. The truth of the matter was somewhere between the testimony she’d given and the suppositions that had circulated through the audience. Images of what she’d really witnessed that night flashed through her mind, causing every last inch of her skin to tingle.
When he touched his hand to her arm, her core tightened. It was almost unbearable, sitting next to him and feeling his touch as the combined memories of the sights and sounds of that night teased her. She could see him perfectly in her mind’s eye, undressed, with his fingers wrapped around his cock.
“Did you really think I was embarrassed?” A touch of humor entered his voice. “My reputation is too far gone for anyone to care even in the least that a beautiful maid might have been waiting up for me.”
A shiver of delight raced down her spine. Waiting up for him. She hadn’t been then, but wasn’t that what she’d done tonight? Suddenly, she could stand the small talk no longer.
As if he’d read her mind, Damon cut abruptly to the chase, letting his fingertips trail down her arm as he pulled his hand away. “I suppose I owe you the explanations I promised you last time. That is, if you’ve decided that you could stand to be like me.”
Like him. Her heart ached. She wanted nothing more than to be like him, but knew that even if she shared his immortality, she’d never truly be on his level. Telling herself not to take his words for more than their most basic value, she nodded.
He sighed, perhaps out of relief. “Very well then. I must warn you that what I’m about to tell you may come as a shock.”
Her heart fluttered, and her stomach twisted with anticipation. Words failed her, so she nodded again.
“It all started before we ever met, before your family’s house burnt down. It was my sixteenth birthday, and my parents gave me the greatest gift they could offer.” A sarcastic bitterness tinged his voice. “They changed me – turned me into a vampire, just like them. After that day I was no longer a boy, and I could never truly be a man. I eventually matured into the physical likeness of one, just as I would have if I’d remained human, but my growth was fueled by the blood of the innocent – a fact which didn’t bother either of my parents in the least.”
He took a deep breath and continued. “I hated it, hated myself for a few months. Then I had a revelation of sorts. I realized that I didn’t have to be like them, didn’t have to drink the lifeblood of unfortunate victims. I knew my soul was stained beyond repair, but it occurred to me that perhaps there was some good I could use my unnatural strength for, something I could do in apology for the evil I’d taken part in.”
Elsie listened raptly as he barked a humorless laugh. “I fancied myself a dark hero. I took to the streets of London, looking for those who I might save from unfortunate circumstances; from lurking cutpurses, rapists, murderers and the like. Sometimes I succeeded. Other times, when I was too late, I avenged those I’d failed to save.”
He paused, and Elsie took advantage of his momentary silence. The obvious pain in his voice lanced through her, along with the urge to say something to assure him that she admired him and the high road he’d taken. “I’m sure those you saved are grateful that you were there to help them in their time of need. You are a hero.” She touched her fingertips to his arm, returning the small gesture of comfort he’d offered her just minutes ago.
He laughed bitterly, tensing beneath her touch. “None of my exploits make up for what I’ve done. They never will.” He stifled her attempt to argue. “I didn’t tell you this to solicit praise or assurances. I told you because there is something I must confess.”
She finally withdrew her hand, placing it in her lap where she smoothed her skirts unnecessarily. “I’m listening.”
“That night when your home burnt, when you were just a girl – it was I who carried you from the fire to safety.”
Elsie sat stiffly on the bench, stunned into silence.
His voice softened. “You were the first person I ever saved.”
“You?” Elsie managed to say, her voice rasping over her dry tongue. The realization crushed the comforting thought she’d clung to over the years – the conviction that it had been her father who’d saved her. Her spared life had been her last tie to her father, to her family. Now it had been obliterated. All that remained were memories, distant and often blurred, as everything was to her now. The tenuous connection that had stretched between heaven and earth, linking her to her dead parents, had been severed with just a few words.
“Yes. And I came back with my father the next morning, hoping to lay eyes on you again. I couldn’t get you out of my mind or my heart, couldn’t stop obsessing over the welfare of the girl I’d pulled from the flames. What good was it that I’d saved you from the fire if I abandoned you to a life of hopeless poverty? So I pleaded with my parents, convincing my mother to take you on as a maid. They don't know why, of course. No one knows but you and me.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ve never stopped thinking of you. I’ve watched you all this time, and now I can’t bear to lose you to this illness. Elsie, you mean more to me than anyone I’ve ever known. Every time I see you, I think that perhaps I can serve some good purpose after all, that my existence isn’t a total abomination. I can’t let a cruel twist of fate take you. Say you’ll let me save you.” He took one of her hands in his and squeezed, hard.
She opened her mouth to respond, but he silenced her by brushing his fingertips lightly across her lips. “Wait. There is one more thing you must know first.”
“What is it?” Her voice sounded breathy and shaky, even to her.
“If I change you, you must marry me.”
The night air was suddenly cold. Elsie gasped as if she’d been plunged into icy water. There was no breath in her lungs, no coherent thoughts in her head – only shock so absolute she feared she’d never recover. “Marry you?” She tried the words on her tongue, as if saying them could make them anything more than what they had to be – a joke.
“Yes. It is one of our ways, one of our rules – a vampire cannot simply change a human on a whim. Only family members may be changed. Unlawful changelings are destroyed. Even if I transform you, it will be a waste if you don’t become a part of my family – if you don’t marry me.”
His explanation presented too many questions. They buzzed through her mind like a swarm of angry bees. She opened her mouth, not knowing which one would tumble out. “Unlawful? Vampires have their own laws?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have a…vampire parliament?” She felt the color drain from her cheeks as she considered, for the first time, the existence of vampires besides Damon and his family. What strange, unseen world had she been living in parallel to for all these years, completely ignorant of its existence?
He chuckled, though there was tenseness in his short-lived laughter. “Something like that.”
A heavy silence stretched between them. Elsie forced herself to take deep, even breaths and discreetly pinched her thigh through her skirts. Her mouth tightened and watered in response to the sharp pain. This was not a dream. God help her, it was real.
“What is your answer?” Damon asked, his voice low and strained. “Will you accept my offer?”
Elsie wanted to throw herself
into his lap, wrap her arms around his neck and say ‘yes’ a thousand times before he could regain his senses and end this living dream. The desire was so strong, she almost succumbed. But there was still something that wasn’t right, something that threatened the bliss she wanted so badly to embrace. “What about your fiancé?”
Damon was silent for a moment. Stunned, no doubt – perhaps even ashamed. Now that she’d reminded him of his commitment to a doubtlessly more suitable woman, he’d end this passionate charade.
“I have no fiancé.”
Elsie hardly dared to breathe a sigh of relief as his words washed over her, soaking into her being like balm. Was that confusion she’d heard in his voice? Real, genuine surprise?
“What made you think that I did?”
Color rapidly flooded Elsie’s cheeks, forming what must have been a fantastic blush as she dropped her gaze into her lap. “An idle servants’ rumor, no doubt. I’m sorry.”
His touch against her cheek was unexpected and surprisingly gentle. He tucked his fingers under her chin, guiding her gaze back to his face. “Have you an answer for me now?”
As she met his eyes, her heart beat so loudly that he must have heard it. Heat swept through her, starting where he touched her in the small hollow where her jaw and neck met. “I’ve just one more question.”
“Yes?”
“When you carried me from the burning house, why didn’t you save my parents too?”
“I wanted to. But it was too late.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding, unsure of whether she should feel relieved or not. Of course he would’ve saved her parents if it had been possible. He was not a demon.
“I’m sorry,” he added. “I’ve thought of it too, how your heart must have been broken because I didn’t arrive soon enough.” A hint of bitterness entered his voice. “Because I failed.”
“No.” She spoke automatically, reaching for one of his hands and closing her own around it. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m grateful for what you did.”
