Demon of Mine

Elsie sat on the stone bench, agreeably clutching Mrs. Hughes’ proffered arm despite the fact that she didn’t really need it. “Thank you, Mrs. Hughes.” She couldn’t wait for the woman to be gone so she could sit in privacy, basking in the tempered early morning sunshine and memories of her time among the rose bushes the night before. She could have spent an eternity pondering that kiss, though she still found it difficult to believe it had really happened. It had been much more real than any dream though – the softness of Damon’s lips, the silky glide of his tongue against hers... Her imagination never would have been able to duplicate the perfection if she hadn’t experienced it in reality. Just thinking about it brought her breath up short. Would she ever feel such ecstasy again?

She told herself not to be greedy. Who knew if Damon would approach her again; if he regretted what he’d done the night before or if he thought about it now, just as she did? She would cherish the memory for the rest of her life – however short that might prove to be – but she wouldn’t get her hopes up. She’d learned her lesson well from Lord Wilkes. Not that Damon was of the same shoddy caliber as that cad, but she could hardly expect a Remington to truly fall for an ailing maidservant.

“Your tea.”

Elsie turned toward the sound of a slightly impatient voice, startled out of her thoughts of Damon. The maid had approached from the murky fields of Elsie’s peripheral vision, and she hadn’t noticed her. She squinted now at the tray-bearing figure, noting mousy locks that protruded from beneath a mobcap. The girl sounded young, and her slender, almost boyish figure supported the supposition. “Thank you,” Elsie said, taking the smooth polished-wood tray and balancing it on her lap. Having personally served tea a thousand times over, Elsie easily navigated the tray by feel. She clutched a halfway filled cup and let its warmth seep into her fingers as she waited for the maid to stop staring at her and leave.

“Wish I could spend the morning in the garden staring ’round at the rosebushes and sipping tea,” the girl said, her tone half wistful and half resentful.

Elsie’s cheeks heated. “I find it difficult to enjoy the sight of the blossoms with my vision so afflicted,” she said tersely, “but yes, they smell lovely.”

The girl made a small sound in the back of her throat that might have meant anything and turned in a flurry of skirts. Elsie listened to the soft sound of her retreating footsteps with relief.

What seemed at least half an hour passed before another voice interrupted her solitude. “Elsie.”

She recognized the velvety tone at once. Her heart began to beat in double time as she clutched her teacup as tightly as she dared. “Yes?” Her reply was little more than a gasp.

“How do you fare this morning?” Damon asked from close behind her, touching her shoulder ever so lightly.

She stifled a sigh, knowing he couldn’t possibly realize how the little bit of contact affected her. He’d probably touched her out of courtesy for her impaired vision, to let her know where he stood. The gesture shouldn’t have set her heart racing, but it had. “My vision was somewhat improved when I awoke. I can see now out of both my eyes, though everything appears blurred to me.” She waited for him to remove his hand from her shoulder.

He kept it there, exerting a gentle pressure with the tips of his fingers. “I am glad to hear of your improvement.” He didn’t sound glad. There was a note of weariness that rang in the deeper pitch of his voice. Was he tired? There was no question that he had a habit of staying up late every night. Perhaps this was an early morning for him. Had he risen just to speak with her?

She didn’t let herself consider it. That sort of idle speculation would only set her up for disappointment. Besides, it was foolish. Of course he hadn’t. The Remington heir would not rise early just to converse with a maidservant.

He bent low, his smooth jaw brushing her cheek. The intimacy of the gesture sent fresh heat rushing through Elsie as she wrestled with the realization that his touch had strayed irrefutably beyond the bounds of deference to her handicap. She hoped to God that they were alone in the garden. If one of the maids saw this… But she couldn’t think of that, not while Damon’s lips brushed her ear, causing the blood to sing in her veins and her nipples to tighten instantly beneath her dress. “Can you meet me here again tonight?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, without pausing to weigh the difficulties. Whatever it took, she’d be here.

“I think I can help you,” he whispered. “Your illness… I think I have a solution. Meet me here at half-past midnight and I’ll explain. Will that be late enough for you to escape undetected?”

She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat and nodded.

“I look forward to seeing you then.” He straightened, withdrew his touch and strode away, leaving Elsie alone with a feeling of profound sadness. What could he possibly do to help – what could he possibly know that the physician didn’t? She would gladly meet him, but she did not look forward to crushing whatever hope he’d found for her in the night.