Desmond did not look at her, as he heard her beside him. He did not need to stare into her eyes to feel her there, and he knew that if he looked at her, if he looked into her eyes and saw the pain there after his words. To face the fact that he was breaking her heart... her heart above anyone else's, he knew that it would crush him, defeat him utterly and leave his defenses against her broken. He would agree to anything to keep from hurting her, and he knew that doing that would only cause more heartache. She could not see it, but he knew well enough to know that he would still feel the way that he did about her, and it would hurt. And in his hurting, she would hurt because she couldn't give him what he wanted. It would be a cycle of pain, a torturous slowly cycle until whatever he felt for her slowly and painfully died and left him dead inside to her... or... worse, resentful of her.
As he closed his eyes, he drew in a deep breath, as he felt the past gnawing at the edges of his mind, thinking, not unusually, on Balthazar, who had truly saved him from himself back when he had been younger. And wondered if, without his mentor there, if this torture wouldn't actually be some sort of twisted karma that he was sitting here with Beth, in the exact opposite position that he'd been in so very many years ago...
"M'lord flatters too much. Please..." The serving girl was sufficiently modest to keep up the appearance of their respective positions, which was still important in the society of the time, and yet Desmond could feel her stealing glances at him now and again before she would bow her head again submissively. It was not the heated look that some others would have given him, but another look entirely. A look of desperation, almost, of silent eyes staring at him, hoping, pleading that he would look back at her with the same eyes. He could feel it from her, her body seemed to almost shake with it, and yet, he did not return the glance. She was attractive, and yet Balthazar had already given him a lecture on his exploits.
"That will be all." He said, pausing a moment, then smiling a little at her, just enough to show a hint of teeth without really revealing to her what he was. He had learned that to be the best way, lest he wind up again in the street, battered and beaten to a pulp. He watched her in her wrap of a dress slowly turning to leave him, eyeing the way that it hung to the curves of her body, impressively not bearing her buttocks to him but instead giving just a hint of the undercurve of it in a way that he found tantalized the eye for more. "But it would be wonderful if you were the girl to serve me again tomorrow..." he said with the hint of a smile and watched as she skittered away with a bit of a nod, seeming happier than before.
It made him feel good, and it appeared to make her feel good as well. Leaning back a little he took a sip of his wine, feeling the heady sensation of it flow over him before a feeling came to him. He did not need to turn anymore to know the prescence of his master, even when the lights of sun shone down upon him. It was something that changed in the air, he supposed, or some sense that was not quite related to anything that he could pinpoint. Balthazar had called it sensing someone's spirit, but Desmond was uncertain if he really believed that there was such a thing, or if it was not perhaps just something else that was beyond the senses that somehow whispered into the subconscious mind.
"You sour the wine by just standing there, Balthazar." Desmond replied softly.
"You sound pleased with yourself." Balthazar replied icily, which was not unusual for him. "Did you not heed my lesson about losing your inner ... drives... upon the world?"
"My desires are quite controlled, thank you. I learned your lesson well enough. Do not bed a woman on a whim."