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with the crushing regret that had
descended upon her so suddenly. Nineteen years of life. First as an
impoverished child-laborer, and then as a maid. Her steady working
existence had been interrupted only twice, by brief sensual
encounters that were no more than memories, and not even cherished
ones. Was that really all she’d ever taste of life? Nineteen years
seemed like both a very short time and a very long time. She dabbed
at her eyes, feeling Damon’s gaze on her as she wiped away the
moisture.
    “ Have I frightened you,”
Damon’s voice was as soft as the fine kerchief he’d handed to her,
“or only saddened you by dredging up the afternoon’s
events?”
    A tremor wracked Elsie’s shoulders.
She pressed the kerchief to her face, hiding it under the guise of
catching her tears, and breathed in the scent that had been placed
upon it. It was musky and spicy – Damon’s scent. The smell of it
put enough fire in her blood to quell her nerves, at least a
little. Emboldened by the cover of darkness and her seemingly
uncrushable desire for him, she spoke the truth. “Both.” Still
holding the kerchief to her face, she continued. Her lips brushed
the soft material as she spoke, and her stomach fluttered. “I was
so afraid you’d be angry if you discovered me. Are you?”
    “ No.”
    A happiness that was perhaps absurd,
given the situation, welled up in Elsie. Despite the day’s news and
trials, it dawned on her that this moment was lovely in its own
way. If Damon wasn’t angry with her, then she couldn’t bring
herself to be sorry that she’d captured his attention, however it
had happened.
    “ But no doubt you’re still
frightened,” he said, his tone not quite resigned.
    She lowered the kerchief and shook her
head. “No. Not if you’re not angry with me for eavesdropping. I…”
She hesitated for a moment, then hurried to continue before she
could worry too much over whether she was being too bold. “I don’t
believe you’re a murderer. I believe you are innocent.”
    The crescent moon emerged from behind
a cloud and was reflected perfectly in the dark centers of his
eyes. His expression was peculiar, but his face no less handsome
than usual. “Odd,” he said, “that a maid should have such faith in
someone she does not know. Tell me, do you give everyone the
benefit of the doubt, or is your loyalty to my family simply so
great that you cannot bring yourself to consider the possibility of
my guilt?”
    Elsie swallowed and looked
him in his moonlit eyes. “Neither.” Of course she felt a
considerable measure of loyalty toward the Remingtons, but not so
much that she would blind herself to danger and place her own neck
on the chopping block. No, she knew that he was innocent. Not only had she been moved
by the sincerity – the anguish – in his voice, but she knew he had
indeed been in his own bed at three in the morning, when Lord
Griffith had apparently been discovered dead. She alone knew, and
the fact both fueled her seeming bravery and gnawed at her from the
inside. He wouldn’t need a talking horse if she had the courage to
admit that she’d seen him.
    “ You perplex me,” he said
simply.
    She was overcome by the sudden feeling
of finding herself backed into a corner. She leaned ever so
slightly backward, and the prick of a thorn against the small of
her back enhanced the sensation. Perhaps she’d said too much. Maybe
she should have rattled off something about her faith in the virtue
of the Remingtons and scuttled off to bed. But no, she didn’t have
the time or the will for such lies – not when her every breath was
precious. She would not lie to Damon. She would treasure this bit
of night always as the time she’d held Damon Remington’s undivided
attention. It would be a sweet memory, untainted by
dishonesty.  “Forgive me,” she said simply. “That was not my
intention.”
    A small smile played around the
corners of his mouth, and the sight of it toyed dangerously