*Grayson*
I stand at the window of my bedchamber and watch Lydia stroll through the gardens, captured in moonlight. That she had complimented my performance pleases me beyond measure.
How has she become so important to me in such a short while? I continually berate myself for seeking her out, and yet I seem unable to resist her innocence.
Tarnished by all I have seen and experienced, I worry I will taint her if I spend any more time with her. I should, at this very moment, go to my father's bedchamber and visit with him while he is more alert than he has been in some time.
I convince myself, however, that my father is no doubt weary and in need of rest after such an eventful day.
I am equally tired, but how can any man resist the temptation that awaits me in the garden? Even as I curs
