“She didn’t sing to me?” Abram asked, his expression clouding.
“No.” The baron shook his head. “You would wail so loudly when she sang. To you, my son, your mother read. Books filled with adventure—pirates, explorers, and faraway places.”
“That must be why I love stories about battles,” the boy mused.
“I think it is,” his father replied.
The baron’s gaze met Payton’s, and they both knew it was exactly what the boy needed to hear. Something that could form a connection with Abram’s lost mother. Lord Ashford’s interest in the same subjects mattered not a whit in the moment, only his remembrance of Sarah.
When the last plates were removed, both children groaned with satisfaction as the baron pushed back his chair as if, with the meal done, he was ready to return to his secluded study.
However, he didn’t move toward the door but stared down at his two fair-haired children, a gleam in his eye.
“I have an announcement.” He punctuated the word announcement with a clap of his hands.
“An announcement?” Joy squealed with delight, bouncing in her seat. So quickly, the child forgot the years of avoidance and distance at the mere mention of something special.
“Yes.” He leaned slightly forward and held his arm out wide. “We are going to see the traveling menagerie at Pall Mall tomorrow.”
“We?” Payton exhaled. Her stomach fluttered with—anticipation? Unease? Confusion?
Perhaps all three…
The baron turned to her, his smile broad as he nodded. “My dear sister has been berating me of late about my cloistered lifestyle. I think an adventure will be grand for us all.”
If Payton had been taken aback by the degree of the baron’s announcement, the children were outright stunned—and seemingly skeptical—as they both froze in their seats, their excitement fleeing. A meal with their father was one thing, but an entire afternoon in his company?
Payton had thought about more time with Lord Ashford, but an afternoon outside the townhouse was far more than she’d expected.
She could not show her surprise and risk adding to the children’s hesitancy around their father. That would benefit no one. If the baron insisted on accompanying them to Pall Mall, then she would do her best to appear enthusiastic.
She smiled. “Isn’t that a wonderful announcement?”
Joy nibbled at her bottom lip. “You mean to spend the entire day with us?”
The girl’s tone made it clear that the baron had never spent an entire day in his children’s company, at least not within their memory.
The baron’s eyes narrowed, and the tenseness returned to his shoulders. “Most certainly.”
“It has been some years since we’ve enjoyed an outing together.” Lord Ashford’s voice was strained, as if he heard the meaning behind Joy’s question, as well. “The excursion will be fun. Your governess has explained how much you both want to go.”
Joy and Abram shared a familiar, silent glance, neither looking confident in their father’s use of the word fun.
“Very well.” Abram shrugged, his indifference mirroring his father’s nature.
“Wonderful.” Payton infused as much joy as she could into the single word. “Now that everything is settled, I think the children should find their beds and get a good night’s rest before tomorrow.”
Abram and Joy slid from their chairs.
“Say goodnight.” Payton gestured toward their father, and the pair obediently mumbled goodnight before starting for the door. “Have a pleasant slumber, my lord. Thank you for agreeing to the excursion.”
He glanced over Payton’s shoulder, likely watching the children depart. “They don’t want me to come, do they?” he mumbled low enough to keep the children from hearing.
It had been what she was thinking, but she’d never thought to verbalize it, especially to the baron. “I think they are anxious, Lord Ashford.” She paused, knowing if she chose the wrong words, it would hurt the baron. Or worse, return the distance between him and the children. Payton thought back to the way Joy had asked why her father didn’t love her or her brother. It had broken her heart to hear the uncertainty in the child’s voice. “I think they are just hesitant. You are not accustomed to having them underfoot, and neither are they overly familiar with you.”
He grimaced and averted his stare. She’d hurt him. Perhaps there was no other way to put into words Joy’s and Abram’s adverse reaction to the news of him accompanying them on their outing.
“We will depart at eleven o’clock. Sharp.” His gruff tone did nothing to hide his disappointment. “I will have the carriage ready and a meal prepared. Do you think they would enjoy a picnic in St. James’s Park?”
“I think they would enjoy that very much, my lord.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It is that…”
“What?” The question came on a breathless whisper, and for a moment, Payton longed to be back in the baron’s study without the listening ears of servants.
“I fear that no matter what I do, this outing will cause Joy and Abram disappointment.” His head lowered as he fell silent.
“How so?”
Lord Ashford appeared resigned to some unknown fact. “Because what if I speak out of turn? What if the day is marvelous, but when we return home, I…?”
When his words trailed off, unfinished and looming in the space between them, she prodded, “You what, my lord?”
He ran his hand through his hair, causing it to fall haphazardly over one eye. “It matters naught.”
“Can I ask you a question, my lord?” Gaining the baron’s approval before she made a disparaging comment was unfair, but this moment was a long time coming. She’d noted the distance that separated him from his children the first day she arrived at Ashford Hall. When he nodded, she said, “Why did you offer to accompany us tomorrow? After all this time, why now?”
He showed his palms with a shrug. “They were happy. I haven’t seen them excited about anything in a long while unless they are up to some troublesome behavior. Is it wrong for me to want to be a part of that, even when I know I have no right, and they are better off without me close?”
Payton couldn’t understand how the baron had come to believe that his children would fare better without him. They had no mother…only Lord Ashford. Had her presence at the townhouse over the last month taken away the baron’s chance to deepen his connection with Joy and Abram?
“Do forget I mentioned anything,” the baron sighed. “I bid you goodnight, Miss Samuels.”
Without a backwards glance, he strode from the dining hall. She remained frozen in place as his heavy footfalls faded.
Perhaps it was Payton who should forego the outing to Pall Mall on the morrow. If she were not as readily available, would he take more notice of his children? If she left him no option, would he build his relationship with Joy and Abram?
There were too many questions to have them all answered so simply.
However, there was one thing she was not questioning: Payton hadn’t been overly enthusiastic about the outing until Lord Ashford announced that he’d be joining them. It might be a selfish decision, but Payton now looked forward to witnessing the baron outside of Ashford Hall. Without his study to seek refuge in, and without his mask to hide behind, she—and the children—would likely encounter an entirely different man.
The baron could not possibly keep up his stoic demeanor with both of his children clamoring for his attention at Pall Mall. And there was little chance that Joy and Abram would not be demanding their father’s much-needed notice.
She wondered if any of them would recognize the baron outside the townhouse.
Surely, there was more to Lord Ashford than Payton had seen in their short acquaintance. Was there a time when he had been a charming young lord? A dashing rogue? Mayhap even an enticing scoundrel?
Chapter 13
The room had become his prison.
It was his haven while ho
lding all that haunted him. The more Damon retreated, the more he found himself isolated in a place that held so many memories for him. Some good. Some bad. Most heartbreaking.
The more he glimpsed how life could be free from his past, the more he knew that he needed to find a way to release himself, though the draw of his reclusive ways continued to tempt him.
It was more than just this room, it was the entire house. And yet, he remained. Forever fortifying himself in his own personal hell. The decorative trappings, the muted hues of blue and grey, and the books… Lord above, help him, all the bloody damned books.
Everything was a constant reminder of what he’d loved and lost.
Even his children.
He kept them close, yet he could barely hold himself together in their presence.
Escape. Damon needed to escape, though he suspected it would not grant him the freedom he frantically sought.
But where could he flee to? His country seat at Falconcrest? He’d journeyed there only once since Sarah’s death, and he’d lasted a mere fortnight before the past drove him back to London. The house, the lands, the mere smells of the winter blossoms brought back that fateful day—and his failure.
Maybe Flora had been correct. Damon should send the children to boarding school. Allow them a normal upbringing far from their haunted father. They’d been so tiny when Sarah passed…why should they not have the chance to forget the pain and move on?
Because he was weak. He was broken.
And he greatly needed to keep his children close because they were all he had left of Sarah, even though the sight of them made the agony everlasting.
Damon stood before the hearth, begging its flames to leap from the logs and singe away his pain. Burn it from his very skin.
Closing his eyes, he allowed the heat to overwhelm him. To saturate his exposed flesh and heat the fabric of his trousers until the burn was nearly too much to bear.
This was what he craved, what he deserved.
His fingers tightened around the tumbler clenched in his hand, the throbbing in his head keeping rhythm with the ache in his knuckles. The glass was empty, had remained as such since he’d fled the dining hall and closed himself back in his study. At present, the sight of the bottle that had become his only companion over the years made his stomach turn.
He was so pitiful, he didn’t have the nerve to drown himself in scotch and bring about a few hours of blissful reprieve. Instead, he’d chosen to wallow in the situation of his making. His sister—and his friends, when they still came around—had told him it wasn’t his fault; yet Damon knew it was his impulsive nature that had taken him and Sarah away from Falconcrest in the Ashford carriage that night. Off on one of Damon’s many larks—a late-night, winter sleigh ride through the snow to May’s Brewery for a New Year’s mead while Joy and Abram’s nurse looked after them.
The horse stepping off the hidden ledge under the snow drift and injuring his leg hadn’t been Damon’s fault.
The damaged, unmovable sleigh stranded in the increasing snowfall hadn’t been Damon’s fault.
Their inability to find shelter from the coming storm hadn’t been his fault.
Sarah and him, stranded during the frigid winter night out in the open hadn’t been his fault.
Her following sickness hadn’t been his fault.
But Damon knew it was all a lie. Everything had been his fault, especially every misfortune after Sarah’s death.
He’d retreated from life, his children, and society.
Damon had convinced himself that his children would heal faster if they did not fear losing him. At some point, their hurt and anguish had festered into something far graver, and he’d failed to notice. Instead, he’d paraded a never-ending line of governesses before them. The women each left without fail, and every time, he’d blame his children or the inept servant…when the fault lay squarely on his shoulders.
That wasn’t something he could change. It was too late.
Joy and Abram had been telling him—in the only way children knew how—that they were hurting, that they needed someone to step in and make everything right. He couldn’t even make it right with himself, so how was he to help them?
Where he’d failed, Miss Samuels had stepped in, caring for his wayward children in a way that Damon couldn’t.
Tomorrow…tomorrow he would be better. Try to be who his children needed him to be.
There had to be time to make things right for them. Sarah was gone, but they were not. If he tried, genuinely tried, he could fix his family. He loved his children—more than he could ever imagine. They could not go on without knowing they were loved, without him showing them his affection—even if he could not bring himself to speak the words.
Miss Samuels had shown him actions were sometimes more powerful than words.
For now, he needed to find his bed and pray that a few hours’ sleep would diminish the ache in his head and relax the tension in his shoulders.
His back slumped as he set the empty glass on the table beside the lounge, careful to keep his eyes away from the familiar spot. He should have the piece of furniture removed, but even with it out of sight, the memories surrounding it would not disappear.
Ignoring them only made the images more painful when they broke through.
Damon left his study, exhaustion reaching every inch of his body as he made his way to the stairs.
“Good evening, miss,” Mr. Brown’s deep voice echoed from the foyer. “Going out?”
Damon was so close to making his escape up the stairs and the solitude of his private chambers. Instead, he halted, desperate to hear the woman’s response.
“Yes, I shan’t be overlong.” The sound of rustling drew him closer until only the shadows of the darkened hall hid him from view as he watched the governess slip into her cloak, and the butler hand her a muff. She slipped her hands inside and waited for the servant to open the door. “I will let myself back in. There is no need to wait for my return.”
He’d never before wondered how she spent her evenings or her days off. Before he’d caught her at his gaming tables, at least.
“I can summon the coach for you, or perhaps send a footman to hail a hackney?” Mr. Brown offered. His tone was untroubled without any hint of concern for the governess’s well-being, as if the woman often left with little explanation. “Or is your carriage coming for you?”
Her carriage? Miss Samuels was a governess without the means for her own conveyance. She’d lost a healthy amount to the duke and slipped away without making good on the debt. How could she have a carriage? And if she did, how was he unaware of it?
“No, it is only a short walk.” She smiled at the elderly servant, bringing a new light to the man’s eyes. He imagined it was how Mr. Brown looked upon his own daughter. “I donned my wool stockings and sturdy boots”—she patted her cloak—“and I’ve brought my key. Do not fret over me.”
“It is not my place to worry over you, Miss Samuels.” With a stiff bow, the butler opened the front door. “However, my missus claims I sleep more soundly when all the household is accounted for.”
The governess slid her hand from her muff and patted the aging butler’s cheek. “I will be gone two hours, at most. Please, do not cause my absence to keep you awake, Mr. Brown.”
She swept out the door with her chin held high, as regal as if she were the lady of the house.
The butler held the door open and watched her walk down the steps before closing the portal behind her.
“Mr. Brown.” Damon stepped from the shadows.
“My lord,” the butler sputtered, adjusting his coat. “Can I assist you with something? Perhaps I can collect you a pot of tea before you retire?”
Damon ignored the servant’s question. “Where is Miss Samuels going?”
“I do not presume to know, my lord.” When Damon frowned, Mr. Brown glanced toward the front door and then back to him. “I can catch her and ask, if that is your wish.”
Their
agreement, as with every governess before her, left no questions about responsibilities. She was allotted one day off per week, and evenings were to be spent however she saw fit as long as the children were asleep, and she returned before sunrise. Neither Damon nor the butler had any right to question the governess’s private comings and goings. There was a certain amount of freedom afforded to governesses that was not given to other servants.
“It appeared she was going for a walk,” Damon mused, keeping a close watch on his butler. Did the man know more than he was sharing? There was not much the old butler missed, and it was quite possible the servant was well aware of Miss Samuels’ penchant for gambling. “Mayhap a turn about the square will do me well. A spot of crisp, fresh air.”
The butler shot Damon a narrowed glance as he collected Damon’s greatcoat. “I cannot attest to anything on the matter, my lord. My old bones freeze with the winter weather. But do enjoy your…walk.”
Damon pulled the limp cravat from his neck and handed it to the butler before fastening the buttons at this throat and donning his coat. It would have to do, or he’d risk losing Miss Samuels to the night if he dallied a moment longer.
“Very well, I will be off.” Damon stood awkwardly, expecting the servant to question him further; instead, he nodded and opened the door.
Part of him hoped Mr. Brown would attempt to convince him to remain at Ashford Hall, tell him the weather was too unpredictable for an outing at this ungodly hour, or at the very least give him a reproachful glare.
But his trusted family servant would never lower himself to such behavior.
For once, Damon longed for a butler who overstepped his position.
He walked into the night, realizing that this was his first jaunt out of Ashford Hall in nearly a week. The cold air burned his lungs as he breathed deeply and pulled his coat tighter around himself to ward off the chill. There was little telling how far Miss Samuels planned to travel, or if she’d spoken the truth to Mr. Brown. She could easily make the short walk to Grosvenor Street, hail a hack, and disappear into the night.
The Gambler Wagers Her Baron Page 12
