The Gambler Wagers Her Baron: Craven House Series, Book Four

by Christina McKnight

  Safety. Security. The two things he’d strove to provide for his children. And he’d nearly failed them.

  “How is she doing?” Miss Samuels whispered, stepping into the darkened room.

  Mrs. Brown, with the help of a maid, had pulled all the curtains tight, blocking out the waning late-afternoon light.

  “She is asleep. But her breathing is labored, and her chest sounds heavy,” he confided. “The water was dreadfully cold. Mrs. Brown made her a tonic to ward off illness after the doctor saw to her. Pure fright, he proclaimed. Nothing more. She needs rest now. And warmth.”

  Damon had been petrified to think of Joy falling prey to the fevers and chills that had overtaken her mother.

  “And what of you?” She pulled a chair close on the opposite side of Joy’s bed. “You will likely face sickness, too.”

  He grimaced at her concern. “I will be well.”

  His shoulders tensed. Just as he’d remained well as Sarah battled for her life.

  Damon watched the woman smooth Joy’s blond hair away from her face and adjust the blankets at her throat. How had she gone from battling his children to this affection, this seemingly innate connection?

  Perhaps it was the governess who’d fallen under Joy’s and Abram’s charms.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Miss Samuels truly cared for his children, and that brought him a measure of peace he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  “Abram is reading in his room,” she said. “Cook will bring a meal to him shortly.”

  “Thank you for tending to him.” Gratitude filled him. Damon had seen the boy to his room, quickly changed into dry clothes, and then returned to Joy.

  “My wife passed four years ago.”

  As if he needed to share this detail—or bring up the topic at all with everything that had transpired at the park. It was difficult to live under his roof without being reminded of Sarah’s absence. It was likely the same for everyone living at Ashford Hall.

  “It is the reason I’ve hired governess after governess,” he said, turning to stare at Joy, a new tenderness blossoming within him. “I am not the right man to care for my children, to teach them, to be…anything.”

  “I think you are the only man to do all those things. You are their father.”

  His heart pulled in his chest, and he fought against the tears that blurred his vision. “After Sarah died, I retreated. My grief was all-consuming. It still consumes me. Every day. Every hour. And my guilt over it all is far more severe. I let Sarah down, and I let my children down.” He sighed. “However, today, for just a few minutes, I forgot my hurt, my pain, my loss. We visited the menagerie, we stopped on Piccadilly, and we rested at the park. For once, my children and I were away from Ashford Hall and the constant reminders of everything we’ve suffered.

  “I think they forgot, as well. Yet with a blink of an eye, we were all reminded of how fragile life can be. I’ve spent so many years wallowing in my own shattered dreams, burdened with my own regrets and guilt, that I’ve neglected to realize my children still have a future ahead of them—even if mine was ripped from me. It took you, a most unlikely woman, to come into my household and begin to mend the damage Joy and Abram have lived with since Sarah’s death.”

  Damon lifted his gaze back to Miss Samuels when she remained silent. Unease and trepidation flooded him. He shouldn’t be telling her any of this. If she hadn’t been frightened off by the disaster at the pond, his candid confession would surely send her running for new employment.

  “How did you manage to break through their anger and change their troublesome ways?”

  The hint of a smile touched her mouth, and he noticed the plumpness of her bottom lip. “I have my own siblings, and we are a very quarrelsome bunch. Fortunately for you, they want to love you. They want to forgive and forget the past—although they are too young to express it.”

  He zeroed in on her initial statement regarding her family. It was the first she’d shared about herself with him. “You’ve mentioned your siblings before. Do they often give you trouble?”

  His question was meant to distract them both from the colossal mistakes he’d made with Joy and Abram.

  “No,” she said, her eyes darting to her hand that rested on the side of the bed. “I have always given them trouble. You see, I was an unruly child my whole life. Heeding another’s rules has never been a strong suit of mine, and that has never sat well with my sisters and brother. I was the youngest, I was the baby, and they knew what was best for me—or so they told me over and over.”

  Joy’s head lolled to the side, and she sighed in her sleep. Damon hoped she found herself in a beautiful dreamland and not amidst the terrors that had awoken her the other night.

  Damon watched Miss Samuels look upon Joy with a degree of tenderness he hadn’t seen before.

  “You will make a wonderful mother one day,” he muttered.

  She shook her head. “No, I do not think that is in my future, my lord.”

  “Why ever not?” He should have ended the conversation long before this point. What she had planned for her future was none of his concern, only that she remained in his employ for the foreseeable future, at least until Joy and Abram reached an age suitable for going away to school. However, he did know that becoming a mother had undeniably changed everything about Sarah, similar to how it had altered him as a man. “My apologies. You needn’t answer that.”

  Damon shoved to his feet, attempting to push from his thoughts the way the governess had changed in the short time she’d been in his life as a part of Joy’s and Abram’s lives.

  “My siblings and I—five of us in all—have three different fathers,” she confessed. “My mother was never one to settle or remain in a situation if it no longer benefited her. In turn, none of us had any relationship with our sires. I never met mine before I was told he passed away.”

  “Again, I am sorry—”

  She waved away his words, also pushing to her feet. She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Do not fret about my upbringing. My mother taught me strength and perseverance. I am, and always have been, steadfast in my resolve: that a woman can live a life of her own choosing…on her own terms. She can run a business, raise children, and still find contentment and happiness.”

  She’d shared more than she planned, he could see it written on her face: remorse, regret, and no small amount of annoyance. But if that final emotion were aimed at herself or him, Damon did not know. Her openness had him thinking of all the things he hadn’t shared with her during her stay at Ashford Hall.

  He moved around Joy’s bed to where the governess stood. “As I would tell my daughter,” he whispered with a small grin, “yes, a woman can do anything she sets her mind to. And that is no different for you, Payton.” He started inside at how natural it felt to use her given name. “However, having children and a family is not an inferior path in life. Some days, I do not know what I would do without Joy and Abram…they are all I have.”

  “What happened with your wife? If you don’t mind me asking,” she whispered, glancing at Joy, sound asleep in her bed. “I—I know she passed when the children were very young, but nothing beyond that.”

  No one spoke of Sarah; not him, not the servants, and rarely Joy and Abram.

  Damon squeezed his eyes shut, begging the tears to remain at bay and not fall as they commonly did when he thought back to that night. “I convinced Sarah that an early evening sleigh ride to a neighboring town would be a grand adventure. It was nearly the new year, and the children were safely nestled in their beds, their nurse close by. And so, Sarah and I started out, unwittily oblivious to the storm pushing toward Falconcrest, my country seat. Our horse took a misstep, and our sleigh was caught in a rut with the snowfall increasing.”

  Damon opened his eyes to find Payton intently watching him, her focus on the set of his jaw before moving to his eyes. He couldn’t go on, couldn’t admit his failures aloud. Not here, and not to the woman standing before
him. Their recently established relationship would dissipate and disappear before he even had the chance to finish telling his story—Sarah’s story…his family’s story.

  The resolve in Payton’s stare pushed Damon on. “We walked in the storm for hours with no shelter and only the warmth of our coats and huddled bodies. Until first light crested, breaking through the storm. By the time we found our way home, the chills had already begun to wrack Sarah’s body. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. And then the fever set in. The doctor was summoned, but it took nearly a day for him to make his way through the snowfall to reach the estate. By that time, it was...”

  Damon swallowed the final words—too late.

  He’d thrown himself into the pond because he refused for it to be too late for Joy. And in the depths of his mind, he knew he’d followed Payton the other night for the same reason.

  He reached out and took hold of Payton’s hand—her bare hand—when she looked away, her brow knitted. The feel of her skin against his warm palm was unlike anything he’d experienced in years. It felt right, yet so very wrong. Why was it so important to him that she understand the magnitude of his past failures, his damage?

  He pulled her toward the door and the safety of the hallway beyond.

  “My lord—”

  “Damon,” he corrected, halting only when they stood outside Joy’s chambers, the child blocked from view. “I think here—with just the two of us—you can call me Damon.”

  Her blue eyes widened before she looked away again, pulling at her single long, dark curl with her free hand.

  She did not pull her hand from his or put distance between them.

  Surprisingly, her skin warmed within his grasp.

  “My children are blessed to have you as their governess.” Damon took a step closer. Payton’s willowy height made her nearly as tall as he was. “And I will be forever grateful that you came into our lives when you did.” Before it was too late, he thought.

  She blushed and turned to stare at their clasped hands.

  “I think your siblings are wrong to believe they know what’s best for you,” he murmured. Just as Flora had been wrong to think she knew what was best for him and his children after Sarah’s passing.

  The memory of Payton, masked and elegantly gowned, losing to the duke at his gaming table pushed into Damon’s thoughts. He’d taken care of her debt, and she’d have nothing to fear from Catherton. He’d made so many mistakes over the years, but settling Payton’s gaming debts was not one of them.

  That was something he would never regret.

  As he looked into her deep blue eyes, her long, ebony lashes lowered, threatening to break the connection between them. Damon suspected that he might regret not releasing her hand in that moment, saying his good night, and fleeing to the solitude of his private chambers. At least if he did that, he’d have this small memory to relive without remorse of what came next.

  Instead, his fingers held fast to hers, his thumb massaging a circle on her palm.

  How had he never appreciated her beauty before this? Of course, he had noticed her stunning eloquence and graceful poise. How had he never observed that her floral aroma had invaded every inch of his home? How had he resigned himself to such a desolate future without considering all he’d be missing?

  She nibbled at her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth.

  Their thoughts—and longings—seemed to align, and she took the final step toward him, bring her soft, delicate body against his rigidly tense chest.

  Damon knew he should pull back, put distance between them, apologize for his ungentlemanly behavior; however, the simple comfort of her against him had the tension draining from him. It was as if he’d taken a deep breath four years ago and held it until he could do nothing but focus on the burning within him.

  The raging fire he held inside was suddenly not so unbearable.

  For once, he wanted to surrender to the flames, not extinguish them.

  In her eyes, he saw certainty, a confidence that had fled him years before. No longer did she glance away in doubt. She held his stare as if they were both in a raft, adrift in a sea that threatened to rip them from safety and send them both tossing and turning into the midnight waters.

  “I want to be ripped away,” he sighed.

  She tilted her head to the side, and her tongue darted across her plump lower lip.

  Her eyes closed before she lifted the mere few inches to press her lips to his. Damon yielded to her, allowed her control. And bloody hell, it was everything he needed. Her soft, insistent, rhythmic kiss set the pace, allowing Damon to revel in the feeling of her pressed against him, the heat of her mouth covering his, the security of her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

  The years of pain, guilt, and remorse within him broke, shattered, and he sensed the pieces within him fusing back together, creating a deep longing, a desire, the unmistakable need to hold Payton close and not let go.

  Not fail her.

  In this moment, and the many to come.

  A groan escaped him as her fingers tightened on his shoulders, digging into his coat.

  Damon brought his hand to her cheek, his fingers trailing down her neck as she inhaled sharply.

  He thought she’d pull away, but instead, she pushed close to him, her slender body fitting perfectly against his.

  Intoxicating need gathered at his manhood, the rigid length hardening until pain shot into his stomach. He hadn’t experienced such heady desire since…

  Much like an ocean of water extinguishing a single flame, Damon’s hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped away from Payton. Cold air rushed between them, smothering the final remnants of their brief but fiery passion.

  What was he doing?

  Miss Samuels was his children’s governess. His heart, all his desires, belonged to Sarah—and no one could replace her.

  Payton stared up at him, hurt and confusion furrowing her brow, the appearance of an unvoiced question upon her lips.

  Damon cleared his throat as he took another large step back, fisting his hands at his sides.

  “I think it is time I retire.” His voice was thick with an emotion he couldn’t identify. Didn’t want to name.

  Desire, longing—need.

  Or remorse, regret—and betrayal?

  “Good evening, Miss Samuels,” he stuttered. “I am sorry I kept you. I can care for the children for the afternoon and night. Do continue with your evening plans.”

  He stared over her shoulder and down the deserted hall, not daring to meet her eyes and see the hurt he’d created. It was not enough that his children were growing attached to Payton, now he was falling under her spell. They would all suffer the loss when she left them.

  Damon could not risk losing another person he cared for.

  He felt lighter, an increasingly prevalent weight having been lifted from his burdened shoulders. Yet, at the same time, his past collided with their kiss. Payton had offered him a piece of herself, and he was faltering, terrified to accept it for fear of what might come of it.

  “Good evening.” He gave her a stiff bow and brushed past her, his stare trained down the corridor and focused on his escape.

  Chapter 16

  Payton stumbled along the hallway outside Joy’s bedchambers, her fingers pressed to her hot, swollen lips, and glanced up and down the hall. Lord Ashford had disappeared. Somewhere deep in the townhouse, a door shut with more force than was necessary. Had he fled to his study, the library, or his private chambers?

  She exhaled the breath she’d held since he—Damon—had pulled away from their kiss.

  What had she been thinking?

  Blood rushed through her veins as the knot in her stomach loosened. She hadn’t been thinking…not at all.

  She’d kissed the baron.

  Kissed him while his daughter slept just out of view…after nearly drowning in a pond.

  While her heart slowed, her lips still pulsed in time with the beat.

  T
hey’d shared a private, emotional experience, and she’d misread his intentions. His desires. His wants.

  The last thing she’d been thinking about was her evening plans. For once, Payton hadn’t been dwelling on departing Ashford Hall to find a gaming house, nor escaping the baron and his children. She’d actually longed for him to hold her close, even if it were only for a short time. Instead, he’d pulled away and told her to leave.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave with Joy in such a state—the child was her responsibility. She should be at her bedside.

  When she made no move, he’d fled.

  Her time in the baron’s household had finally become bearable. She and the children had come to understand one another. She’d settled into a companionable relationship with the other servants. And the baron had blessedly begun to spend more time with his children; which they desperately needed. And through all of this, she was earning a decent wage.

  And she’d ruined it all.

  There was no way she could stay in the baron’s household now.

  It would be surprising if he didn’t release her by morning. She’d known the time would eventually come for her to move on, but she wasn’t ready. Hadn’t thought this moment would happen so soon. What had happened to her? She’d been planning her departure from Ashford Hall since the day she’d been given the post. Never was the thought of what was to come next far from her mind. When had she stopped looking toward her future?

  Perhaps Damon was correct. She should continue as she’d planned, act as if their kiss meant nothing. They’d both been overwhelmed with fright over Joy. They’d both shared a piece of themselves. They’d both found themselves lost in their own vulnerability.

  It was as simple as that. Their intimacy wasn’t born of any innate connection, but their own personal hurt and anguish.

  Perhaps an evening away from Ashford Hall was exactly what Payton needed. She could only hope that by morning, the baron would have put behind him what happened and not release her from her position.