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

by Christina McKnight

  “You needn’t list the benefits of a day at the museum, Miss Samuels.” Damon paused with a bite of pheasant nearly at his mouth. “You are free to take the children places whenever you deem they have behaved well enough for the excursion. Mrs. Brown will give you the coin needed for entry, and Mr. Brown will have a carriage at your disposal.”

  “But, Father, you will not come with us?” Disappointment hung heavy in Joy’s tone.

  “Your father does not sit idly about all day,” Miss Samuels tsked.

  Damon set his utensil next to his plate with a little more force than necessary. “You do not have to come to my defense, Miss Samuels.”

  “I did not mean—”

  “It is all right.” He paused, focusing on his food to calm his nerves. With only a few words, all of the light, jovial mood fled the room, taking with it his children’s smiles. “Joy and Abram are children. I am an adult—with responsibilities. I cannot neglect said responsibilities to frolic in the park or visit a museum I’ve been to over a dozen times before. However, if Joy and Abram wish to see the exhibits, you can accompany them.”

  “Very well, Lord Ashford.” Payton lowered her head and set about finishing her meal, as did his children.

  He hadn’t meant to be difficult or brash, nor could he allow himself to give in to the hope and anticipation swirling within him after their kiss.

  It was just that there were boundaries to adhere to, and propriety to maintain. Gallivanting about London with his children’s governess was neither proper nor acceptable. It was better for them all if he remained at Ashford Hall while they ventured out.

  He’d relished—reveled in, actually—the changes taking place in his household. Though he feared them, as well. On his way to the breakfast parlor, he’d heard Mr. Brown whistling—whistling. Yet, it was Damon who needed to remember how quickly things could change. The household’s air could turn silent just as swiftly as it had turned cheerful.

  His children’s dejected and sullen glances in his direction were not something he’d anticipated. It was as if the last couple of days had undone the past four years of distance. Even Payton appeared unhappy with his decision to remain home instead of accompanying them on their outing.

  “Miss Samuels.” Damon pushed back his chair, his appetite gone, and his headache returned. “If you’d be so kind as to attend me in my study when you are done with your meal.”

  She didn’t so much as take her eyes off her food when she spoke, “As you wish, my lord.”

  As he wished? Damon wished for many, many things. Another private moment with Miss Samuels was at the top of that list, although he had no right to desire her company. It had been a mistake to invite her to join him, one he’d resisted since their kiss.

  “Enjoy your meal,” he grunted before departing the room.

  The fact that neither of his children met his stare shouldn’t injure him as it did.

  The baron was going to release her from her duties, Payton was certain of it. Why else would he demand her presence in his study after ignoring her for so many days? Letting her go after agreeing to their museum outing would hurt Joy and Abram greatly, possibly more even than their father turning down their invitation to join them.

  She stood outside the closed study door for several minutes after the children’s voices had faded as they made their way upstairs. She smoothed her hands down her skirts, wishing she’d changed her gown before their evening meal. Chalkdust clung to her bodice, and a spot of ink had found its way onto her sleeve. At least her hairpins still remained solidly in place.

  In her mind, she heard her sister Samantha’s voice, chiding her for neglecting her appearance. “If your dress is pressed and wrinkle-free, your hair is in place, and your gloves pristine, you can command any room, Payton.”

  She wanted to laugh at her sister’s irrational thinking.

  A woman’s dress, hair, and adornments did not speak for the woman within.

  “Miss Samuels?”

  Mr. Brown, the Ashford butler, watched her intently where she stood frozen in the hall.

  Payton smiled, knowing the elderly servant felt responsible for everyone under the baron’s roof, not just her. He was kind and caring to all the staff, along with the baron and his children. “Good evening, Mr. Brown. The baron asked to speak with me after I finished my meal.”

  His lips pursed. “Shall I have Mrs. Brown bring tea?”

  “I do not think that necessary but thank you.” It was enough that she’d ruined her place at Ashford Hall, making it impossible to continue on. But to have the housekeeper witness her disgrace was unthinkable. “I am certain whatever he has to say will be completed in swift order, and I will be dismissed…to my chambers.”

  The butler nodded, his chin falling at a slight angle due to his age. “Very well, miss.”

  Nothing was very well; however, there was no need to share that with Mr. Brown.

  “Do have a restful night if I do not see you again this evening,” she said with a smile.

  Payton faced the door, her hand poised on the latch. Everything her mother had taught her during their short time together was before her. It was time to move on. She should not fear doing so. Life improved with each new opportunity.

  Releasing the latch, she raised her hand and knocked to announce her arrival.

  “Enter.” The single-word command should have irritated her, but there was no bite behind it.

  She pushed the door open and stepped into the study—so familiar after her many conversations with the baron over the last month, yet it remained his private domain. She surveyed the room, finding the baron sitting in his favored chair, facing the open fire.

  “Have a seat, Miss Samuels,” he said, his stare never leaving the hearth. She expected to find a tumbler in his hand, filled with liquor—or empty, depending on how long she’d tarried in the hall. No glass rested between his fingers nor on the table near his elbow. In fact, his hands were clenched in tight fists on the armrests of his chair.

  Had she upset him again?

  “Drink?” he asked, tilting his head toward the sideboard as if inviting her to collect her own.

  “No, thank you, my lord.” She lowered to perch on the lounge.

  “Not there.”

  Payton quickly stood, taking in her other option—a matching chair to the baron’s seat, also facing the fire. Perhaps that was best, at least she wouldn’t have to see the relief on his face when he stripped her of her duties.

  She sank into the overstuffed chair, instantly knowing why Lord Ashford preferred the seat over the lounge. The cushion contoured to her bum and back, cocooning her in a softness she’d never experienced before.

  The silence between them was almost comforting. He didn’t speak; therefore, he hadn’t told her that she must leave her position.

  The minutes stretched on and on, seemingly endless as they both stared into the fire, its warmth wrapping them in its embrace. She longed to ask why he’d requested her presence but was loath to break the quiet stillness around them.

  Was this how he spent his hours locked in his study? Staring into the open flames and merely existing. Her own upbringing was rarely peaceful with a house full of siblings. There was always bantering and bickering, slamming doors and pounding feet. Despite Joy’s and Abram’s childish episodes, the household was orderly and quiet most of the time.

  When she first arrived, the overwhelming silence had unnerved her.

  Now, she wondered if she could return to the chaos of Craven House—or more importantly, if she wanted to. Despite knowing that she shouldn’t want to return home, there was a sense of comfort in the chaotic nature of her childhood home. She’d spent the last several months preparing for her future—a future outside the bounds of her family—yet the lure of home picked at her subconscious.

  Obviously, with no money to her name, and her debt with the duke still unsettled, she had no other choice.

  Perhaps that was what made it all so troubling: the
idea that the choice was once again being stripped from her.

  At her side, the baron’s brow furrowed, his fists clenching and unclenching as if he worked through something in his mind. His breathing was shallow and quick, tension evident in the set of his shoulders and back.

  He’d appeared at ease and almost jovial in the dining hall despite his mood turning solemn after she’d spoke out in his defense. At the moment, he seemed to have returned to the man she’d met when she first came to Ashford Hall. Burdened and…almost defeated. The crushing weight of his indiscernible troubles threatening to finally overtake him.

  Payton had been foolish enough to think that their outing and their kiss would change things—anything.

  It had certainly changed everything for her. No, not changed, but it had altered her perception.

  Perhaps too much time had passed, too many issues remained unsolved, and the damage was far more profound than she’d imagined. Did he struggle with things that she was unaware of?

  The clock on the mantel above the hearth chimed seven. She’d asked Mr. Curtis to come and collect her at half past the hour. That left her thirty minutes to have the children abed and herself waiting down the street for the Craven House servant.

  The baron had asked her here for a reason, to speak about something, but his silence continued.

  “My lord?”

  He flinched at her words but kept his narrowed stare focused straight ahead.

  “Will you be going out tonight?” His question was unexpected. Besides the night she’d discovered him following her home from Galment’s, he’d never queried her about her comings and goings.

  “Yes.” There was no reason to lie.

  “I will also be leaving for the evening,” he said. “I will have a carriage readied for your use.”

  “I do not need—”

  He turned sharply to face her, his entire countenance heavy with something akin to fatigue. That was not something new.

  “I will not spend my infrequent evening away from Ashford Hall fretting over you walking the dark streets,” he said in a rush before his lips pressed closed. “Is it not enough I have to worry about my children’s welfare that you will add yourself to the burden?”

  “I am a grown woman. A hired servant in your home, my lord,” she replied quietly. “Do you worry when the maid goes to the market? Or a footman out on an errand?”

  He remained silent.

  “I am no different than a maid or the footman.”

  “The bloody hell you are not,” he huffed. He rubbed the back of his neck, but his built-up tension did not leave, even Payton could see that much. He breathed in and exhaled, the sound louder than the crackle of the fire. “Never have I worried over the whereabouts of another governess or maid for that matter, and there have been many with likely more to come. Yet, with you, I…”

  The silence stretched between them once more as the tension inside her twisted tightly at the insinuation in his words.

  “I do not want to care about you,” he whispered, so softly she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “When will you return?”

  She would not admit that she was fleeing Ashford Hall for Craven House. It was none of his concern—her past, her present, or her future.

  “Before the children awaken.” She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.

  “Very well.” His words sounded flippant to her, but his tone conveyed that things were not well at all.

  “I will see to the children and depart for the evening.” Payton stood and started for the door, expecting the baron to stop her. To call for her to return. To command her to remain here, with him. To say or do…something before she crossed the threshold into the hall beyond.

  But he remained silent. And still.

  If this were how her mother’s entanglements ended, Payton would be happy to leave Damon behind. To hollow silence. The playacting that what had transpired between them had been forgettable and not worth mentioning. The feigned laughter and jesting from the dining hall.

  With a sigh, Payton fled the study, keeping her steps measured and unhurried as she made her way to the stairs. The last thing she was willing to do—and she was willing to do many things—was allow the baron to know he’d hurt her as well as his children.

  Chapter 18

  Payton pulled the pins from her hair, allowing her gathered waves to hang freely down her back before she threw herself on the chaise in Marce’s gold and red office. Her long, mahogany curls trailed on the rug below where she lay, but she paid it no mind.

  The room was startlingly empty without her eldest sister on her throne behind the feminine desk. How many times had Payton been summoned to this very room while Marce held court over her younger, impertinent, disobedient siblings? She’d been beckoned to attend her sister when she was caught pickpocketing with Ellie when they were only twelve. She’d been hauled into the room by Garrett when he found her cheating at cards at a dinner party. She’d been taken to task in this very room when Marce discovered her slipping into her upstairs window after a night wandering Covent Garden.

  It all seemed a lifetime ago. And childish.

  She’d been so contrary in her youth.

  Difficult to believe that she’d changed so much since her arrival at Ashford Hall.

  When had her actions begun to have such severe consequences? When had her words taken on such import? Her plans for her independence, her life to come, had developed since she’d moved out of Craven House. They’d become more real and encroaching, if that were even possible; as if she were only now coming to understand the gravity of her choices.

  And why had the baron taken any interest in her?

  He’d all but ignored her since their kiss, only joining her and the children for meals. Nothing more.

  She scoffed at Damon’s earlier declaration. He planned to spend his evening away from Ashford Hall, as well. The man hadn’t spent so much as a single evening outside his townhouse in all the weeks she’d lived there. He rarely even left during the daytime, but he thought to go out tonight. But why even speak of it to her?

  She ran her hands through her loose hair, her fingers tangling in the long waves, and she had to tug several times to free them.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, likely Mr. Curtis coming to collect her to return to the baron’s house. It was as they’d done over a dozen times since she’d taken the position as the Ashford governess, the only difference being that she knew that Damon would not be home when she returned.

  Where could the man have gone?

  The door to the office opened without a knock, and Payton twisted on the chaise, her head hanging off the side.

  “What in heavens are you doing?” Her brother filled the open doorway.

  From her vantage point, Garrett was upside down…the entire world topsy-turvy.

  “Wallowing,” she offered. “You?”

  “Hiding,” he mused, sinking onto the chaise beside her.

  “I never thought I’d say this, let alone admit it to you. However,” she paused, shifting her head back onto the chaise, “I miss Marce…and Jude.”

  “What of Samantha?” he jested.

  Payton wrinkled her nose. “She can remain abroad with Ridgefeld.”

  At that, Garrett chuckled, setting his hand on her outstretched legs. “Sam is a bit of an oddity, is she not?”

  “We are all peculiar in our own way; however, she lacks Jude’s empathy.”

  “What do you know of empathy?” he asked.

  “More and more as the days go by, I fear,” she mumbled, lifting her neck slightly to clasp her hands behind her head.

  “Is my little Pay growing up?”

  “I have never been your little Pay, Garrett,” she retorted but laughed when he feigned injury. “It is only that life is difficult, and decisions are not always easy. Do you think Jude’s choice to wed Simon was something she labored over?”

  “What has you pondering marriage?” He pinched her leg through her sk
irts, and she kicked at him to stop.

  “Not marriage, but change.” She wasn’t certain what she hoped Garrett would say. “What of you? Was it difficult to make the decision to move on, to leave us, departing Craven House for life at the Albany?”

  “I wasn’t moving on or leaving you,” he grunted. “I am a man. Despite my meager inheritance from my father, I cannot expect Marce to take care of me forever. I have to find my own way in life. But I did not move on from my family. I hope to one day have something to give the four of you. At the moment, I can give Marce some semblance of contentment knowing that I can care for myself.”

  “Jude is wed to Simon, and Sam to Elijah. You are living at the Albany and doing Lord only knows what during your time away from Craven House.” She snuck a glance at him, hoping he’d share a bit of what he was up to when he was not with her, but he remained silent. Every time she attempted to gain a peek into his London life, he said nothing…or evaded her questions with comments such as hiding with no further explanation. “I suppose it is only I who Marce has to fret over now.”

  “Not true.” He shook his head. “She is pleased that you are doing well in the baron’s employ. Perhaps that is why she left so unexpectedly for one of her mysterious trips. She is satisfied we are all cared for, Perhaps, she will find a husband herself before long.”

  Payton snorted, and Garrett broke into unrestrained laughter.

  The thought of their eldest sister…with a man…was preposterous.

  “Marce will wed the same day I swear off the gaming tables,” Payton chuckled, her stomach aching from her deep laughter. “Besides, she can’t marry. What would happen to Craven House?”

  “I suppose she’d have no use for the property.”

  “What if I moved home?”

  His brow rose before his stare narrowed on her. “Are you leaving your post at Lord Ashford’s?”

  “Of course, not.” She sat up, swinging her feet to the floor. “I only meant, what if I ever needed to return to Craven House?”