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

by Christina McKnight

  It had taken Payton some time to gain Joy’s and Abram’s trust and, therefore, their respect. However, as their family, Lady Wittenbottom was required to care for her kin. And it was even easier now that everything was different. The wall Joy and Abram had constructed around themselves had quickly crumbled. Even Payton had gone against her better sense and grown attached to the children. Affection for the duo was no longer lacking in the least.

  Was Damon aware of his sister’s disdain for children?

  In the dim dining area, the baron shook his head with a frown and laid his fork beside his plate. Payton did not think the family meal progressing well at all until the baron turned to the younger, red-haired woman and…smiled. Damon spoke to the woman and the children, shifting his seat over a few inches to be closer, and his mood appeared to lighten.

  It could not be.

  Payton narrowed her glare on the baron, his children, and the two women as a servant appeared and collected their empty plates.

  The day was suddenly overly warm, and beads of perspiration broke out on Payton’s forehead at the same moment her lungs ached. She held her breath without realizing it.

  Damon said something that had Joy breaking out into a fit of giggles, while Abram cracked into a much more sedate grin. Even the auburn-haired woman eased a bit, and the hint of a smile spread across her face before her expression returned to her previous stern countenance.

  There was no other explanation for the meeting, or for giving Payton the prior day off. It had all been a ruse. She was being replaced.

  The woman inside the restaurant with Damon, his sister, and the children bore a striking resemblance to every tutor and governess Payton had had in her youth. She had a severe, reserved nature only possessed by those who dedicated their life to instructing the young.

  The baron was hiring a new governess for the children, and from how well the meeting was going, it appeared he planned to give Payton no notice of being let go.

  There should be a considerable measure of relief at the sight. The children would fare well without her, and the baron could continue to grow closer to his children if he allowed himself to do so. However, it was only disappointment…and a sense of coming loss that coursed through Payton. She’d become too lax and comfortable at Ashford Hall, despite reminding herself daily that she should set her sights on what came next for her.

  She couldn’t entertain the option of permanently returning to Craven House and falling once more under Marce’s watchful eye. Perhaps she could implore Samantha and her husband to allow her to travel with them? However, that much time with Sam would quickly fray Payton’s nerves. There was always Jude and Simon, though Jude’s mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess Cartwright, was an ogre of a woman, and even Jude found her tolerable in only small doses.

  Payton set off down the street, her aching stomach forgotten as she made her way to the modiste’s shop.

  If she remembered correctly, Lord Cartwright’s younger sister, Lady Theodora, was studying at a girls’ boarding school in Canterbury. What was the school called? Miss Emmeline’s School of Education and Decorum for Ladies of Outstanding Quality. Such a silly, cumbersome name for a school, but perhaps Payton, with the aid of Jude, could secure a position teaching at the institute. There was not much in the way of social engagements in Canterbury, though it was something she could become accustomed to if there were no other choice.

  She stalked down the sidewalk, her reticule hanging from her clenched fist. Holding her chin high, she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She would not cry over such a trivial matter. She’d planned to move on, leave the baron and his children behind, and secure a more superior position. It should please her that Damon had the foresight to do the same.

  The bell over the modiste’s door chimed as she pushed through it into the bustling shop.

  “Miss Samuels,” Madame DelFortaine greeted her with a smile. “Are you here to collect your gowns?”

  “Only my gown, please.” She suppressed her guilt at the modiste’s wide-eyed stare. “Have the child’s dress delivered to Ashford Hall on Saint George Street.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Payton waited as the modiste sent her servant to collect the cream-colored, off-the-shoulder ball gown she’d had commissioned on the baron’s account. The gown had been an extravagant purchase, costing three times as much as the morning dress Joy and Abram had ruined. At the time, Payton had been taken aback by the modiste’s insistence that she replace the ruined dress with a gown of such fine quality and cut; however, Madame DelFortaine and explained that the baron had given strict instructions as to the cost of the gown. And now that he’d seen fit to replace Payton, the extreme cost of the dress seemed more of a parting gift than an extravagance.

  Chapter 21

  Payton leapt down from the Craven House carriage, startling Mr. Curtis with her unexpected and unladylike jump onto the Ashford walk. She hadn’t bothered to instruct the Craven House servant to park down the street. It would not take her long within the townhouse.

  “Do wait here, please, Mr. Curtis,” she threw over her shoulder as she stalked to the front door. “I shall only be a few moments.”

  She didn’t wait for his response but raised her gloved hand to knock. The door swung open to reveal Mr. Brown’s grinning, wrinkled face.

  “Good morn, Miss Samuels.” He stood back and allowed her entrance. “I was beginning to worry.”

  It had taken all of Payton’s resolve not to return to Ashford Hall the night before and tell the baron precisely what she thought of him. He was aloof, cold, distant, and highly unqualified to be raising two children.

  However, she’d adjusted her plans by the time the sun rose.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brown.” The hour was ungodly early at only seven o’clock. It would be best if she collected her things, left the letter on the baron’s desk, and departed before the household was fully awake. “Is the baron in his study yet this morning?”

  Payton started for the stairs, and the butler fell into place beside her, matching her long strides. “He is, in fact, up early this morning and already at work.”

  Her step faltered. “Lord Ashford is awake and in his study already?”

  The butler nodded toward the baron’s office where the door stood ajar.

  She hadn’t expected to find him up and already below stairs. In fact, she’d hoped he’d be having a lie-in after hosting his gaming evening the previous night, giving her another thirty minutes at least to pack her room, leave her letter, and escape before Damon or the children came downstairs to take their morning meal.

  Her hopes had been dashed, though her anger had yet to ebb.

  Grasping her skirts, she held them up from the floor and started for the study.

  Speaking directly to the baron would have to do as he would certainly hear the commotion if she attempted to remove her trunk from Ashford Hall and move it out to the walk where Mr. Curtis waited.

  “Shall I announce you, Miss Samuels?” The elder servant attempted to keep pace with her but was falling behind.

  “No need.” Payton slipped into the study and closed the door at the same moment the butler scoffed at the brashness of her entering unbidden.

  “Miss Samuels?” Confusion laced Damon’s voice, and her shoulders tensed at the softness. “Good morning. It is lovely to have you back. I do hope you enjoyed—”

  “Stop,” she commanded, taking a deep breath before leveling her narrowed stare on the baron. She needs must think of him as the baron or better still, Lord Ashford if she had any hope of making it through this without showing the bloody man how much it hurt her. She took her painstakingly neat letter from the pocket of her cloak. It had taken nearly three hours to write it as she attempted to collect her words yet keep her emotions out of the situation.

  He stood from his desk, his eyes trained on the paper clutched in her hands.

  “What have you there, Payton?” She detected a hint of unease in his to
ne.

  Payton glanced down at her hands before raising her chin and pointedly staring at him across the room, attempting to keep her irritation at bay at his insistence on using her given name. Why had she kissed him and allowed him to kiss her back? If it hadn’t been for that brief lapse in judgment, she would be able to continue on as Joy and Abram’s governess.

  That wasn’t true.

  The boundaries had been crossed long before their kiss.

  What of the night he’d invited her into this very room and offered her a drink? She’d accepted without a second thought. It was in that moment that things had changed between them. He was no longer the aloof, reserved baron who all but ignored his children, and she was no longer the ill-tempered governess who couldn’t bring his children to heel.

  They’d come to an unspoken agreement as they shared a scotch. He’d told her of the woman he’d lost, and she’d shared a bit about her past.

  Now, there was nothing of the quiet, intimate moment remaining.

  By the light of day, everything was different. He was different, and she most definitely was.

  She walked toward his desk and held out the letter. “My resignation letter, my lord.”

  After he’d taken the paper from her, she could do nothing but twine her fingers, squeezing them so tightly, her knuckles surely turned white beneath her gloves. She could not look at him—did not want to see the satisfaction on his face to know that he did not have to release her and commit to severance pay. Payton was undertaking the difficult task herself.

  She heard, rather than saw him unfold the letter.

  It would be wise for her to pivot and depart the room. She hadn’t many possessions at Ashford Hall, mainly a handful of dresses, two pairs of slippers, boots, underpinnings, and her brushes. A few hairpins and ribbons—but not much else.

  When she’d taken the position as governess, she’d arrived with only her traveling trunk. In truth, she could have carried all her possession if the need had arisen. Thankfully, Mr. Curtis waited just outside the townhouse.

  “You are leaving?” he whispered.

  She glanced up to see Damon’s questioning stare.

  “I think it best I move on,” she replied. Her voice remained steady without so much as a waver in her tone.

  “Best for whom?”

  “For all considered.” She’d expected this to be the easy part, giving her notice and collecting her things.

  “You think to know what’s best for me?” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “For my children?”

  She cleared her throat. “My apologies, my lord. Best for me, this is best for my future.”

  “Where will you go?” he demanded.

  Belatedly, she realized he had no intention of making this easy for her, even though they both knew this was what they both wanted.

  Of all the questions, why would he be concerned with where she went after departing his employ?

  “Home, though that is none of your concern.” She bit out the words with more force than intended.

  “What of the children?” Was it hurt that etched his face? “They need a governess, Miss Samuels.”

  “And you shall find another. If you haven’t already.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Come now, my lord—”

  “Damon,” he all but growled across the desk.

  “That is improper and far too informal, Lord Ashford.” Every word was like a dagger to her chest. She wanted to call him by his given name, just as she wanted to hear her name from his lips at least once more. “We both know after what happened, this is best. You will find another suitable governess, and the children will continue to thrive. Of that, I have no doubt.”

  “Nothing has changed.” He pounded his fist on the desk, causing Payton to flinch. “You know that as well as I.”

  She shook her head. “We both know it is impossible to return to the way things were.”

  “Damnation,” he hissed. “I do not want you to leave, and my children need you.”

  Payton laughed, though the sound rang false and hollow.

  Was she using their kiss as an excuse to escape? Certainly, she was not misreading everything that’d transpired since that night. The baron had all but demanded she leave that night and proceeded to give her the next afternoon off. They both knew what’d happened between them was a mistake and could never happen again. The only way to make sure it didn’t was for the baron to be rid of her and hire another governess.

  He was pushing her away.

  She was not fleeing.

  And it was all for good reason.

  She remembered his words from before. That he didn’t want to care about her or any servant to come.

  “Be that as it may”—she shook her head ruefully—“I must. Wants and needs cannot outweigh everything else. Besides, you know it is for the best. You’ve already started the process of finding someone to replace me.”

  “That is ludicrous,” he snapped, his entire body tense, even as his eyes softened.

  Payton slipped her fists into the pockets of her cloak to hide her clenched, aching hands. This was for the best…she knew that, and Damon knew that, despite his denial. This arrangement had never been meant to be permanent. It had come to its natural conclusion, and she would not mourn it, only look to what would come next for her.

  “It is not ludicrous, nor unexpected, my lord.” She took a step back at the same time his eyes lightened with…what? Anger? Betrayal? Confusion?

  There was nothing to be angry over. She couldn’t allow any feelings of betrayal as they owed one another nothing. His confusion was what kept her in the room. Damon had no right to be confused about her leaving her position. He was the one meeting with another governess. He was the one relieving her of her duties and granting her days off. He was the one avoiding her at every turn.

  “If you will allow me to pack my things—”

  His glared burned feverishly into her as he rocked forward. “Do you think I would have settled your gaming debt with Catherton if I expected you to pack your things and disappear into the night?”

  His confession was akin to a slap across the face. All these weeks, she’d been set on earning her own way, taking care of herself, and truly living a life free from oversight. How had she not noted that hadn’t been the case at all?

  “I am not disappearing into the night, Damon.” Her voice was a near shout before she fell silent, every nerve in her body on alert. She’d been a fool, harrying to and fro in an attempt to find a way to repay the duke, when Damon had already seen to the matter as if she were the baron’s charge. “You paid my debt to the duke? How did you…why would you…I cannot…”

  He held his hand out between them, palms up. “You, obviously, did not have the means to settle your debt.”

  “That is not for you to judge, Lord Ashford.” Fury rolled under her skin, and her face grew heated at his highhandedness. “How dare you.”

  “How dare I?” he demanded. “How dare you enter my home on a lark, disguised as a proper lady of the ton, only to abscond when your debt grew too large to handle.”

  She sucked in a breath as if he’d physically struck her. He knew her ruse as the masked woman. He’d overstepped his bounds by settling her debt with the duke. And now he challenged her standing as a proper woman. She may be little more than the daughter of a blacksmith and his whore, but never had she lowered herself to crying off when her debts seemed insurmountable. She was a gambler, but never an outright thief.

  “You go too far,” she hissed, suppressing the urge to stomp her foot in fury. “No man will ever own me.”

  Was this what her mother had feared most? When a man thought himself above his position and misguidedly assumed that a woman needed to be cared for. Payton could take care of herself. She might owe money, but no one controlled her. Except, now, the baron owned her.

  It was no longer Catherton who held her debt but Damon.

  Chapter 22

&
nbsp; Damon was around the desk before he had time to think, standing face-to-face with Payton, his stare pleading with her to understand. He should be the angry one. He should be the one questioning her motives. He should be the one unsurprised by her determination to leave him.

  He was always the one left behind.

  “You do not understand,” he said. “Catherton was prepared to call the magistrate, to start a manhunt—a womanhunt—for you. You fled without making good on your debt. He would have scoured the streets of London until he learned your identity. He would not have stopped until you paid dearly for your actions. Catherton’s arrogance and pride would have demanded it of him, even if the debt were a mere shilling.”

  “I did not ask for, nor do I want a protector.”

  “And I did not ask for a masquerading governess with mounting debts.” He paused, staring down his nose at her attempting to muster a bit of disdain, but failing miserably. “But despite that, here we both are.”

  “No, I am leaving.” She pivoted toward the door, and he sneaked out a hand to clasp her upper arm.

  “Wait—”

  “I will have someone come to collect my things,” she bit out between clenched teeth.

  “It was meant as a kindness, nothing more.” The fight left him with those words. Each true and meant to his core. “This is not a debt I expect to be repaid.”

  “No debt goes unsatisfied, my lord. I can assure you of that.” She pulled from his grasp and crossed her arms, her pointed glare stopping him from attempting to keep her any longer. “You have overstepped.”

  “Overstepped what?” he asked, his hand falling to his side as he fought to urge to clench his fingers into a fist.

  She might be angry, but he was not.

  “Propriety.” Her face reddened. “You have overstepped your place in my life. You are not my guardian, nor do you make any decisions for me, especially those concerning my financial circumstances.”

  He wanted to reach out to her and explain the unexplainable. But he held himself still, knowing that once she walked out, he might never see her again. He needed her to remain.