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

by Christina McKnight

  Her anger diminished as she tried to suppress her smile.

  She missed Garrett’s witty retorts almost as much as she longed to be a part of Joy and Abram’s sibling banter.

  “You are lucky I conduct myself with the utmost decorum, or I’d make certain the entire tureen tipped into your lap.” Payton stomped her foot and turned, heading for the door.

  “Ten o’clock sharp,” he called as she neared the threshold.

  She held her chin high as she flipped around to pin Garrett with her narrowed glare. “I’ll be ready, don’t you fear.”

  The deep rumbling of Garrett’s laughter echoed through the house, drowning out her heavy footfalls.

  Payton would have turned down Garrett’s invitation to attend Lord Loughton’s soiree were it not the perfect opportunity to put Damon out of her mind—and don the new gown he’d so aptly purchased for her.

  Payton stared at her reflection in the mirror as she held the string of pearls around her neck and clasped the latch. The satin with the lace overlay hugged her body, creating curves that would rival Samantha’s and enhancing the fitted bodice of the gown.

  Her hair was fashioned in the only style she was able to achieve without the assistance of one of her sisters; the top pinned back with her long, dark locks twisted in a single curl that hung over her bare shoulder. She’d adopted the style two years ago when she saw a woman on a fashion plate with a similar face structure to hers. It highlighted her creamy skin and catlike eyes.

  She’d even overheard a duke comment to his wife how rare and alluring she appeared.

  Payton wasn’t certain if the comment was meant to be a compliment or if she should feel offended; however, Sam had envied the proclamation for an entire fortnight. Soon after, she’d met Elijah, the Marquis of Ridgefeld, and her sister’s jealousy had dissipated without another thought.

  When Payton turned side to side, admiring the modiste’s fine work, she wondered what Damon would think of the gown—was the color to his liking, was the cut pleasing to his eye?

  “Humpf.” His opinion didn’t matter, couldn’t matter. Not now. Not after everything. The tall clock in the hall below stairs chimed, echoing through the house, propelling Payton away from her looking glass and toward her dressing closet. She grabbed her ankle-length cloak and her matching beaded reticule before hurrying from her room.

  She would not put it past Garrett to depart without her if she were not waiting in the foyer.

  Grasping her skirts, Payton took the stairs two at a time before jumping down the final three steps, her slippers making no sound on the polished floor. Odd how old habits returned quickly when she was in her childhood home. How many times had Garrett chased her down these exact stairs? How many times had she raced up them to avoid being caught by Jude or Sam? How many times had she slunk into the shadows at the landing, eavesdropping on Marce below?

  And now, her sister was so easily disposing of the house—their home—in favor of some property in the country.

  What was Payton to do? Despite her small savings, it wasn’t enough to support herself without Marce’s assistance or finding another position. Moving to the country with her sister was an option, but it would not bring her any closer to the life she wanted. If she remained in London she would quickly find herself out of funds—and alone.

  “Miss Payton?” Darla’s stern voice halted Payton, and she turned toward the hall leading to the kitchens. “Do ye be know’n these two troublemakers?”

  She gasped when she spied their trusted housekeeper holding Abram’s collar and Joy’s arm. Both children’s eyes were downcast as if they’d received one of Darla’s infamous reprimands.

  “What are you doing here?” Payton knelt before Joy, lifting the girl’s chin with her finger until her green eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, met hers.

  “We—we—we,” Joy stammered, sucking in her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

  “Caught ‘em sneaking ‘round the back and peep’n, I did.” Darla released her hold on both children and set her fisted hands on her ample hips.

  “I will handle them, Darla,” Payton said, standing. “Thank you for bringing them to me and not Marce.”

  “They be honest and say they be look’n for ye.” Darla’s eyes softened as she glanced between the children. “The two of ye could’a been kilt or stolen off the streets.”

  “I am certain they are sorry for frightening you, Darla. Isn’t that correct, children?”

  Joy and Abram moved to Payton’s side and turned to face the Craven House servant.

  “We are very sorry,” Abram said.

  “We did not mean to be caught, only to visit our governess as we were told she was sick.”

  Payton noticed the sprig of flowers nestled in the pocket of Joy’s pinafore.

  “Her gown is awful pretty to be worn when ill, Joy,” Abram hissed. “I shouldn’t have let you convince me to come with you.”

  Sick? Was it a lie that Damon had told to put off telling the children of her departure?

  “Be that as it may, I am happy you did accompany Joy, or something might have befallen her. London is a frightening place after dark.”

  “She would have fared well,” Abram shrugged. “Mr. Brown caught us trying to saddle Father’s stallion and had Digby and the stablemaster bring us.”

  “And what did your father say of your excursion?” she asked. She could not imagine that Damon would allow them to journey across London, after dark, to visit her.

  “He thinks we are asleep in our rooms.”

  Joy sighed. “Mrs. Brown brought supper up to our bedchambers and said we were not to go downstairs until morning. Father is having friends over.”

  “Friends?” Payton asked.

  “The ballroom was set up, as it normally is,” Abram clarified.

  “I see.” The baron was hosting another gaming night. “So you slipped from the house unnoticed?”

  Abram crossed his arms with a huff. “Those that care know where we are.”

  Payton’s heart broke a little at the boy’s words. There was a seriousness and a finality to his tone that no boy his age should have.

  “Your father cares very much,” she said. “For the both of you.”

  Darla tsked and ambled back toward the kitchen.

  “We thought maybe he did, but since you’ve been gone, he hasn’t been to see us, not even to check on our studies,” Joy whimpered with defeat. “We thought that after you kissed Father he would change, even keep you as our governess forever. But when you left…we feared you’d had a row.”

  Payton stood frozen in the hall.

  Their kiss? The children—or at least Joy—had witnessed their kiss?

  “We did not want you to go—”

  “Oh, dear one…” She’d heard Damon use the term on several occasions, and it came naturally to her lips. “You were not meant to see that.”

  “You and Father did have a row.” Abram’s chest puffed in reassurance, but it immediately sank when he realized the consequences.

  “I meant our kiss. It was a private moment between your father and me, nothing more.” Obviously, it had been nothing more to at least one of them. Payton didn’t want to discuss her intimate moment with the baron with Joy and Abram. “How did you know where to come to find me?”

  She’d always been careful when instructing Mr. Curtis to pick her up and drop her off several houses down from Ashford Hall.

  “Oh, that was simple,” Abram smiled. “Mr. Brown had you followed after you first started as our governess. He knew your directions.”

  Mr. Brown’s words floated through her mind, “My missus claims I sleep more soundly when all the household is accounted for.”

  Payton shouldn’t be surprised that the Ashford butler had taken precautions to make sure she was safe, no matter where she went.

  “Now, tell us, when are you coming back?” Joy demanded, her brow furrowing. “Or did you and Father really have a row?”

  She
wasn’t certain what the right answer was. Damon had been adamant that he’d tell the children of her departure, but that apparently hadn’t happened. It was understandable that he was hesitant to disappoint them. This would not be the first time their governess had left her position, nor would it likely be the last. With time, they would come to know Payton’s replacement.

  “Your father and I, and our association should not cause either of you any concern,” Payton said, immediately regretting her attempt to distract them. Despite her words to the contrary, it was certainly their concern. She was their governess, and Damon was their father. If it concerned anyone other than Payton and the baron, it was Joy and Abram. “We should get you both home before your father notices you are gone.”

  And before Garrett—or worse, Marce—stumbled upon them.

  “I told you, Abram, Miss Samuels and Father’s kiss did not mean—”

  “What is this?” Heavy footfalls sounded behind her, and Payton stiffened. “A kiss between my dear sister and Lord Ashford?”

  Garrett’s chuckle told her that she hadn’t fooled him in the slightest with her recent stay at Craven House.

  “Who are you, sir?” Joy’s chin jutted forward.

  “I am Lord Garrett Davenport,” he replied with a gallant bow. “And you, my lady, are?”

  “I am not a lady at all,” Joy retorted, obviously suspicious of Garrett. “Miss Joy Kinder. Lord Ashford’s daughter, and Miss Samuels’ charge.”

  “Very lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Kinder,” Garrett said, glancing up to wink at Payton. “However, since it has come to light that my sister has been linked romantically to your father, I think it best you call me simply Garrett, and I shall address you as Miss Joy.” When the girl nodded in approval, he continued. “Tell me, Miss Joy, why have I not made your acquaintance at a ball or, mayhap a recital, before now? I certainly would have asked for a dance—or two.”

  Payton couldn’t help but smile as Garrett spun his web of charm around the girl.

  “I am only six,” she preened, nervously tucking her blond hair behind her ear. “I shan’t have my coming out for another ten years my father says.”

  “A pity, Miss Joy,” he commiserated.

  “But Father did purchase me a lovely gown like Miss Samuels wears—”

  Payton set her hand on Joy’s shoulder, ready to end their delightful chat and be gone before Marce saw the children. “I think we should return you both to Ashford Hall.”

  “No point, Miss Samuels,” Abram said. “Father won’t notice we are gone until morning at the soonest. Perhaps not even until our midday meal. He is busy with his card game.”

  “Card game?” Garrett asked. “Is that not what—”

  Payton held up her hand, silencing what she knew her brother was going to say next. “We are headed to Lord Drummond’s soiree. On the way, we will see Joy and Abram safely to their bedchambers and then be off.”

  “But—”

  “No, Garrett.” Payton firmly shook her head. She would not allow her brother to convince her to remain in the baron’s home. “Children, safely home, and then we are leaving. That is all.”

  “How do you plan to sneak in?” he asked.

  Both children stared up at her, eyes rounded in question.

  At least the conversation had moved on from her and Damon having a row.

  “Mr. Brown was able to sneak them out, I cannot expect it will be difficult for me to see them back inside. Besides, Rigby and Mr. Brown likely already have a plan.”

  Garrett’s eyes widened as he glanced between the children and back at his sister. “This Mr. Brown allowed the children out. Alone. At night?”

  “I am as upset as you about this,” Payton said. “But right now, we must see about returning them with all due haste.”

  “Father’s coach is down the street,” Abram chimed in. “Rigby walked us here to your home.”

  “Very good.” Payton avoided her brother’s cool stare. He’d been the one to tell her about the baron’s gaming nights to begin with, and they’d attended a few nights together before she took the post as the Ashford governess. But she could not risk being seen by the baron. Their entanglement was over. He hadn’t stopped her from leaving, nor launched any great protest. Not that she’d given him many opportunities as her anger over his meddling with Catherton had her seeing red. “I will ride in the baron’s coach with the children. Garrett, you and Mr. Curtis will follow in the Craven House carriage. I will be in and out of Ashford Hall as quickly as possible, and we will be on our way.”

  Garrett pushed out his bottom lip and batted his eyes. “But—but—but, the baron’s coach would be far more comfortable than our ancient, decrepit conveyance.”

  To Payton’s utter disbelief, Joy stepped to Garrett’s side and took his hand in hers.

  “Yes, can he not ride with us?” Joy pleaded.

  Payton turned to Abram, praying the boy would have some excuse that would curb his sister’s request. She should say no. It was her right as their governess—former governess, as it were. When Abram only shrugged with a lopsided grin, Payton acquiesced. The important thing was that she return the children without Damon discovering they were ever gone.

  “You will remain outside Ashford Hall,” she said, pointing at Garrett. When he nodded, she turned to the children. “The pair of you will accompany me inside with no further questions. Understood?”

  “Yes, Miss Samuels,” they said, nodding in unison.

  Chapter 26

  The room felt hollow and empty despite Damon’s nearly two dozen guests. His coat stretched too tightly across his shoulders, his evening shoes cramped his toes until they were numb, and the strings holding his black and orange mask in place cut into the tender flesh above his ears. Why had he thought hosting a gaming night would take his mind off the dire circumstances that were his life?

  He found himself scrutinizing every female guest that arrived—was her hair the right length and color, was she tall enough, did she hold her chin at that precise, defiant angle that was unequivocally Payton?

  Damon nodded to his servant, signaling that the gaming should commence.

  She wasn’t coming. Why had he deluded himself into believing she would?

  Neither had Catherton arrived, despite the acceptance of Damon’s invitation. Having the pair at Ashford Hall at the same time was both unwise and reckless. The duke had been searching for Payton for over a week, and he’d no doubt spot her no matter what disguise she donned.

  That did not deter Damon from watching the door for her arrival.

  “My lord,” a man with a solid blue mask and neatly trimmed golden hair called to him. “Join us.”

  Damon waved off the invite. He was no more interested in hazard than he was any card game.

  He inclined his head to a couple as they took their seats at the whist table. Thankfully, the foursome was complete, and they wouldn’t ask him to join them.

  Mr. Brown appeared at the double doors of the ballroom, scanning the crowd until his eyes met Damon’s. They nodded at one another, and the butler pulled the doors closed. The servants delivering refreshments entered through a side door that led to the servants’ hallway and stairwell. When his Grosvenor Square townhouse had been built, the architect paid particular attention to making certain servants could come and go throughout the house without being noticed.

  All it did was make Ashford Hall appear deserted when it was only he and the children in residence. Since Payton had left him and the children, the house had been too quiet. Too still. Too somber. He longed to hear Abram bickering with Joy, teasing her, or the pair playing a jest on their governess.

  But the children had remained above stairs, quietly attending to their studies until Payton returned.

  Damon sighed, gaining the notice of a man at the table before him who tucked his cards close with a scowl.

  Why hadn’t he allowed her to handle telling the children? Payton would have had the courage to tell them, she
would have spoken the truth in a way they could’ve understood, and he’d never have had to lie to them. In her short time at Ashford Hall, she’d made everything better—including him. Damon had spent years hiding: from his life, his future, and his children; unable to accept losing Sarah. He’d built a wall so thick to guard his heart, he hadn’t realized that he’d forgotten to breathe at some point.

  Payton had been a breath of fresh air to his stale, cumbersome existence.

  At some point, he’d taken his first deep inhale in four years. And he’d survived.

  Moving forward without Sarah had been something he’d been unwilling to even contemplate. He’d set about remaining in the dark, empty place he’d entered after losing the mother of this children…and he’d done a marvelous job of it, too.

  Until Payton.

  She’d been the spark that set his darkened life ablaze—and he hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t fathomed it was what he needed, what his life was missing.

  She was what their lives were missing.

  He was glad for the mask covering his face because if any of his guests caught sight of him, they’d realize the pain he’d kept buried for too long. He’d hoped to avoid further heartbreak, but all he’d managed to do was keep the pain and anguish inside so long that it had festered within him.

  A group of men chuckled at the faro table near the doors, and Damon’s stare lingered there. His way to escape. No one would notice if he slipped from the room. He could be in his study within moments, free of the watchful eyes of his guests, free to sink into his favored chair and lose himself in the dancing flames that licked the logs in the hearth.

  Too many times, he’d lost hours—days even—watching the fire.

  It had been nearly a month since he’d fallen into such despair.

  Again, he could only blame Payton.

  Blame or praise the woman?

  She’d brought about a change neither his children, his sister, nor his servants could trigger, despite their years of trying.

  And she’d done it swiftly, without Damon even realizing it.