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

by Christina McKnight

  He’d needed to be away from that shelf, out of the room entirely; yet here they were, in another room the governess had no place in.

  His children’s rooms, yes. The breakfast hall, of course. The schoolroom, absolutely. But in the library, and his study, no. One thousand times no.

  There was no need to learn anything about the woman—her history, her intentions, her dreams. They belonged to her, not him.

  After discovering her last night, adorned in gold and red, sitting at his gaming tables, Damon couldn’t help but wonder about the woman. He couldn’t so much as remember her given name. Something starting with a P. Prudence. Penelope. Pricilla. Pearl.

  None of them fit the dark-haired, confident woman who’d escaped his townhouse the night before without settling her debt. Neither did the names fit the quick-tongued, reserved beauty he’d hired to look after Joy and Abram.

  Just that afternoon, he’d requested Mrs. Brown collect the governess’s paperwork—including her references; however, she’d yet to deliver them to his study.

  He cleared his throat as his eyes focused on the wall behind the sideboard. “I must apologize, my selections are not what I thought. I have everything from cognac to gin, but nothing suitable beyond that.”

  “I will have scotch.” Though spoken quietly, her words were not hesitant in any way.

  The drink was entirely unsuitable for a governess, but did it fit the masked woman who’d been attending his gaming evenings? When had he seen her for the first time? He could not recall a party she hadn’t attended, not that he allowed himself the freedom of noticing her or any woman.

  He poured scotch into two tumblers and turned, freezing where he stood.

  Miss Samuels had taken a seat on the very chaise Sarah had favored. Damon needn’t even close his eyes to imagine the way she’d cast her slender body across the lounge, her blond waves cascading over the edge of the backrest and almost touching the rug below. Even heavy with Joy, she’d taken her place on the low-slung seat, and he’d had to assist her to stand.

  But this woman, Sarah’s children’s bloody governess, sat upright, her single long, rich brown curl hanging over her shoulder, her hands relaxed in her lap as her gaze traveled about the room—landing on everything but him.

  Miss Samuels and Sarah were like night and day.

  Bright light and midnight darkness.

  Sarah had been easily read and even simpler to love.

  This woman had secrets that teased at far deeper things.

  However, Miss Samuels could not hold even a portion of the depth her exterior hinted at. She was a governess, a servant in his home. He had no knowledge of her background besides her letters of recommendation that she’d brought with her when they first met. Damon had no reason to know anything beyond her qualifications to care for and teach his children.

  She wasn’t a mystery to be solved or a woman who should hold any amount of his attention.

  “Your drink.” He stepped forward, and she took the tumbler from him.

  Settling in the chair across from the lounge, he brought his own glass to his lips but did not drink as he watched her over the rim, the firelight bringing out the red in her dark brown hair.

  She brought the tumbler to her mouth, taking a small sip. No expression crossed her face as the liquid slipped down her throat.

  Damon would have expected a grimace—or at least a widening of the eyes as the scotch burned its way down.

  Yet, she remained passive and disinterested.

  He knew insouciance when he saw it, for it was the mask he donned to keep others from seeing what lay beneath. What did Miss Samuels hide?

  The opportunity to voice his questions about her activities the evening before was upon him. However, he said nothing, asked nothing, demanded nothing. He was hesitant to give up this private moment—a spot of intimacy, no matter how forbidden it was, he hadn’t experienced in many years. He felt an uncanny kinship with Miss Samuels he couldn’t begin to explain, let alone understand.

  “I am pleased to see you were able to remove the dye from your skin.”

  When her glare snapped to meet his, Damon feared he’d misspoken.

  Damon glanced down into this glass, swirling the liquid before taking his first sip. “I have spoken with the children.” Why did his use of the children make him think of Flora? “They have been duly chastised for their antics.”

  The last thing he wanted was to have another conversation with Joy and Abram. Even this discussion, alone in his study with Miss Samuels, was preferable to seeing the unease and betrayal in his offspring’s matching green eyes. Their angry accusations had barely left his thoughts since the night before, and he had no urge to repeat the exchange. It went so far as to overshadow his confrontation with the duke after his gaming party.

  “I appreciate that, my lord.” He glanced down at her elbow, where the dye had given her away the evening before, but it was gone. In its place, her skin was red, likely from her scrubbing.

  She appeared an unrecognizable woman from the lady adorned in red and gold. Returned to the simple, reserved attire of a governess, her finely beaded, satin evening gown had been replaced by one of muslin with a high waist and a modest neckline. The muted gray was nothing like the vibrant red from the evening before, yet the unassuming dress did little to detract from her beauty. For the first time, Damon found himself longing to ask why she’d taken a position as a governess and not sought to wed and have her own family. She was certainly alluring enough to catch any man’s eye, and her demeanor, though a bit forthright, was not displeasing.

  His thoughts did nothing but bring back his many other questions regarding the previous night; where had she fled to, why had she sought to make a fool of such an important man, and why had she kept her secret from him?

  A cry broke the silence in the room, penetrating the walls from above. The quiet of the night was shattered, forever gone as reality invaded.

  Damon’s heartbeat thrashed in his ears, nearly drowning out the all too familiar bellow at the same time his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

  “Joy,” they both said at the same time.

  “She has nightmares,” Miss Samuels said, setting her tumbler on the table beside the lounge. “I will see to her.”

  Damon clamped his mouth shut to prevent the remark that hung on his tongue. He knew damn well that Joy found it difficult to fall asleep—and remain asleep—without awakening on a scream. Just as he knew he should change, be there for his daughter when she needed him. Yet, he still cultivated the distance between them, and it grew nearly as quickly as his regret.

  “No, I should go.” Damon stood quickly, but Miss Samuels was already making her way to the door. “I can see to her—"

  “I will care for Joy.” She gestured toward his desk. “You have work to finish.”

  Work? Yes, he’d used his responsibilities to the Ashford title as his excuse for being below stairs at such an hour.

  Unwanted relief flooded him at the woman’s insistence on seeing to Joy. Damon wanted to care for his daughter, soothe her pain; however, he could not make things better for her when he was helpless to do it for himself.

  Damon was grateful for the governess’s assistance, despite his own remorse for not doing more for Joy. How many nights had he listened to Joy’s cries when they woke him from sleep? How many times had he stilled himself from going to her, stopped himself from wrapping his little girl in his arms and whispering that everything would be well? How many times had he kept to his own room, knowing that any promises he made to his children would go unfulfilled? If he went to Joy, if he gave her and Abram all the love and adoration they deserved, it would only lead to their heartbreak when he ceased to exist. That day would come as it had for Sarah, though he prayed it was several decades away.

  Nothing would be all right again.

  And Damon would be damned if he ever pledged any such thing to Joy and Abram when he knew, without a doubt, that with Sarah gone, noth
ing would ever be as it should be. He’d let his children down once, and he would not allow himself to do so again. They deserved far more than a father who could not keep his promises.

  Instead, he would allow his never-ending succession of governesses to placate his children, whisper sweet murmurings of a bright future to come in their ears, while he alone knew the real cruelty of the world.

  The unfairness of life.

  The follies of fate.

  “Thank you,” he called to Miss Samuels as she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

  The echo of his daughter’s quieting sobs continued to punctuate the air around him.

  His entire body shook along with Joy’s continued cries, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he sent a silent prayer into the night. If only he could absorb his daughter’s pain, her suffering, and return them all to the happy family they’d once been.

  If anything even remotely resembling a normal, happy life presented itself to Damon, he would grasp hold of it, if only for his children.

  Damon was willing to give anything to gain the satisfaction of letting his hurt, his sorrow, and his despair go. Though it was only in the dead of night he allowed the overwhelming emotions to overtake him.

  But in the morning, when he awoke, they remained—haunting him yet again.

  Chapter 9

  Payton departed the study, the baron’s reticent “thank you” at her back with Joy’s heartbreaking sobs pulling her down the hall and up the stairs to the girl’s closed door. If anyone understood the pain the baron’s children experienced it was Payton. She’d lost her mother at roughly the same age. One day, Sasha Davenport, Payton’s mother, had been alive; and the next, she was gone, taking with her every ounce of security Payton had.

  Unlike Damon with his children, Payton’s sister had stepped in and filled the void left by their mother’s death. She’d held Payton for hours until she slept, and when Payton awoke during the night, her sister lay in the bed next to her, her arms open and ready to offer comfort.

  Lord Ashford wasn’t there to hold his children and make certain they knew he loved them. Nor did he insist that things would get better. He had the power to truly make their lives better, but he didn’t—or perhaps he couldn’t. While Payton had never known the love of a father, she suspected what the baron gave his children was greatly lacking.

  The entire family had suffered a massive loss.

  How did Ashford continue on, seemingly unaware of the hurt that burrowed deep within his children?

  It was clear he was not oblivious to their anguish, he merely chose to ignore it. Anger bubbled inside Payton, but she tamped it down and saved it because she needed to see to Joy. Later, there would be ample time to curse the baron and his hardened heart. She could explore his reasoning for keeping his children at arm’s length and decide if it was a choice or something much more complicated.

  She’d seen the pain that crossed his expression when Joy had cried out, but his impassive mask had returned within the blink of an eye. His offer to see to the child had been a hollow one.

  Payton didn’t pause at Joy’s door; instead, she grasped the latch and pushed into the girl’s private chamber, the child’s weeping louder than in the hall. There were so many things she longed to share with the baron’s children. Despite her penchant for trouble, she and Joy had much in common. Payton had lost her mother when she was young, and she too had woken many nights in a cold sweat as she attempted to fight her way out of a confined dark space. Perhaps it was why the children had caused an irrational irritation within her. They were, in essence, the same, except Payton had been left with siblings who lorded over her, while Joy had been stuck with an absentee father. Empathy for the children’s plight filled Payton, though it may be a journey with no plausible resolution. She’d been with Joy and Abram for weeks, and understanding of the situation had eluded her the entire time.

  Payton lowered herself to the edge of the bed and gathered the girl into her arms.

  Life would not always be what it was at this moment for Joy, Abram, or the baron. The pain would never disappear, but one day, they would realize it was manageable. Even further ahead, they would use their own past to make certain they achieved a future that pleased them. Payton had been on her way to achieving that final accomplishment—or she had been until the duke took her at piquet.

  The here and now was always changeable.

  The realization of how much Payton had lost to the duke suddenly didn’t have the crushing weight of defeat it had before. Here, in Joy’s delicately decorated room, outside troubles seemed of a smaller magnitude.

  As she did most nights, Payton murmured in the child’s ear, soothing her as she stroked her long, golden plaits and let the tears seep into the fabric of Payton’s dress. Joy clung to her, and her sobs slowed to faint whimpers with time. Her grip on Payton loosened until she fell back into slumber. During the day, they kept a strict divide between them, but in the dark of night, Payton allowed herself to comfort the child, to act as if forming a connection with the baron’s children was not terrifying. Mothering had been so natural to Marce after their mother died, but Payton wasn’t a mother and had no notion of where to begin, even if only to fill the role as a governess. And so, Joy persisted in her vexing ways, and Payton continued in her role as the irritated governess. Some days, she didn’t have to playact—much like the morning they’d doused her in blue dye. But other days, it was difficult.

  That terrified Payton even more. What if she made a mistake? What if the children refused her kindness? What if they had no desire to care for a governess?

  Payton rocked Joy’s tiny form back and forth long after the need was past. Soothing the girl’s pain was something Payton had never expected to excel at, yet she did, and that surprised her.

  No doubt come morning light, Joy would return to her precocious, troublesome self, and Payton would once again take her place as the stern governess…these brief moments forgotten.

  Their day would be filled with schoolwork, meals, lessons on decorum, and outings to the park with little time to dwell on the intimate nature of this moment. If the time ever came to speak about these late-night bouts of terror, Payton would ask after what pulled Joy from sleep so violently. What had the girl sobbing in the arms of a stranger?

  And the question that nagged the most, what kept the baron from comforting his own children?

  However, the time to ask those questions had not yet come, and Payton feared it never would. The cause of Joy’s nightmares was likely the same thing that burdened the baron. It should be discussed with the girl’s father, not the hired help.

  Just as it should be the baron holding his daughter, not Payton.

  Yet here she was with Joy while he remained detached in his study.

  Joy nestled closer in her sleep, the whimpers now forming unmistakable words.

  Mum. Father.

  The girl called to them in her slumber. Payton was helpless to offer any further comfort. She would never be Joy’s mother and was unable to bring the baron to her. For now, Payton’s embrace would have to do. It was all she had to offer the grieving child.

  Joy’s brow furrowed, and her eyes moved behind their closed lids as her nightmare returned.

  With a jerk, Joy’s eyes sprang open again, and she searched the darkness as her cries started anew.

  Payton’s chest seized as she gripped Joy tighter to keep her from tumbling from the bed.

  Gradually, Joy eased back into her arms.

  “Can I tell you a story, sweet girl?” Payton wasn’t sure what had made her speak, but when the girl burrowed closer, she continued. “When I was a child, no older than you, I lost my mother, too. I was lost, aching inside, without the urge to leave my bed for days on end. I didn’t eat, just slept all day long. Never would I allow the drapes to be parted and the bright sun to enter.”

  She wasn’t sure the child listened, but the tension eased from Joy’s small body.

  “Everyt
hing I loved was taken from me when my mother passed away. You see, I hadn’t a father, only my mother…and my siblings. I was so young and scared. Who would care for me? Who would tuck me into bed, read me a story, and extinguish the candle at my bedside when I fell asleep? I worried I would burn our home down because the candle would shrink until the flame found wood. I fretted about who would make certain I woke for my lessons in the morning. I cried over who would select the perfect ribbon to match my pinafore. Such trivial things to fret over, I know.” Payton couldn’t help her small laugh. How innocent and guileless she’d once been. “However, as a child, those were the ways I knew my mother loved me, and without her, who was there to fill that place? My siblings teased me mercifully, as Abram does you, and I mistook their jests for dislike. But it was they—Marce, Sam, Jude, and Garrett—who came together and proved our family…our love…was not ruined with our mother gone. We were strong, we were resilient…we have thrived, just as our mother taught us to.”

  The words left her in a rush, feelings she’d never shared with another soul, not even her siblings, but Joy needed to hear them, needed to know they were true for Payton and would be for her, as well. Her mother’s words from that long-ago night had been seared into Payton’s every desire and need. There wasn’t a day she didn’t remember her mother’s final musings, heard through the thin wooden walls at Craven House, and know that she would do exactly as her mother bid.

  “Until the day you find your strength—which I know is within you—I will be here to blow out your candle at night, to read you a story before you find your slumber, and to select your ribbons come morning. That I can promise you.”

  Even as the words left her, Payton feared it was a promise she wasn’t fated to keep without giving up a part of herself and the path she was forming for her future.

  The deep, even rise and fall of Joy’s chest told Payton that the child was once again asleep and had likely not heard her governess’s promise.

  It was a commitment Payton had no right to make, and one she could not be sure she could keep. If the baron ever discovered her deception, she’d be relieved of her post and would have no way to fulfill her promise to Joy.