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

by Christina McKnight

  Perhaps he should inform his butler that he would not be eating his evening meal and retire to his room early. A long night’s sleep—even a fitful one—would see his mood improved by morning.

  Damon pulled at this cravat until it hung untied around his neck and unclasped the buttons of his shirt at his throat. Breathing in deeply, he pushed the air from his lungs. If only it were so simple to expel all his worries.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Likely Mrs. Brown with his evening meal. Though he wasn’t hungry, he’d eat whatever was brought or risk injuring the Ashford cook’s—Miss Eleanor’s—feelings when his plate returned to the kitchens untouched. In recent days, he’d felt he disappointed everyone around him—his children, his sister, the governess, and his servants.

  “Enter.” He glanced in the mirror on the wall close to the hearth. The darkened circles under his eyes were far more prominent than they’d been that very morning. His linen shirt was no longer pressed but wrinkled from sitting all day. And now his cravat hung limply at this throat, his shirt buttons undone, exposing his neck. “Please, leave my meal on my desk.”

  He couldn’t bear to turn and face his housekeeper. What must his servants think of their erratic, reclusive lord after all these years?

  “Lord Ashford?” Miss Samuels whispered. “I thought I might have a word with you.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Miss Samuels—”

  “I can return another time if you are otherwise occupied.”

  When he remained quiet, the creak of the closing door sounded at this back. “Wait,” he called. Despite his mood, the governess hadn’t done anything to deserve his dark demeanor. “Come in. I have a few minutes before my evening meal arrives.”

  He pivoted slowly as she eased into the room, silently closing the door behind her. Her shoulders tensed before she exhaled and faced him.

  Something was different about her, far more than the night before. He was used to her irritation, annoyance, and anger. Last night, he’d glimpsed a rare moment of calm conversation with her. Now, she appeared deep in thought. Had she come to give her notice and vacate her position at Ashford Hall? Perhaps she’d come to confess her suspicious activities and beg for the funds to repay the duke.

  Damon was prepared to deny both. His children needed a governess—specifically Miss Samuels—and she was no longer indebted to Catherton.

  He gestured to the seat he’d been slumped in the last several hours. Having a coherent conversation with Miss Samuels sitting on the lounge would be impossible. He’d need to keep his wits about him if he thought to dissuade her from leaving his employ.

  Miss Samuels moved across the room on silent feet and lowered herself into his chair. Her eyes widened before her lips pressed into a firm line.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if the seat was still warm, if the soft cushion molded to her back as it did his, if the chair gave her the sense of security he’d found while in it. Yet that was something that marveled him about her; she appeared secure and confident in all she did, whether in the schoolroom or in his study. Damon envied her that above all else.

  She stared down at her hands, folded on her peach-colored skirts. Even with her eyes cast toward her lap, her elegant neck was visible, swathed in pale, creamy skin seemingly untouched by the rays of the sun.

  Her hesitation had Damon convinced he could change her mind if she meant to resign her position.

  “The children have been quiet today,” he mused. “I do hope they are not giving you any more trouble.”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “No, my lord.”

  He took the chair next to her, sinking into the plush, brocade back. “When I stopped by the schoolroom this afternoon—”

  “You came by the schoolroom?” Her tone was suspicious, and her blue glare snapped to meet his. “I mean…”

  He held up his hand with a chuckle. “This is my house, and occasionally I do go so far as to leave my study.”

  Damon could not understand where his light jest came from but relished the moment nonetheless.

  Her head dipped forward, hiding her grin. With her otherwise occupied, Damon took the time to look at the woman…truly see her. Though he’d had the opportunity the previous night, his reason for assessing her had been different. That was before the kindness she’d shown his children, and before she’d spoken of her own family. He longed to know more but did not want to betray his eavesdropping. Perhaps with the correct questions, they’d arrive at the subject he wanted to hear more about. Still, a large part of him hated that he’d learned anything about her at all. He did not miss any of the other governesses for the simple fact that he hadn’t taken any time to get to know anything about them beyond their qualifications.

  Yet everything was different with Miss Samuels. She was everything his children needed, but her flaws were damning in the extreme. A gambler, a thief, and a liar. Those were not the traits of a woman he should want around his children.

  But last night, in those brief moments of comfort, she had been everything Joy needed. No matter what had transpired with Catherton, Damon could not help but look past Miss Samuels’ indiscretions. Perhaps if they had the opportunity to become more familiar with one another, he would discover the reasons behind her actions.

  “In all seriousness, though, I happened to be walking past and glanced in, nothing more.” He returned his stare to the hearth, begging his body to relax. “You are good with the children. Do you have younger siblings at home?”

  “No, my brother and sisters are all older,” she confided without trepidation. “Though I am experienced with children and tutoring if that concerns you.”

  He wanted to say outright she shouldn’t fear losing her position, that she actually held the upper hand because, no doubt, he needed her far more than she needed her place at Ashford Hall.

  Miss Samuels’ back was rigidly straight, despite the voluptuous cushions, and a single long, dark curl fell over her shoulder. Its glossy texture reminded him of silken bolts of fabric, laid out to view at a modiste’s shop. Would it be smooth to the touch?

  If Damon had learned anything since Miss Samuels’ arrival in his home, it was that things were not always as they seemed. Despite his attempts to the contrary, many things could still surprise him. And not all surprises were bad.

  He asked no other questions, just waited. The governess had come to speak with him, and he feared she’d come to tell him she was leaving. It would be his duty then to convince her why she should remain at Ashford Hall.

  It was not difficult to note that something was at war within her.

  “The children would enjoy the opportunity to see the traveling menagerie at Pall Mall tomorrow.” The words burst from her so quickly, Damon needed to listen closely to understand them all. “We can walk. Or, if you’d prefer, we can take the carriage and a footman for protection. The fee is two shillings apiece, which is exorbitant; however, I think it important the children explore areas outside of Ashford Hall…at least every once in a while.”

  The speech ended with a deep inhale as she attempted to catch her breath.

  It wasn’t what he’d expected at all—and in no way a bad surprise.

  When he remained silent, she continued, “Pall Mall is safe enough. My siblings and I have visited the area on many occasions. The children have promised to behave and heed my rules. The weather is mild for this time of year, and there is no fear of them catching a cold or being caught in the rain. The Post declares no rain for the next three days, actually. If we leave directly after lunch, we will return in time for our evening meal.”

  Damon smiled, a genuine, teeth-bearing grin at her methods of persuasion. “You have certainly researched the excursion, Miss Samuels.”

  She gripped the arms of her chair, and her breathing hitched. “It is very important to them, and they pleaded with me to seek your approval.”

  “Well, there is no need to fret, you have my approval…even if it were to rain tomorro
w.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Wait, you mean we can go see the menagerie?”

  “If it is important enough for my children to plead for you to ask my permission, I cannot find any reason to deny them—or you.”

  She leapt from her seat. “That is wonderful, my lord. I will hurry and tell them the good news. They should be waiting for me in the dining hall.”

  “Mayhap I will join them,” Damon replied before he thought better of it. “I can give them the good news and solicit their agreement to act accordingly.”

  Her head tilted to one side, and her lips pursed. If he hadn’t caught the look firsthand, he never would have believed his decision to dine with his children and their governess could incite such confusion.

  “Unless you think it best I dine here,” he said, gesturing to his desk. Miss Samuels’ surprise had him all the more determined to accompany her to the dining hall, yet he also needed to hear her say that she wanted him to dine with them. It was ludicrous; however, Damon could not stop himself from prodding. Since when had he needed confirmation that his presence was wanted?

  “I understand—”

  “No, no. Of course, you should eat with the children.” She smiled, her confliction disappearing. “I will let them know to expect you and find my meal in the kitchen.”

  “You do not eat with them?” he asked.

  Surely, there was no rule against a governess breaking her fast with her young charges.

  “Yes. Of course, I do. However…” her words trailed off as she searched for what to say. “I thought perhaps you’d enjoy some privacy—just the three of you.”

  “Come now, Miss Samuels. You went through all the worry and trouble to ask me about the excursion. You shall dine with us and be there for the good news.” Why was he so hell-bent on keeping the woman in his sights? Perhaps if she saw him making an effort with Joy and Abram, even something as small as sharing a meal, she would know he appreciated her presence, as did his children.

  Chapter 12

  The room warmed to a stifling degree around Payton, and she blinked several times to make sure she saw things for what they were. She would have pinched herself if she’d been alone, but she was not.

  Had she fallen into a dream, her mind finding it comical to play tricks on her?

  Lord Ashford, neckcloth hanging untied around his neck and the buttons undone at his throat, stood before her—his arm out.

  Waiting.

  Waiting to escort her, Payton Samuels, to the dining hall.

  She looked between his outstretched arm and his smiling face. Had she ever seen the baron smile before? The simple change transformed him from the detached, dour lord into a man ten years younger. His shoulders were straighter, and his eyes sparkled. Was it mischief they held?

  The look was all too familiar as it mirrored his children’s sly glances when they were causing trouble.

  “Shall we?” he asked. “If we do not hurry, I fear they will eat everything before we arrive.”

  After nearly five weeks in the baron’s employ, Payton had never witnessed Lord Ashford in any state except vexation and annoyance—besides their brief reprieve in his study.

  She placed her fingers at the crook of his elbow, just below his rolled-up sleeve. The warmth of his skin heated her hand through her white glove, and her fingers tensed. For a man who rarely left his study, muscles corded his forearm.

  Payton tilted her chin up, her reply on the tip of her tongue. “You have a dusting of freckles across the bridge of your nose.”

  Instantly, she longed for the floor to open beneath her and swallow her whole.

  Embarrassment flamed within her, making her already heated skin boil.

  The baron brought his free hand to his nose. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  How had she never noticed the freckles before? They matched the light brown hue of his hair exactly.

  “The children do not have any freckles.”

  “I suppose it would not be fair if they inherited my eyes and my freckles.”

  “My apologies, my lord.” Payton lowered her gaze. No longer looking into his eyes, she was now focused on his chest—another mistake. Without his coat, the material pulled tight across his pectorals, giving her a hint of what lay beneath his shirt. Her cheeks flushed as images of his bare, muscled chest sprang to her mind. “I think you are correct. If we do not hurry, Joy and Abram will start without us.”

  Payton kept her stare trained on the floor as they made their way from the study to the dining hall, her skirts brushing against the baron’s leg with each step. While she was taller than the average woman, Lord Ashford still stood a head above her. She risked a glance up at him. His angular jaw tightened, and the muscles along his neck twitched.

  Perspiration beaded on his forehead, betraying the confident tilt of his chin.

  He was nervous. But why?

  Laughter rang out as they entered the dining hall. The lighthearted sound went silent immediately as both children turned to face them as they made their way to the table. Joy’s wide-eyed stare traveled back and forth between her and the baron, while Abram’s expression had turned solemn.

  “Father?” Joy’s tiny voice quivered.

  A footman stepped forward and pulled Payton’s chair out for her to sit, and another hurried into the room with a place setting for Lord Ashford.

  Abram shifted in his seat when the baron took his place at the head of the table—his children at his left, and Payton on his right. Table etiquette wasn’t a topic she’d explored with the children as of yet; however, the place she sat was typically reserved for the lady of the house. She glanced at the chair next to her, one farther away from the baron, and debated switching seats.

  “Are you dining with us?” Abram asked.

  Lord Ashford cleared his throat, his smile thin with unease. “Yes, I thought it would be a nice change.”

  The children gaped at her from across the table, and she merely shrugged. She could no more explain their father’s change in behavior than predict when the first snows would fall come winter. As if sensing their father’s unease, both children sat quietly as a footman delivered a steaming tureen of soup, followed by roasted pheasant with hearty vegetables, and finally, fragrant, spiced pudding.

  Everyone ate in silence with only a murmured “thank you” here and there in appreciation of the servants’ work.

  Payton barely touched each course as she waited for the baron to make his announcement.

  Instead, he focused on his plate, finishing each course with gusto only rivaled by Abram.

  Joy and Abram glanced in their father’s direction as if they could not believe their eyes. How long had it been since the baron had shared a meal with his children? She’d always assumed they dined together on her day off each week. It was apparent how wrong she’d been.

  Thinking back to her own youth, Payton remembered every morning and evening meal taken with her mother and all her siblings. They spoke of their days, laughed at Garrett’s outlandish jests, and commonly discussed much more serious topics when the need arose. After her mother’s death, while they still ate together regularly, it was not every day as her brother and sisters forged their own paths in life. Garrett moved to the Albany, while Marce was often too busy to join Payton and the twins.

  The baron’s children did not have such fond memories to hold close.

  “Abram,” Payton said, breaking the silence in her eagerness to spark their conversation. “Why don’t you tell your father about the book you’ve been reading.”

  The boy’s fork clinked against his plate, and he looked at his father.

  “I—I—it is an analysis of the Ottoman wars, starting with their strike against the weakened Byzantine Empire.” Abram paused, glancing at Payton. With her nod of encouragement, he continued. “I’ve only made it as far as the wars in Venice, but I cannot stop myself from moving ahead to read about the conquest of Cyrus.”

  It was a subject the father and son should bond over, yet
Payton doubted the baron knew the depth of Abram’s interest in the subject.

  “I am reading a picture book about ponies,” Joy chimed in, not to be outdone or overshadowed by talks of wars and ancient battles. “I’ve decided that when I am older, I am going to have an entire stable full of ponies—white ones, grey ones, and even midnight-black ones.”

  Their father smiled, and as quickly as that, the tension fled the room.

  “So many ponies? How will you remember all their names? And who will feed all those horses?” the baron asked with mock seriousness.

  “They are ponies, Father. Ponies,” she said the word slowly. “And I shall care for them myself. I am going to be a grand opera singer. I will make more money than Prinny himself and hire a stable master who will assist me.”

  “A singer and a pony collector?” Payton marveled aloud. “I had no idea you’d set your cap on two such prestigious aspirations.”

  The girl had never so much as mentioned a love for ponies or singing since Payton had been at Ashford Hall.

  “My mother was a grand singer,” Joy continued, a measure of pride in her voice. “Wasn’t she, Father?”

  The trio turned to the baron, who trained his gaze toward the far end of the table, drawing deep, measured breaths. She knew Lady Ashford’s death affected not only the children but also the baron; however, she’d never been confronted with the reality of it all—and neither had the baron, it appeared.

  “I am certain she had the voice of an angel,” Payton replied, taking the children’s attention off their father. Lord Ashford appeared frozen in his seat, his body present but his thoughts somewhere far away—and likely long ago.

  “She sang me to sleep every night.”

  “You can’t remember that,” Abram cut in. “You were just a babe, still in nappies.”

  Joy’s tiny face reddened. “I do so remember. Tell him, Father, Mother sang to me all the time.”

  Payton held her breath when the baron remained silent, his eyes unfocused. She wasn’t sure that she nor the children would be happy to see him revert to his distant, dour mood.