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

by Christina McKnight

  Yes, she deserved praise, not blame.

  In his own way, he’d tried to show her the appreciation she deserved by settling her debt with Catherton. How did she not see that he’d done it to help her, not to control or restrain her in any way?

  The voices around him were made unintelligible by the pounding in his head.

  He had been so bloody wrong—about everything.

  He’d pushed his children away, denied them the love and affection they so desperately needed after Sarah’s death. He’d limited his own emotions to the point where he lived in a constant state of despair. He knew no other way to make it through each day.

  Yet, that wasn’t wholly true.

  Payton had shown him what things could have been like, had he not taken the path he’d chosen.

  Anger, laughter, love…they were all possible, if he’d just give himself a chance.

  Was it too late? Would Joy and Abram forever blame him for Payton’s disappearance?

  He needed to go to them now; tell them the awful truth and see where they stood.

  Damon glanced at the closed ballroom doors, the panels sealing off his easy escape, closing him in, keeping him from doing what he longed to do: make amends with his children, and give them what they deserved.

  Days spent strolling the museum. Nights at the playhouse. Endless winters at Falconcrest. Holidays in Bath or Cornwall. Afternoons horseback riding in the meadow by his country estate or promenading in Hyde or Regent Park. Evenings by the fire, books in hand as the warmth from the hearth enveloped them. Morning meals in the salon overlooking the gardens while Abram and Joy bantered and bickered about their lessons, while he and Payton took pleasure in the children’s passion for learning.

  Payton? Tension laced his shoulders, tightening the fabric of his shirt across his back.

  “My lord?” Mr. Brown had materialized at his elbow.

  Damon glanced at his servant out of the corner of his eye, not taking his focus off the crowd milling about the room even though his idle musings still pushed for his attention. “Yes.”

  “Is all as it should be?”

  “Of course,” Damon huffed. “Why would it not be?”

  “My lord, may I speak frankly?” the butler whispered.

  Damon turned to face the man. “I always expect you to speak as such.”

  Mr. Brown’s brow pulled low, and he lowered his chin, avoiding eye contact. “You are scowling, my lord.”

  Damon let loose a gruff chortle. “You cannot possibly know that. I am wearing a bloody mask.”

  “Yes, however—”

  “Mr. Brown,” Damon sighed, keeping his voice low to avoiding being overheard. “I have had a very difficult few days.”

  “I agree, my lord.” The butler pivoted slightly to stand next to Damon, drawing far less attention from his guests than if they saw their host speaking privately in hushed tones.

  “Has Catherton arrived?” Damon asked.

  “No, my lord.”

  “No other uninvited guests either?”

  When Mr. Brown stiffened at his question, Damon needed no further proof to know the servant had known about Payton’s masquerading ways all along, or at least during her time employed at Ashford Hall.

  Before the butler could respond, Damon continued, “Please inform me immediately if either occurs. Continue to make certain my guests enjoy their evening. I will be in my study if you have need of me.”

  He was in a distracted mood, and there was no reason to subject his guests to it. He was at Ashford Hall, yet longed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, as long as Payton was close.

  Making his way across the room, Damon didn’t pause to speak with anyone, nor did he look away from the ballroom doors until he arrived at them as a servant swung the thick wooden door open for him to depart.

  He pressed his palm to his forehead once he was alone—the noises from the ballroom muffled—and hurried toward his study. He didn’t need to see to find the room. It was like a beacon that called him forward. A siren who sang until he was captured in her embrace.

  Why had he thought a gaming night would work to distract him from Payton’s absence? To diminish his feeling of responsibility for his current situation? To reduce his guilt over the loss his children would soon be forced to face—for the second time?

  Discarding his mask, Damon slumped in his chair before the hearth, his head falling into his hands, all the while, his shoulders straining for freedom under the confines of his evening coat. He’d loved Sarah, and she’d left him. Payton had come into his household and won the children’s hearts and brought light to Damon’s life…and now she was gone, too.

  His chest ached with emptiness.

  It shouldn’t hurt so much to be right.

  Nothing in Damon’s life had gone as it should.

  He would do what needed to be done—for his children.

  Come morning, he’d hire one of the women he’d spoken with at Flora’s, or perhaps speak to the children about attending school away from London. Maybe they would thrive in an environment with other children, away from their disaster of a father and the shadowed memory of their mother. Even as his plan formed in his mind, the darkness that had encapsulated him so entirely before threatened to descend on him again, blocking out the light that had come with Payton’s appearance in their lives.

  He didn’t want another governess, and neither would Joy and Abram.

  Payton had healed their family. She’d shown them they could move forward, despite what they’d all lost. Honoring Sarah and the past they shared together did not mean forsaking his future.

  Damon pushed to his feet, stripping his jacket away and discarding it on his chair.

  Joy and Abram needed Payton in their lives.

  Bloody hell, Damon needed her even more.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow things to continue as they were. Another governess wouldn’t do, and Payton returning to Ashford Hall as a simple servant was not what he desired. She wouldn’t long for that either. He wanted more than Payton in his life to care for his children. He wanted more than to forget about her and move on. Damon had never been a man to move on easily—and for once, this would serve him well.

  He only needed to discover what Payton longed for and hope it was the same as he desired.

  He collected his discarded jacket, any thoughts of wallowing alone vanished.

  “Don’t forget this.” Garrett held his hand out the open door of the carriage, a cream mask with ebony strings dangling from his fingers. “You might need it.”

  Payton turned toward the children, eagerly waiting a few steps away before leaning back into the coach. “I am not attending the party.”

  “What if someone sees you?” he demanded.

  “Everyone will be in the back of the house by now with the gambling underway,” she hissed. “I will hurry the children in the front door and up the stairs to their chambers.

  “Where did you find this?” As an afterthought, she’d had the mask made to match her gown, but after everything that had happened with Damon, she’d never thought to wear it.

  When he didn’t respond and only jiggled the mask, Payton grabbed it.

  “Tsk, tsk, dear sister.” Garrett waved his finger between them. “We both know that is not what is important here. Do don the mask, just in case.”

  “Very well,” Payton said, moving away from the carriage and back to the children. “Are you ready?”

  They both nodded, and the trio started for the front door.

  She debated having the carriage drop them off in the alley behind Ashford Hall, but it was far more likely they’d be seen coming in through the mews than through the front door. The gambling would have begun an hour or so before, and the foyer and main staircase would be deserted. The only activity would be on the servants’ stairs.

  Mr. Brown was likely positioned close to the front door, waiting for the children to return. Payton would certainly have a word with the man for allowing the chi
ldren out after dark, unchaperoned except for the Ashford driver and footman.

  However, when she opened the front door, the foyer was empty, although music and voices from the ballroom floated through the house. She urged the children in and up the stairs, turned to the right, and moved down the corridor to their rooms.

  Joy’s door came first after they’d passed the schoolroom.

  Payton opened the door and ushered Joy inside. “I will see Abram to his room and then return,” she whispered before pulling the door closed without a sound.

  They took the few steps to Abram’s door, and he walked inside without hesitation. “Good evening, Miss Samuels. I do hope to see you again soon. Forgive Father for whatever he’s done to upset you.”

  Payton made to tell the boy there was nothing to forgive, but Abram gave her a sad smile before pushing his door closed, leaving her alone in the hallway.

  Her own door was only a few feet farther down the corridor.

  No, the room did not belong to her any longer. A new governess would take her place before long, and any remnants of Payton would be erased and forgotten with time.

  Her lip trembled. Lifting her skirts with her free hand, she hurried back to Joy’s chamber. When she entered, the girl had already undone the ties of her dress and was slipping her nightgown over her head.

  “Joy,” Payton called. The only light in the room came from a single candle and the dying embers in the hearth; however, there was enough warmth to last until the child found slumber. “You mustn’t tell your father you came to see me.”

  “Will you be here when we wake?” the girl asked, ignoring Payton’s warning.

  She shook her head, turning to pull down the blanket for Joy to climb into bed. “No, Joy.”

  There was so much more she wanted to say: that she was heartbroken to be leaving them, that she would do anything to remain at Ashford Hall, that…she was sorry. But nothing else came.

  Joy climbed into bed, and Payton tucked the blanket around her tiny body, much as she had the day the girl had nearly drowned in the pond, except when Payton glanced up, she did not meet Damon’s watchful eyes across the bed this time.

  “We don’t want you to go. Not even Father, even if he did something to anger you,” Joy mumbled.

  Payton hesitated, knowing she needed to depart but unable to allow the girl’s mutterings to go unaddressed. “What was that, Joy?”

  There was no way Joy could know anything that had transpired between her and Damon beyond their kiss—she was only a child. Joy was too young to understand the heartbreak her father had lived through, or the future Payton wanted for herself. It did not include living as a servant nor being beholden to a man who overstepped his boundaries. Their discussion had made it clear that Damon hadn’t anticipated her discovering that he’d settled her debt with Catherton. Could it be that he actually did not have any dark intentions with his action as he claimed?

  “Abram and I heard Father.” Joy’s eyes grew heavy with unshed tears. “He was crying—in his sleep.”

  “Eavesdropping is very impolite,” Payton said, easing herself onto the bed next to Joy. “You should not listen when you are not invited.”

  “We were not lurking about Father’s door.” She pushed up onto her elbows, leaning close to Payton in the soft glow from the candle. “He woke us up—last night.”

  Payton didn’t want to hear any of this. She’d made her decision, given her notice, and was prepared to tell Marce of her failings and beg her sister to take her with her to the country. In the last few days, Payton had lost her position as governess and learned she’d soon lose the house she’d called home for all her life. Her future, the one she’d dreamed of for herself, was slipping from her fingers as the hours passed. A home of her own, the independence to live of her own accord, and find what would make her happy and content.

  “If he was crying, it had naught to do with me—or you, for that matter,” Payton replied. “Your father has lost much in his life. He’s gone through things that most men would run from. He lost your mother and was left to raise you and Abram alone. That is a very scary thing.”

  Joy clutched her hands on the top of the blanket, allowing her head to fall back against her pillows. “But when you came…he changed. He went to the park with us, the museum, and took meals with us. Then you left—we knew you weren’t ill—and he shut himself in his study again, didn’t eat with us, and cried out in the night. It was like when I had my terrors, you came and comforted me. Someone should do that for Father.”

  Payton leapt from the bed as if it had caught fire, silently begging the girl to remain quiet…to not voice what they both knew to be true. Payton should be there to comfort their father.

  “Joy, I must go.” She could tell the girl the truth—she was afraid of the baron catching her at Ashford Hall—but she settled on a reason that was still true, though a little less to the point. “Garrett is waiting for me, and he is like a child. If left alone, he is sure to find himself in a spot of trouble.”

  Without thinking, she leaned down and placed a kiss on Joy’s forehead.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything as drastic and dangerous as leaving home without telling your father again.” When Joy nodded, she continued. “Your father would have been destroyed if anything had happened to you or Abram. Goodbye, Joy.”

  Payton inched toward the door as Joy shifted in bed, turning away from her.

  Damon would not have been the only one destroyed if the children had been harmed.

  With a sigh, Payton paused to tie her mask. She’d been upstairs for quite a while, and she prayed she wouldn’t cross paths with Damon as she made her escape.

  Chapter 27

  Damon stumbled from his study, moving away from the merriment in his ballroom and toward the front door that would lead him out into the night—and to Payton.

  Few people had experienced the hardships he had during his life and the guilt that came with it knowing you held the blame. Except her. She understood the loss of a loved one and how difficult it was to find enough strength within yourself to love—and lose—again.

  Love?

  Yes, he cared deeply for Payton. He cherished her kindness to his children and her understanding for him. Surely, it could not have progressed to something as profound as love. He barely knew her, beyond their brief moments together. He was attracted to her; no man would be irrational enough to deny that.

  What was irrational, was for him to even think the word love regarding a woman he barely knew, a woman who deserved more than an empty shell of a man who hadn’t enough left within him to actively love his own children.

  Pressing his outstretched hand against the wall, Damon made his way to the front of the house.

  He didn’t know what to call the draw he felt for Payton, but if he could convince her to speak with him, they would figure it out—together. He would tell her all he should have confessed before—before he’d begun to push her away, before she’d discovered he’d paid her debt, and before she’d left.

  Raised voices drifted toward him, and he slowed, pushing into the shadows to avoid being seen. The last thing he wanted was to be waylaid in the foyer when he desperately needed the solitude of his room. He wanted to be alone with his musings somewhere his servants wouldn’t happen upon him.

  “Unhand me!” a woman’s voice growled.

  “Your Grace, please,” Mr. Brown pleaded. “Let the lady go. I will find Lord Ashford, and you can speak privately about this matter.”

  “This lady is a conniving swindler.” The Duke of Catherton’s furious tone was unmistakable. “Summon the magistrate now, and I will be pleased to meet with the baron when the magistrate arrives; however, she has been known to disappear. I will not release her until the authorities are called.”

  Damon pushed from the shadows, his head clearing as he stepped into the foyer.

  Catherton stood below the bottom stair, his hand grasping a woman’s elbow as she frantically tried to pull
away. Mr. Brown attempted to push in between the pair.

  The duke and his butler jostled, blocking Damon’s view of the altercation. Who was the woman? Gowned and masked in cream, pearls at her throat, Damon didn’t recognize her from the ballroom.

  “Catherton,” Damon’s voice echoed off the high ceiling in the foyer. “Remove your hands from her before I have you removed from this house and thrown headfirst into the Thames.”

  Both men froze, allowing the woman to pull from Catherton’s clutches.

  Damon’s heart beat rapidly before stopping. It could not be…but it was.

  Wearing a cream evening dress with a mask to match, Payton’s signature single mahogany curl hung over her shoulder, teasing the lace of her bodice. How he had not spotted her so clearly before, Damon would never know. Now, he saw only her—even with her mask as a guise. He blinked several times, but she did not disappear or morph into another woman. He knew the sparkling, deep blue eyes hidden behind her mask. He was familiar with the feel of her soft, lush lips against his. He could almost hear the melody of her laughter, or the dark tone of her voice when she was called to anger.

  “Lord Ashford.” Catherton straightened his coat and dipped to retrieve his mask from the floor. “Our thief has returned.”

  “She is not a thief,” Damon seethed. “Her debt to you was settled. You have your money; therefore, there are no grounds for you causing a scene in my house.”

  Payton looked between Damon and the duke before turning to glance at the closed door.

  There was nothing more he wanted than to ask her why she was here. Had she come back to speak with him or merely to gamble?

  “I apologize,” he confessed, holding her stare. “For the duke’s rude behavior. You are free to leave.”

  “Over my bloody body will she be allowed to leave,” Catherton thundered. “I have a grievance with this woman, and I will see it resolved.”

  He pointed his finger at Payton with each word, and Damon had the urge to prod the man in return. He took a step forward.

  Footsteps sounded from down the hall, and Damon felt the inquisitive stares of his guests as they pushed closer to absorb any gossip they could overhear. The murmurs of the group left no doubt that his gaming evening would be the talk of the ton come morning light.