Page 12 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

Payton didn’t try to temper her grin as she arrived at the Craven House carriage.

“Good even’n, Miss Payton,” Curtis called as he hopped down from his perch to open the door for her, a bit too agile for a man of his age. “How ye be this night?”

“Wonderful.” She gave her trusted servant a wide smile. Why could the mere anticipation of a night spent gambling fill her with such good cheer, even after her disastrous day? “Let us be off for”—Payton hesitated to call it what it had always been: home—“Craven House.”

Payton stood behind Marce’s desk in her private study where the madame of Craven House conducted all her business. The cabinet doors were all open, and the desk drawers nearly pulled from their places.

Her sister’s money box was gone.

The key not in the top drawer.

“Bloody bad nuisance,” Payton mumbled to the empty room. The red and gold chamber had always been a sanctuary of sorts for Payton. When her elder siblings had taken to teasing her during her childhood, she would escape to this very room. She would bring her deck of cards and practice her shuffling and dealing skills for hours. She’d play loo, piquet, and even vingt-et-un, challenging herself to be each player. When her brother, Garrett, stumbled upon her hiding behind the long, low lounge one day, he’d joined her and instructed her in the art of whist, though they needed another team of players to have a real game.

Today, Marce was gone, away on another of her mysterious trips, and Craven House was empty.

Payton had thought to borrow ten pounds from their household’s funds box kept in Marce’s desk, but after searching the entire room, it was nowhere to be found.

There was nothing left to do but collect her gold mask and be off on her way back to Ashford Hall. The four pounds and several shillings she’d managed to save over the last month would have to do. Perhaps a few well-won hands would double—or triple—her meager savings.

Payton hurriedly closed the drawers and doors on the cabinet.

The hour was growing late, and if she did not arrive soon, many of the men would have already lost their coin to other players.

“Whatever are you doing, dear sister?” Payton spun around to see Garrett, brow raised in question, standing in the open doorway. “I imagined you’d be at Lord Ashford’s by now.”

“I was hoping to borrow a few pounds from Marce, but Mr. Curtis told me she is not in residence.” There was no doubt that Garrett saw right through her lie; however, Payton would rather perish in a fire than admit any such fib. Besides, if she borrowed the funds for gambling, she always made sure to replace it before anyone noticed it missing. “I was just leaving, actually. Will you be joining me?”

She sincerely prayed that Garrett had other plans this evening, and her luck—the little she’d had of late—held.

“No, not this evening.” He glanced over his shoulder, and Payton couldn’t help but wonder what distracted him. “I have other matters to attend to this night.”

“Very well.” Let him keep his secrets, especially since Payton preferred to keep hers, as well. “I must collect my cloak and be on my way.”

She started for the door, prepared to push past Garrett and find her escape, but his hand landed on her elbow, halting her.

With a firm tug, she attempted to sidle around him, but his hold did not give. “Are you forgetting something?”

Payton turned, fearing she’d left open a drawer or cabinet, betraying her real purpose for being in Marce’s private study.

Her mask, gold with a red ribbon to keep it secured, lay on the desk where she’d forgotten it.

“Dear brother,” she smiled. “Whatever would I do without you?”

“Do not even speak the question.”

Collecting her mask, Payton gave Garrett a quick peck on the cheek. “Are you certain you cannot come with me?”

“Fear not, you will survive without me for one evening.” He stared into the room, and for the first time, she wondered what he was doing at Craven House. As a second son and therefore without benefit of a title and the coffers that came with it, Garrett had insisted upon setting up lodging at the Albany not long after he reached his majority. With Marce away from London and Payton living at Ashford Hall, there was no reason for him to be home. “Do enjoy yourself. I will come round tomorrow during your day off.”

It had been Garrett who’d told Payton of the baron’s masked gaming evenings, even risking Marce’s wrath to escort her to her first proper event. The night, nearly a year prior, had gone off without a problem, and Payton had returned with pockets brimming. Garrett’s only rule: no cheating. She would not use her card counting skills nor her sleight of hand tricks.

She’d promised and kept her word.

In return, Garrett had made certain Marce never learned of Payton’s late-night adventures.

“What is that on your arm?” He pointed to her elbow, where her glove had slipped when he’d held her arm. Blue tinted her skin, one of several spots she’d hoped to cover with her full-length gloves and wide sleeves. “Why is your arm blue?

Despite thirty minutes spent scrubbing the area, the dye had held fast to her skin.