Page 13 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

“Just a small mishap.”

“A small mishap?” He chuckled, and Payton remembered her discussion with her sibling from the week before—an hour she’d spent in this very room complaining about Lord Ashford’s headstrong, rebellious children.

“Truly, brother, it is nothing of consequence.” Yet certainly something he would find great merriment in hearing. “A vase broke, and the contents splashed me. That is all. Besides, I must be off…or risk all the fat purses being won.”

He waved his hand as she moved past him, her mask in hand.

Glancing over her shoulder as she strode away, Payton watched Garrett enter the study and close the door behind him. She would question him about his presence at Craven House when he visited her on the morrow. At the moment, she had a card game to attend—and money to win.

Or fear being stuck in the baron’s employ for far longer than she could bear.

Chapter 5

Damon walked the perimeter of his ballroom, noting that his guests were well cared for: no glass unfilled, the refreshment table laden with fruit, cheese, and pastries, and no group lacking friendly conversation. He’d applied himself far more tonight than most evenings when he hosted, mainly as a distraction, but partly to keep his attention from the Duke of Catherton where he sat at a table crowded by onlookers. The man was easily identifiable, if not by his finely tailored evening attire, then by his two footmen that remained close by at all times, proudly wearing the Catherton’s burgundy and blue livery.

The room was dim with the chandeliers above only at half-light, though bright enough to see one’s cards and the person sitting across the table. The terrace doors were thrown wide to allow in the evening air and help the music escape into the night. The gathering was slightly larger than usual, yet the room was big enough to host several dozen more guests.

A group of men debated the merits of ventures to the Americas. Another table, mostly women, conversed in hushed tones about a new musical instructor who was known to teach his pupils’ mothers far more alluring lessons than the harpsichord or the pianoforte. Each table was full. And, by all accounts, his guests were enjoying their evening.

Yet Damon lurked on the fringes, never taking a seat at a table nor joining any conversation, though he’d overheard many that interested him. His feet made no sound as he moved about the room unnoticed. It was one of the boons of hosting masked card games. Damon could remain unobserved unless there was trouble.

Would he ever enter a room and escape his misery in a friendly debate or idle chitchat? Would the sight of his offspring ever stop bringing to mind everything he lost—they’d lost? He’d managed to break free of his crushing troubles when he began hosting gambling parties, but the reprieve hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, and Damon soon found himself feeling more and more alone in his crowded ballroom, just as he’d been alone for the last four years despite his children’s presence.

Raised voices caught his attention as a chair skidded across the polished floor.

The Duke of Catherton stood and ripped his black half-mask from his face, his nostrils flaring as he held his gaming opponent with a pointed glare. The crowd made it impossible for Damon to see who was on the receiving end of the duke’s anger. This was exactly what Damon feared would happen if the duke took to attending the weekly Ashford affairs.

Damon stepped to the duke’s side when he arrived at the table.

“Is all as it should be?” He glanced at Catherton, focusing his efforts on calming the lord before his temper flared brighter, and the entire evening was brought to a halt—or, worse yet, fists were thrown. “May I do something for you, Your Grace?”

The duke didn’t take his glare from his opponent as he spoke. “This trollop…this uncouth harlot…this brazen-faced cheat has bilked me of ten pounds.”

A woman?

He turned towards the recipient of the duke’s scorn to see a woman he’d noted several times before at his parties. She had hair of the darkest, rich brown, always pinned at the base of her neck with a single curl hanging over her shoulder and down her low-cut bodice. This night, the lady wore a gown of the deepest red with gold beading. Perhaps it was due to seeing her several times at his parties, but he could not dispel the increased feeling of familiarity with the woman. He’d never attempted to look beyond the masks of his guests, just as he prayed they did not long to see past his.

To say she hadn’t caught his notice on several previous occasions would mean Damon was blind. He admired her for both her reserved beauty and her skill at the gaming tables.

“It is not my fault you are a bottle-headed ninny who has trouble counting his own cards.” She laughed with a wide smile.

Damon’s guests gave an uneasy chuckle, and he found himself smirking, as well.

Perhaps the duke would think twice about attending another game at Ashford Hall.

Catherton slammed his open palms against the table, causing coins to scatter, and the other players to reach for their winnings at the same time his two footmen stepped forward.

“Your Grace.” Damon attempted to shift the man’s focus—and rage—away from the lady. “May I offer you a drink in my study? We can discuss this matter privately and allow my guests to continue with their evening. I am certain this has all been a misunderstanding.”

Catherton scoffed, shrugging away from Damon as he began to move around the table.

“Your Grace, is it?” The dark-haired beauty’s blue eyes sparkled behind her mask. “I think we can solve this here and now before our host. One final hand. If I win, I will depart immediately with my coin. If you win, I will return your ten pounds plus the rest of my winnings from this evening”—she glanced at the stack of notes and coins on the table before her—“another three pounds and four shillings.”

“You, my lady, are a thief and a swindler.”

Damon couldn’t see the woman’s expression behind her gold mask; however, she seemed rather unaffected by the duke’s claims.

Did he have a grifter in his house?