Page 17 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

Chapter 6

Payton huddled in the shrubs bordering Saint George Street in Hanover Square, waiting for Mr. Curtis to arrive and collect her. The dew from the leaves soaked the satin of her gown—borrowed from Samantha’s dressing closet—ruining the delicately sewn fabric. Not that it mattered overmuch as her sister had bid Payton take whatever she wanted after she wed a most wealthy lord and purchased a townhouse full of satin, silk, and muslin gowns. It did not stop Payton from worrying over the expensive garment, however. It cost more than she’d earn in an entire month at Ashford Hall, and she would not be able to replace it easily.

The bitter night chill seeped into her bones when a gusty wind pushed between the three-story townhouses flanking her on either side of the street. She’d had to depart Ashford Hall without her cloak or risk being caught by Catherton sneaking off without settling her debts.

Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit down to stop the sob that crept up her throat. It was the way of things, she reminded herself. The flip of a card, a bad hand, or the skill of another took her coin as often as she won. It was disheartening to be set back another month, but life was not always easy, and moving on to something better would undoubtedly have its setbacks. Things hadn’t been easy for her mother, and Payton was not deluded enough to think that her own independence would be easily won.

Carriage wheels sounded on the cobblestone street, and Payton peeked from the bushes, only to pull back sharply, gaining a poke to the back of her head. Another pointy branch pricked her elbow. Whistling drifted on the breeze as yet another coach traveled away from Ashford Hall, taking their occupants home for the night for a few hours rest before they started the day anew.

Bloody bugger. Yellow-livered cod monger. Caper-witted bounder.

Payton thought of every insult she’d heard in her short, sheltered life. Mutterings she’d overheard at the market or in the mews that ran behind Craven House. She’d even gained a few unladylike retorts from her dearest friend Ellington, now Lady Chastain. Suddenly, they were all too tame to express her feelings for a certain duke.

Because of that dull-witted, arrogant dandy, Catherton, she’d lost everything. All her hard-earned wages and the coin she’d won at other gaming tables. She wasn’t sure if she was madder at him for besting her or allowing him to bait her into such a high-stakes hand.

Either way, it was gone. All of her winnings and salary…gone.

And the duke had dared accuse her of cheating.

Cheating!

If she’d employed her deftness at card counting, she would have taken the pompous duke for far more than a mere ten pounds—and a lot quicker, too. Truth was, she hadn’t needed to bamboozle him. The Duke of Catherton was a dull-witted, arrogant dandy who thought himself above all others just because some ancient ancestor had garnered the approval of a long-dead king.

The worst part of it all was that she’d no longer be welcome at Ashford Hall, at least not during the baron’s weekly gaming nights. She would most certainly have no other recourse but to return to the townhouse as Miss Samuels, governess to Ashford’s quarrelsome children.

Perhaps angering Catherton hadn’t been her wisest decision. However, the man was insufferable. Why had he been permitted into Lord Ashford’s townhouse with his sordid reputation in the first place? Payton had never seen the man in attendance before. Despite the masks every guest wore, she recognized several lords and a few ladies from her limited outings among the ton. The guises were more of a lark, not to properly hide one’s identity.

The wind whipped through the underbrush, twisting her skirts between her legs and sending a draft between her thighs. If she’d had a few shillings to her name, she would have hurried down the block and hailed a hackney cab.

She cursed the Duke of Catherton once more.

The moon lay hidden behind dark, ominous clouds, ready to let loose a torrent of rain. Hopefully not before Payton made her way back to Craven House.

“Damnation.” Why hadn’t she thought to hide within Ashford Hall until closer to dawn when Mr. Curtis came for her? She could have scurried to her own room and hidden there until more of the guests departed—or at least until the duke took his leave. But she’d seen Lord Ashford stalk up the stairs and couldn’t risk him discovering her nighttime masquerades.

Or her embarrassment at losing to Catherton.

The baron would release her from her duties without a moment’s thought.

And then how would she ever earn the funds she needed?

Twenty pounds.

Payton Samuels owed the Duke of Catherton twenty pounds.

Her hands shook, and her head spun with dizziness at the sheer amount. She rarely possessed such large sums of money—and when she did, it usually went to pay her other debts.

She’d had no option but to flee Lord Ashford’s house. The duke was persistent enough to have the entire house searched for her. Marce had remained steadfast that she would never settle Payton’s debts again. Any notion of earning a sum that large without risking her own skin by bilking players at a gaming hell was out of the question. Payton needed funds, but not at the hefty price of her safety.

At least neither the baron nor Catherton suspected her true identity.

If she were lucky, as she hadn’t been tonight, the duke would never again make the acquaintance of the woman in red and gold, and her employer would never learn that his children’s governess had a weak spot for high-stakes card games.

Payton wrapped her arms around her midsection in hopes of trapping her waning body heat as her teeth chattered and her skin prickled with goose pimples. She could feel her mask, safely hidden in the folds of her gown. To keep from thinking about the cold dampness soaking into her dress and skin, Payton trained her eyes on the townhouse across the street. When she’d taken to her hiding spot earlier, there had been five upstairs windows alight. Now, there was only one. Soon, it would be snuffed, and there would be no candles casting a faint glow on the street before her.

How late had the night grown?

Midnight had surely come and gone. Carriages had been departing Ashford Hall for over an hour now. There could not be many guests remaining. Had Mr. Curtis forgotten her? Perhaps he’d fallen asleep in the stables and would awaken in the morning with the lingering thought that he’d forgotten something of import the previous night.