Page 20 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

He took a step closer, his focus alighting on the book nestled under her arm.

Payton hoped the dim glow masked her heated skin.

“Love in Excess.” She held out the book to him, but he made no move to take it. “I’ve noticed it on my sister’s shelf and wondered why she kept the book for so many years.”

“A favorite of…some distant relation from the past,” he murmured, his arrogant detachment no longer clinging to him like an oversized coat. “You will certainly enjoy the tale.”

“Have you read it, my lord?” Her pulse fluttered at the thought.

When he flinched at her question, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d crossed some line she hadn’t known existed. The baron was a private man, but his reading interests could not be so personal in nature, could they?

He shook his head with a light chuckle. “No, I have not. I much prefer tales of war—and triumph.”

“As does Abram,” she offered with a shrug.

Ashford’s stare widened. Was he unaware of his own son’s interests?

Her heart ached for his neglected children as she remembered Joy’s peacefully sleeping form, nestled in her bed.

With it came a twinge of sorrow for the baron, as well. He missed so much but seemed oblivious to the fact.

Before her was not the lord who’d scolded her the previous day. Gone was the baron who’d questioned her capabilities as a governess. In his place stood only a man, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as if whatever kept him from his children during the day also tormented him in the night.

Even during the gaming party, she’d noticed something different about him as he hovered here and there around the room, never partaking of a game nor pausing long enough to speak with anyone. Until she and the duke had come to their battle. Only then had Ashford stopped pacing on the fringes of the ballroom and sat at their table to keep score during their piquet game.

He hadn’t known it was she. Couldn’t have known it was his governess hiding behind the mask.

Never had he addressed the duke’s accusation of cheating.

Nor had his stare lingered on her as she played.

Now, Ashford seemed distracted, his focus trained on nothing, yet he gave off the impression that he was deep in thought.

She should find her chambers immediately before anything else about the man had her rethinking her desire to collect her wages and move on as soon as opportunity allowed.

Her body tensed. She wasn’t rethinking or forgetting her chosen future. The baron—nor even the duke—could cause her to do that. Lord Ashford’s happening upon her in the library was only a misfortune of fate, not an indicator.

“I was just on my way to my study. I have a few matters that need to be handled before I retire.”

“I will not keep you, my lord.” Payton could not think of anything so pressing that it would—or could—be handled this late into the night. “It is past time I return to my room anyways. The children will be awake early.”

His moss-green eyes glowed in the candlelight as he remained in front of her, blocking her path to the door. His mouth opened several times but closed again without him saying anything.

“Miss Samuels.” He swallowed, his lips pressing into a firm line before the tension in his shoulders relaxed, causing her own body to stiffen. “Miss Samuels, if you find yourself still parched, I can offer you a drink in my study before you continue to your chambers.”

Her pulse leapt with panic. Alone with the baron in his study… in the middle of the night? Pair that with it being the first time he’d spoken to her in any other tone but with annoyance and disinterest, and it was perplexing to say the least. Especially since, more often, she believed he saw his children—and her—as nothing more than an inconvenience.

Despite her place as a servant in his household and the warnings from the other Ashford servants to keep out of the baron’s private affairs, she desperately wanted to know why. So she accepted.

Chapter 8

Damon rubbed at his temples as he faced the sideboard in his study. His private domain. The place he was free to allow himself to dwell on the past without prying eyes scrutinizing his every move, his every word, his every expression.

And he’d invited the bloody governess in.

For a damned drink. At nearly midnight.

He wasn’t sure which was worse: his offer, or her acceptance.