Page 22 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

She brought the tumbler to her mouth, taking a small sip. No expression crossed her face as the liquid slipped down her throat.

Damon would have expected a grimace—or at least a widening of the eyes as the scotch burned its way down.

Yet, she remained passive and disinterested.

He knew insouciance when he saw it, for it was the mask he donned to keep others from seeing what lay beneath. What did Miss Samuels hide?

The opportunity to voice his questions about her activities the evening before was upon him. However, he said nothing, asked nothing, demanded nothing. He was hesitant to give up this private moment—a spot of intimacy, no matter how forbidden it was, he hadn’t experienced in many years. He felt an uncanny kinship with Miss Samuels he couldn’t begin to explain, let alone understand.

“I am pleased to see you were able to remove the dye from your skin.”

When her glare snapped to meet his, Damon feared he’d misspoken.

Damon glanced down into this glass, swirling the liquid before taking his first sip. “I have spoken with the children.” Why did his use of the children make him think of Flora? “They have been duly chastised for their antics.”

The last thing he wanted was to have another conversation with Joy and Abram. Even this discussion, alone in his study with Miss Samuels, was preferable to seeing the unease and betrayal in his offspring’s matching green eyes. Their angry accusations had barely left his thoughts since the night before, and he had no urge to repeat the exchange. It went so far as to overshadow his confrontation with the duke after his gaming party.

“I appreciate that, my lord.” He glanced down at her elbow, where the dye had given her away the evening before, but it was gone. In its place, her skin was red, likely from her scrubbing.

She appeared an unrecognizable woman from the lady adorned in red and gold. Returned to the simple, reserved attire of a governess, her finely beaded, satin evening gown had been replaced by one of muslin with a high waist and a modest neckline. The muted gray was nothing like the vibrant red from the evening before, yet the unassuming dress did little to detract from her beauty. For the first time, Damon found himself longing to ask why she’d taken a position as a governess and not sought to wed and have her own family. She was certainly alluring enough to catch any man’s eye, and her demeanor, though a bit forthright, was not displeasing.

His thoughts did nothing but bring back his many other questions regarding the previous night; where had she fled to, why had she sought to make a fool of such an important man, and why had she kept her secret from him?

A cry broke the silence in the room, penetrating the walls from above. The quiet of the night was shattered, forever gone as reality invaded.

Damon’s heartbeat thrashed in his ears, nearly drowning out the all too familiar bellow at the same time his fingers dug into the arms of his chair.

“Joy,” they both said at the same time.

“She has nightmares,” Miss Samuels said, setting her tumbler on the table beside the lounge. “I will see to her.”

Damon clamped his mouth shut to prevent the remark that hung on his tongue. He knew damn well that Joy found it difficult to fall asleep—and remain asleep—without awakening on a scream. Just as he knew he should change, be there for his daughter when she needed him. Yet, he still cultivated the distance between them, and it grew nearly as quickly as his regret.

“No, I should go.” Damon stood quickly, but Miss Samuels was already making her way to the door. “I can see to her—"

“I will care for Joy.” She gestured toward his desk. “You have work to finish.”

Work? Yes, he’d used his responsibilities to the Ashford title as his excuse for being below stairs at such an hour.

Unwanted relief flooded him at the woman’s insistence on seeing to Joy. Damon wanted to care for his daughter, soothe her pain; however, he could not make things better for her when he was helpless to do it for himself.

Damon was grateful for the governess’s assistance, despite his own remorse for not doing more for Joy. How many nights had he listened to Joy’s cries when they woke him from sleep? How many times had he stilled himself from going to her, stopped himself from wrapping his little girl in his arms and whispering that everything would be well? How many times had he kept to his own room, knowing that any promises he made to his children would go unfulfilled? If he went to Joy, if he gave her and Abram all the love and adoration they deserved, it would only lead to their heartbreak when he ceased to exist. That day would come as it had for Sarah, though he prayed it was several decades away.

Nothing would be all right again.

And Damon would be damned if he ever pledged any such thing to Joy and Abram when he knew, without a doubt, that with Sarah gone, nothing would ever be as it should be. He’d let his children down once, and he would not allow himself to do so again. They deserved far more than a father who could not keep his promises.

Instead, he would allow his never-ending succession of governesses to placate his children, whisper sweet murmurings of a bright future to come in their ears, while he alone knew the real cruelty of the world.

The unfairness of life.

The follies of fate.

“Thank you,” he called to Miss Samuels as she slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.

The echo of his daughter’s quieting sobs continued to punctuate the air around him.

His entire body shook along with Joy’s continued cries, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he sent a silent prayer into the night. If only he could absorb his daughter’s pain, her suffering, and return them all to the happy family they’d once been.