Page 23 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

If anything even remotely resembling a normal, happy life presented itself to Damon, he would grasp hold of it, if only for his children.

Damon was willing to give anything to gain the satisfaction of letting his hurt, his sorrow, and his despair go. Though it was only in the dead of night he allowed the overwhelming emotions to overtake him.

But in the morning, when he awoke, they remained—haunting him yet again.

Chapter 9

Payton departed the study, the baron’s reticent “thank you” at her back with Joy’s heartbreaking sobs pulling her down the hall and up the stairs to the girl’s closed door. If anyone understood the pain the baron’s children experienced it was Payton. She’d lost her mother at roughly the same age. One day, Sasha Davenport, Payton’s mother, had been alive; and the next, she was gone, taking with her every ounce of security Payton had.

Unlike Damon with his children, Payton’s sister had stepped in and filled the void left by their mother’s death. She’d held Payton for hours until she slept, and when Payton awoke during the night, her sister lay in the bed next to her, her arms open and ready to offer comfort.

Lord Ashford wasn’t there to hold his children and make certain they knew he loved them. Nor did he insist that things would get better. He had the power to truly make their lives better, but he didn’t—or perhaps he couldn’t. While Payton had never known the love of a father, she suspected what the baron gave his children was greatly lacking.

The entire family had suffered a massive loss.

How did Ashford continue on, seemingly unaware of the hurt that burrowed deep within his children?

It was clear he was not oblivious to their anguish, he merely chose to ignore it. Anger bubbled inside Payton, but she tamped it down and saved it because she needed to see to Joy. Later, there would be ample time to curse the baron and his hardened heart. She could explore his reasoning for keeping his children at arm’s length and decide if it was a choice or something much more complicated.

She’d seen the pain that crossed his expression when Joy had cried out, but his impassive mask had returned within the blink of an eye. His offer to see to the child had been a hollow one.

Payton didn’t pause at Joy’s door; instead, she grasped the latch and pushed into the girl’s private chamber, the child’s weeping louder than in the hall. There were so many things she longed to share with the baron’s children. Despite her penchant for trouble, she and Joy had much in common. Payton had lost her mother when she was young, and she too had woken many nights in a cold sweat as she attempted to fight her way out of a confined dark space. Perhaps it was why the children had caused an irrational irritation within her. They were, in essence, the same, except Payton had been left with siblings who lorded over her, while Joy had been stuck with an absentee father. Empathy for the children’s plight filled Payton, though it may be a journey with no plausible resolution. She’d been with Joy and Abram for weeks, and understanding of the situation had eluded her the entire time.

Payton lowered herself to the edge of the bed and gathered the girl into her arms.

Life would not always be what it was at this moment for Joy, Abram, or the baron. The pain would never disappear, but one day, they would realize it was manageable. Even further ahead, they would use their own past to make certain they achieved a future that pleased them. Payton had been on her way to achieving that final accomplishment—or she had been until the duke took her at piquet.

The here and now was always changeable.

The realization of how much Payton had lost to the duke suddenly didn’t have the crushing weight of defeat it had before. Here, in Joy’s delicately decorated room, outside troubles seemed of a smaller magnitude.

As she did most nights, Payton murmured in the child’s ear, soothing her as she stroked her long, golden plaits and let the tears seep into the fabric of Payton’s dress. Joy clung to her, and her sobs slowed to faint whimpers with time. Her grip on Payton loosened until she fell back into slumber. During the day, they kept a strict divide between them, but in the dark of night, Payton allowed herself to comfort the child, to act as if forming a connection with the baron’s children was not terrifying. Mothering had been so natural to Marce after their mother died, but Payton wasn’t a mother and had no notion of where to begin, even if only to fill the role as a governess. And so, Joy persisted in her vexing ways, and Payton continued in her role as the irritated governess. Some days, she didn’t have to playact—much like the morning they’d doused her in blue dye. But other days, it was difficult.

That terrified Payton even more. What if she made a mistake? What if the children refused her kindness? What if they had no desire to care for a governess?

Payton rocked Joy’s tiny form back and forth long after the need was past. Soothing the girl’s pain was something Payton had never expected to excel at, yet she did, and that surprised her.

No doubt come morning light, Joy would return to her precocious, troublesome self, and Payton would once again take her place as the stern governess…these brief moments forgotten.

Their day would be filled with schoolwork, meals, lessons on decorum, and outings to the park with little time to dwell on the intimate nature of this moment. If the time ever came to speak about these late-night bouts of terror, Payton would ask after what pulled Joy from sleep so violently. What had the girl sobbing in the arms of a stranger?

And the question that nagged the most, what kept the baron from comforting his own children?

However, the time to ask those questions had not yet come, and Payton feared it never would. The cause of Joy’s nightmares was likely the same thing that burdened the baron. It should be discussed with the girl’s father, not the hired help.

Just as it should be the baron holding his daughter, not Payton.

Yet here she was with Joy while he remained detached in his study.

Joy nestled closer in her sleep, the whimpers now forming unmistakable words.

Mum. Father.

The girl called to them in her slumber. Payton was helpless to offer any further comfort. She would never be Joy’s mother and was unable to bring the baron to her. For now, Payton’s embrace would have to do. It was all she had to offer the grieving child.

Joy’s brow furrowed, and her eyes moved behind their closed lids as her nightmare returned.

With a jerk, Joy’s eyes sprang open again, and she searched the darkness as her cries started anew.