Page 33 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

Surely, there was no rule against a governess breaking her fast with her young charges.

“Yes. Of course, I do. However…” her words trailed off as she searched for what to say. “I thought perhaps you’d enjoy some privacy—just the three of you.”

“Come now, Miss Samuels. You went through all the worry and trouble to ask me about the excursion. You shall dine with us and be there for the good news.” Why was he so hell-bent on keeping the woman in his sights? Perhaps if she saw him making an effort with Joy and Abram, even something as small as sharing a meal, she would know he appreciated her presence, as did his children.

Chapter 12

The room warmed to a stifling degree around Payton, and she blinked several times to make sure she saw things for what they were. She would have pinched herself if she’d been alone, but she was not.

Had she fallen into a dream, her mind finding it comical to play tricks on her?

Lord Ashford, neckcloth hanging untied around his neck and the buttons undone at his throat, stood before her—his arm out.

Waiting.

Waiting to escort her, Payton Samuels, to the dining hall.

She looked between his outstretched arm and his smiling face. Had she ever seen the baron smile before? The simple change transformed him from the detached, dour lord into a man ten years younger. His shoulders were straighter, and his eyes sparkled. Was it mischief they held?

The look was all too familiar as it mirrored his children’s sly glances when they were causing trouble.

“Shall we?” he asked. “If we do not hurry, I fear they will eat everything before we arrive.”

After nearly five weeks in the baron’s employ, Payton had never witnessed Lord Ashford in any state except vexation and annoyance—besides their brief reprieve in his study.

She placed her fingers at the crook of his elbow, just below his rolled-up sleeve. The warmth of his skin heated her hand through her white glove, and her fingers tensed. For a man who rarely left his study, muscles corded his forearm.

Payton tilted her chin up, her reply on the tip of her tongue. “You have a dusting of freckles across the bridge of your nose.”

Instantly, she longed for the floor to open beneath her and swallow her whole.

Embarrassment flamed within her, making her already heated skin boil.

The baron brought his free hand to his nose. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

How had she never noticed the freckles before? They matched the light brown hue of his hair exactly.

“The children do not have any freckles.”

“I suppose it would not be fair if they inherited my eyes and my freckles.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Payton lowered her gaze. No longer looking into his eyes, she was now focused on his chest—another mistake. Without his coat, the material pulled tight across his pectorals, giving her a hint of what lay beneath his shirt. Her cheeks flushed as images of his bare, muscled chest sprang to her mind. “I think you are correct. If we do not hurry, Joy and Abram will start without us.”

Payton kept her stare trained on the floor as they made their way from the study to the dining hall, her skirts brushing against the baron’s leg with each step. While she was taller than the average woman, Lord Ashford still stood a head above her. She risked a glance up at him. His angular jaw tightened, and the muscles along his neck twitched.

Perspiration beaded on his forehead, betraying the confident tilt of his chin.

He was nervous. But why?

Laughter rang out as they entered the dining hall. The lighthearted sound went silent immediately as both children turned to face them as they made their way to the table. Joy’s wide-eyed stare traveled back and forth between her and the baron, while Abram’s expression had turned solemn.

“Father?” Joy’s tiny voice quivered.

A footman stepped forward and pulled Payton’s chair out for her to sit, and another hurried into the room with a place setting for Lord Ashford.

Abram shifted in his seat when the baron took his place at the head of the table—his children at his left, and Payton on his right. Table etiquette wasn’t a topic she’d explored with the children as of yet; however, the place she sat was typically reserved for the lady of the house. She glanced at the chair next to her, one farther away from the baron, and debated switching seats.

“Are you dining with us?” Abram asked.