Page 4 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

His fingers twitched as he pressed his palms flat against the polished mahogany of his neatly organized desk. Perhaps he should have remained in his private chambers and requested his morning meal be brought into the one room where no one dared disturb him. He could have had Mr. Brown, the Ashford butler, bring his paperwork to him there, and Damon would have escaped the nuisances currently bickering in the hall.

A sharp pain seized his chest. No man should insinuate, even silently to themselves in the privacy of their study, that their children were bothersome and that they incited headaches even before he’d taken his morning repast. There had been a time when he hadn’t seen the pair as bothersome or so much as an inconvenience—but those days were gone, and no matter how hard he fought to return to that time…he couldn’t.

Sarah was gone. His children and his home were without a mother.

And Damon had only himself to blame.

Though he need remind himself, he had not been charged with teaching Abram and Joy the proper decorum and manners befitting the children of a baron. He glanced at his elbow, resting upon two single-pound notes. He’d agreed that every month, he’d pay his children’s governess two pounds—to educate them, to school them in the art of decorum and manners, and to prepare them for their future in society. Most of all, he was willing to pay twice the normal rate for a servant of her status with the expressed instructions that he not be bothered—and in turn, not be responsible for any future failures. However, the racket echoing throughout Ashford Hall in that moment made it vividly apparent that someone was not earning her keep nor suited to her elevated task.

It was customary for the lady of the house, or a housekeeper when the position was not occupied, to distribute the household wages. Though, after losing seven governesses in four years, Damon had made the decision that his sanity was worth two pounds per month. And how could he explain to Mrs. Brown, who happened to be wed to his butler, that a mere governess was collecting a higher wage than she?

He could not risk having another governess flee the position, however. Word had long ago spread through the agency’s gossip mills about the heathens that resided at Ashford Hall in Hanover Square. He’d had to contact his solicitor to secure a governess from a highly dubious location—the famed Craven House. The rumors had spread through London many years ago that the house no longer acted as a brothel, catering to the illicit needs of men, but was operating as a staffing agency—and a safe haven, of sorts.

Not that Damon was one to buy into town gossip. Besides, he’d had little other option. He’d had no other choice but to hastily write the proprietress of Craven House the previous month and had since been rewarded with the appearance of an adequately dressed young woman of obvious genteel upbringing.

Miss Samuels, though Mrs. Brown had told him she barely looked old enough to be out of the schoolroom, came highly recommended and was, in fact, nearing her nineteenth year. The exact age his Sarah had been when they wed ten years prior. He’d never thought Sarah too young and unprepared for marriage, so there had been no need to believe Miss Samuels not adequate to serve as a mere governess.

Memories pushed to the forefront of his mind, and Damon’s head pounded anew as he tried to keep them from overtaking him. It had been four years since his beloved Sarah passed, leaving their children to grow up without a mother.

To be raised by a succession of obviously unqualified and easily frightened governesses.

The agreement was simple enough—Miss Samuels would care for the children in a befitting manner, and he would leave them to their tasks. So far, in her month of residing at Ashford Hall, he’d not come directly face-to-face with the governess. He’d watched them pass his study when he neglected to close the door all the way, he’d happened by their schoolroom and took in the sight of his children’s heads lowered over their studies with the governess’s back to him.

Avoiding the governess was becoming increasingly difficult as the days passed.

Bloody damnation.

Damon craved a drink, his parched throat begging for a long swallow of scotch; however, he was well aware that his aching head was not entirely attributed to the ever-increasing volume of his children but also because he’d imbibed one—or three—too many tumblers the previous night. It had been a rare moment of weakness for Damon…a day when the memories had been too overwhelming, and he’d given in to the dark past that tried at every turn to pull him back into the black days directly following Sarah’s passing. He didn’t deserve the escape too much drink provided—not after all he failed to do.

A loud thump, followed by Joy’s melodic giggle, and Abram’s deep, hysterical laughter, shook the windowpanes in their frame as the pair raced past his study once more. At least they were no longer arguing and bickering. Their feuding of late was becoming increasingly worrisome, and though he had listened from afar since their new governess took command, Damon was uncertain how long he could refrain from stepping in to halt their quibbles.

Glass shattered from somewhere near the foyer, and a blood-curdling scream tore through the house, abruptly halted by a deathly silence that descended in its wake.

His entire body coiled with tension, Damon pushed from his seat and strode to the door. It slammed against the doorframe, and he stalked into the hall, his shoulders stiff with a reprimand ready to be shouted at the offending party—or parties.

There was no need to go far to discover the source of the commotion.

A vase had shattered, and its splintered glass lay covering the polished floor with Miss Samuels standing perfectly frozen in the middle of the mess. Though her back was to him, Damon noted the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. It appeared he would no longer be afforded the luxury of avoiding the woman.

“What is going on here, Miss Samuels?” Damon did his utmost to keep his tone level as he spoke her name aloud for the first time. “Please, tell me that is not my dearly departed mother’s prized vase shattered on the floor…and that you are not ruining my hardwood with pooling water.”

Damon took in the mess littering the foyer. He didn’t care a whit about the broken vase, the ancient thing was atrocious and should have been tossed away a decade before; however, he also did not relish the notion of things being broken and destroyed at will within his home.

His children’s muffled laughter rained down from the landing above the foyer as Miss Samuels’ fists clenched at her sides, and her shoulders straightened, but she remained quiet, his question going unanswered.

“Miss Samuels?” Damon prodded, his tone turning severe at the woman’s continued silence.

With aching slowness, the governess turned to face Damon as another round of laughter burst from above. His pointed glare pivoted to his children to keep from settling on Miss Samuels’ clinging, soaked bodice.

Joy and Abram hastened from view and moved into the shadows of the first-floor landing.

He brought his glare back to the governess as he took in everything about her. Her eyes lit with irritation, and her long, dark tresses were matted and wet hanging over her shoulder.

Damon wasn’t certain what he’d find when he came face-to-face with the woman for the first time, but this was nothing close to what he’d expected. It was as plain as his white linen shirt that she was young—though not too young to take on a position in a baron’s household; however, something in the way she glared at him, her chest laboring as she breathed deeply in and the air gushed from her lungs with each exhale, had him taking notice. She was far taller than he’d thought, her hair not a simple dark brown but laced with both lighter strands and hints of red that should seem out of place but only accentuated the blue of her eyes.

His immediate instinct was to avert his stare and return to his study; however, his better judgment won out, and he remained stoic with the precise amount of disdain lingering in his stare.

When her eyes finally met his, the woman was barely restraining her fury as her face burned red with a mix of what could only be deemed shock…and a healthy dose of embarrassment. Her eyes sparkled in a way he hadn’t thought possible before that moment.