Page 40 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

Damon should have suspected as much. However, what Miss Samuels chose to do during the hours she was not caring for his children should not concern him. If she were determined to set upon such a path, it was hers to take. Squandering her meager earnings at the card tables only involved him so much as it interfered with her duties as the Ashford governess. If he’d known her tendency to frequent the tables before his children grew attached to her, Damon would have relieved her of her position. But now, what option did he have but to overlook it?

“I must get inside, Damon.” Flora stepped forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I will call on you and the children in a couple of days.”

He was helpless to do anything but watch as his sister entered Galment’s townhouse, and the door closed in her wake. He’d done his best to keep his position on the outskirts of those around him, and now Damon had the sense to realize that he’d achieved precisely what he set out to do. Any malcontent with his life was solely due to his choices. He worked tirelessly, pushing others away—and now, it appeared, he’d succeeded.

Slipping his hands into the warmth of his coat pockets, he stared up at the house before him. A home he would not enter. A place that did not want him.

Joy and Abram had one another.

Flora had society involvements and her husband.

And Miss Samuels had her secrets—not well-kept secrets, but secrets all the same.

Payton glanced down at her cards with an amount of confidence she hadn’t felt since her disastrous game with Catherton. Despite her steep loss at Lord Ashford’s card table, this night, she was ahead. Winning one more sizeable pot would mean replacing nearly all the money she’d lost to the duke. With another couple of weeks of luck, she could collect the twenty pounds to repay Lord Catherton. Then, and only then, would she be able to consider her future plans once more.

Perhaps she could gain a position as a lady’s companion. The responsibilities would surpass those expected of her by the baron, but if she chose her mistress wisely, there would be many nights spent enjoying house parties and entertainments.

With that came the opportunity for more elusive card games.

Sir Galment’s nightly salon gatherings, while a successful enough place to find a rousing game of cards, did not put Payton in the company of London’s elite lords. It was mostly a gathering of lonely wives who fancied themselves in need of spirited conversations and time away from their families.

Payton had become accustomed to the serene gatherings. No one bothered with her name—nor asked questions about her arrival and departure. She did not partake of the libations nor fall prey to the spats regarding governmental overreach or the romantic movement currently enthralling most poets. She stayed only long enough to win a few rounds and depart into the night without bringing notice to herself.

Her gown was simple, though refined. Her dark, mahogany hair was pinned tightly, not so much as a single curl breaking free. Payton kept her voice low and calm and avoided their host at all cost.

This evening’s game was vingt-et-un—the most basic of card games that relied solely on Payton keeping track of the cards played and reading her opponents. A house full of ladies with endless funds and no ability to hide their enthusiasm at a winning hand meant Payton knew exactly when to hold and when to double down. This particular game only had her besting the dealer, a Galment servant who’d been charged with the task.

With a triumphant smile, Payton flipped her card, showing a twenty-one value between three cards. The dealer had held at eighteen.

Another twenty shillings added to her stacks.

It was time to depart.

After less than two hours, she’d managed to win over four pounds. She’d suspect the dealer was losing on purpose had it not been for their host’s disapproving glances as Payton, as well as two other women, collected their coins.

Payton took in the room, reassured that no one paid her any mind. However, her stare settled on a matron across the card room. The woman’s name eluded her; however, the resemblance was evident. Lord Ashford’s sister stood in the far corner and spoke animatedly to an elderly, robust gentleman. As she flapped her hands, the man squinted and nodded vigorously.

How did Lord Ashford’s sister know of Lord Galment’s salon? While Lady Wittenbottom was wed to a lord, she did not seem the type to frequent either gaming parties nor intellectual gatherings. Payton had never encountered the lady at the baron’s weekly gatherings or at Galment’s townhouse previously, though Galment’s parties were not a secret or exclusive in nature.

Would Lady Wittenbottom recognize Payton if they came face-to-face? Payton had seen the woman from afar during her infrequent visits to Ashford Hall. She could not risk being discovered by the baron’s sister.

Deftly, Payton collected her winnings and slipped the notes, as well as the small stack of coins, into the pocket sewn into the exterior layer of her skirts. The many layers and undercoats hid the pocket adequately enough. Next, Payton stood, nodded to her host, and made her way to the foyer to collect her cloak and muff for the walk back to Ashford Hall.

When she left for the evening, she’d been focused only on escaping the baron and his children. With each day, she sensed the tie binding her to Ashford Hall growing. At first, she’d felt pity for the baron and his children, but as time passed, those feelings changed and evolved into something far more powerful. An unmistakable kinship to children who’d experienced a loss much like her own. No matter how fervently Joy and Abram—and even Payton—fought against the draw, it was still there. Despite their pranks and Payton’s irritation. Even before she’d rocked Joy to sleep, reassuring her that the baron loved her, the change had begun.

And now, Lord Ashford was to accompany them on their outing the next day. If she had any sense, she’d claim ill and send the trio on without her; however, the baron would likely cancel the entire excursion, leaving Joy and Abram hurt and upset.

It would not be their father letting them down, but her.

The butler helped her slip into her waiting cloak and held her muff out to her.

“Good evening, my lady,” he said as he opened the door for her to depart.

“Good evening to you, too.” She didn’t correct his use of the word lady before stepping into the night. The air had grown even colder than when she arrived. The sky overhead was devoid of clouds, allowing the moon to shine brightly as she started her return trip to Ashford Hall. Her skirts, heavy with her winnings, bounced against her thigh, but thankfully, the coins did not clink.

No carriages or pedestrians loitered in her path as she crossed Grosvenor Street and turned onto Saint George.

Few candles were lit in the townhouses bordering the street. The hour was late, and the lack of lighting didn’t surprise Payton.