Page 41 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

Keeping her head lowered, she quickened her pace—only four townhouses to go.

She slipped her hand from her warm muff and wrapped her fingers around the key in her cloak pocket.

Shuffling sounded behind Payton, and her feet faltered.

Was she being followed? Of all the nights she’d come and gone from the baron’s home, never had she encountered any trouble. This street was one of the safest in all of London, far safer than her own home where it sat nestled on the fringes of a suitable neighborhood. With time, Craven House would not be considered situated in an area fit for polite society, while Saint George Street would only grow in respectability.

She couldn’t dwell on that. The footfalls behind her echoed, breaking the silence of the hour. Whoever was pursuing her did not bother to keep their presence a secret. If the thug thought her an easy mark, he was gravely mistaken. If she, along with her dear childhood friend, Ellington, had learned anything, it was how to protect themselves when walking the streets of London.

Attaining the upper hand was vital. Throwing the lout off guard was a close second.

Thirdly…get away.

Payton knew the likelihood of remaining safe majorly diminished if the man gained a hold of her. She was tall, but her slender frame didn’t hold as much muscle as a grown man.

Unfortunately, gaining the upper hand and remaining out of reach sometimes conflicted with one another. With the rapid movement behind her, there might not be the option to get away without a struggle.

Everything Garrett and Marce had taught her came to mind at once.

Upper hand. Keep him off guard. Run.

Simple enough, at least when you weren’t in the middle of being accosted.

The blood rushed in her ears as her heart beat erratically. She fingered the key in her pocket, positioning the metal object to be used as a dagger of sorts.

It had been easy enough to learn to defend her person, but when an imminent threat lurked a few feet away, courage was difficult to muster with any amount of conviction.

Payton took a deep breath, sent a quick prayer to the heavens above—not that she deserved anyone’s benevolence—and pulled the key from her pocket as she pivoted to face the man who pursued her.

“I am armed, sir,” she yelled into the open air behind her. “Come out and state your business.”

Upper hand gained. Whoever stalked was now aware Payton had spotted them.

When no one stepped into the lighted walkway, Payton retraced her steps until she heard breathing coming from up ahead. Whoever it was stood in the doorway to her right, sunken into the shadows, waiting.

“I can see you,” she prodded, hoping to throw the man off guard. “Come out before I raise the alarm for the night watchman.”

She was deluding her pursuer. Certainly, the night watchman patrolled the area. However, Payton had never spotted the man during her nights out.

The man’s heavy, labored breathing broke the silence of the night.

“I said, come out.” When no one answered her call, Payton knew it was time to run. If she hurried, Payton would make it to the baron’s townhouse before the man, but what if the key did not turn quickly? No, she would be caught and taken before she could open the door. Why had she insisted that Mr. Brown not wait up for her?

She watched, fist poised with her key for defense, as her pursuer stepped from the shadows into the dim light that barely lit the walkway.

Confusion coursed through her as her hand fell to her side. It was only then that the tremendous fright sent wave after wave of shivers through her. She could have been gravely harmed, taken, made to disappear without anyone the wiser, all because she’d not told anyone at Ashford Hall where she was going.

“Lord Ashford?” Payton resisted the urge to fling herself into his arms, her relief was so overwhelming. “What in the heavens are you doing out”—she forced the final words—“at this time of night?”

The baron, fully visible now, slipped his hands into the deep pockets of his coat while his stare settled somewhere below her eyes. “I saw you depart without a footman. It worried me—”

“And you followed me?” It was what she’d left her home to avoid. The constant watchfulness of her elder siblings, each thinking they knew what was best for her. At least at Craven House, they made their actions known. It was far more upsetting to realize the baron had been following her, keeping track of her whereabouts, without her notice. How closely had he kept watch on her since she’d joined his household? A chill ran down her spine, and she stopped herself from reaching up to pull her collar higher. “My lord, I do not need a caretaker.”

He shuffled closer, his regret visible. “I did not mean to insinuate that; however, as a member of my household, I was justified in my concern for your safety.”

Her relief quickly dissipated as her anger took over.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, and her skin heated despite the cold air.