Page 52 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

No, she would return home.

Craven House.

A sound night’s sleep in her familiar, childhood bed would bring everything into clear focus. The heat that had gathered within her was nothing more than a base need and had nothing to do with her feelings—or her lack thereof—for Damon.

The baron and his children did not belong to her. Would never belong to her.

She was a hired servant in the Ashford home.

The only place she could always count on returning to was Craven House. No matter where she went in life, no matter how many situations she ran from, that was her true home—despite her need to escape, it was the place she was always drawn back to.

She would never be a part of Damon’s family, beyond her usefulness as a governess—just as the many men her mother had taken to her bed had never become part of her family. Time passed, and people moved on.

Her kiss with Lord Ashford meant nothing. Promised nothing.

There was no unspoken declaration on his part, as she would proclaim none herself.

Payton slipped her small purse of coins into the hidden pocket in her skirts and made her way downstairs.

Mr. Brown only nodded to her and opened the front door.

Stepping into the early evening twilight, Payton walked away from Ashford Hall, her footsteps not the confident ones from the evening before but slow and hesitant.

She didn’t want to leave the baron’s townhouse; however, after their embrace, the decision might not belong to her any longer.

At the corner of Saint George and Grosvenor, Payton paused before hailing a hackney. Instead of returning home, she could walk the short distance to Regent Street and settle in an alehouse until the gaming house on Mill Street opened for the evening. At least if she were surrounded by strangers, she would be able to forget the disastrous predicament she’d created at Ashford Hall.

But, no, while there was much she was willing to risk, losing her meager stash of coin was not one of them. She might very well need the money sooner than she thought if she were cast from the baron’s employ as she feared.

Raising her hand, she signaled a passing driver, who pulled quickly to a stop but made no move to assist her into the conveyance.

“Where ye be headed, miss?” the driver called from his seat, the reins hanging loosely in his grip.

“Leicester Square.” When the man frowned, she continued, knowing her family home was nestled close to the edge of the respectable district. “Craven House, if you don’t mind the long drive.”

He nodded agreement, and Payton took hold of her skirts, climbing into the back of the hack.

As the driver sped toward the only place she knew as home, Payton didn’t fret over the dust coating her cloak from the filthy streets, she didn’t dwell on what was to come next for her, and she couldn’t allow herself to think about the baron’s lips pressed to hers.

It had apparently been a moment of pure yearning for Damon. He had been overwrought with concern for his daughter, worried to utter exhaustion, and she’d been there. Payton had been there with him through it all. It had created some invisible bond between them, but not one that would last. Come tomorrow, she’d need to forget the few private moments she’d had with Lord Ashford—not Damon—and return to the townhouse ready to serve as Joy’s and Abram’s governess. Nothing more.

She was not part of their family.

Blazes, the baron and his children were barely a family themselves.

But she suspected that they’d begun to heal if their day at the menagerie and the park were any indication. However, Payton had no place in their trio. That she knew.

Even in her own home, she was the odd sibling out. Marce had Garrett. Sam and Jude, as twins, had one another. And that left her…

Yes, living within but never truly a part of a family was something Payton knew very well.

Tears stung her eyes, and she told herself it wasn’t her self-pity taking over but the wind whipping at her face that caused her eyes to moisten.

The stark circumstances of her life had never been more apparent than in that moment. It was the reason she was determined to make a life of her choosing, even if she had to do it alone and leave the baron, his children, and her siblings behind.

Damon watched out his bedchamber window for what seemed like hours after Payton had disappeared down Saint George Street. He’d wanted to go after her, to tell her to stay, beg her to sit with him in his study or perhaps return to their places on either side of Joy’s bed. And yet, he stood in his darkened chambers and watched as the sun completely set and the evening dusk turned to full night.

She did not return.