Page 54 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

It shouldn’t have happened, nor affected him in such a way that he couldn’t bring himself to find his bed until she returned for the night.

Damon scrubbed at his face, his eyes strained and dry from exhaustion.

Sleep would be impossible.

He pushed to his feet and exited his chambers. If he were going to feel trapped in a disaster of his own making, he would at least do it in a room with plenty of scotch.

On his way to the study, he paused briefly at Joy’s door and pressed his ear close, listening for any signs that she was awake or finding sleep difficult, but the silence that greeted him was deafening. Next, he opened Abram’s chamber door, but his son was similarly asleep.

Damon stepped into the room, noticing that one of the drapes had been left partially open, allowing a stream of moonlight into the room. Before long, the light would reach Abram and awaken the child.

Something about the sleeping boy drew Damon to his bedside. His sleep had been restless from the tousled, tangled nature of his bedsheets. He moved to the window, releasing the drape to cast the room into shadows. Abram shifted, turning onto his side to fully face Damon and settled with a contented sigh.

Damon longed for even a mere speck of his son’s newfound peacefulness.

Unfortunately, that was something he feared he would never have.

Though peace and serenity, safety and security, were the few things he would always work toward giving his children.

He turned, departing Abram’s room and making his way downstairs to his study.

Chapter 17

Hurried footfalls sounded as his children entered the room, already mid-banter as the import and gravity of the previous day had been long forgotten. Peculiar how resilient the pair was to such grave occurrences, while he could hardly stop himself from dwelling on the disastrous way their time at the park could have turned out.

“You did no such thing,” Abram said with gruff indignation as he entered the dining hall. “Tell her, Miss Samuels. Tell Joy she did not best me during our history lesson.”

Joy followed close behind her brother, her hair plaited down her back, and her black boots scuffed from her tendency to not lift her feet high enough in her hurry to beat Abram up the stairs.

“I very well did thump you good, Abram,” she said with an arrogant grin. Where had she learned that the confident upturn of a smile could bring her opponent to his knees?

“Miss Samuels.” Abram’s wail was commendable if it were meant to repel others away from him; however, they were all in the same room, and the dining hall was not large enough to swallow the grating cry. “Tell her. Joy’s questions were meant for a child, while mine were far more advanced. And I only missed two out of ten, while she missed one very important question.”

Joy huffed and shoved Abram from behind, causing him to stumble farther into the room, nearly colliding with the back of a chair.

“Ah-ha! So you admit it,” Joy announced victoriously. “I missed one question, while you missed two.”

“Children.” Miss Samuels’ voice could be heard a split second before she entered the room behind his children. “I am certain your father does not want to hear you arguing after he’s been working all day.”

Damon kept his eyes trained on The Post, raising it a bit higher to stop himself from giving in to the urge to gaze upon Payton. What gown had she donned that morning? Did she wear her hair with the long, single curl that hung over her shoulder? Was she looking at him as he longed to look at her?

He’d resisted the urge most of the day to stray down the hall that would take him within hearing distance of the schoolroom. It was startling and utterly bemusing that instead of locking himself within his study for the entire day, he’d actually longed to spend time with both of his children and Payton.

However, he’d never been a man to allow his wants to overshadow his responsibilities.

“Good evening, my lord.” He heard the scrape of Payton’s chair as a footman pulled it out for her to sit. “Children?”

“Good evening, Father,” Joy chimed, mimicking Miss Samuels.

“Good evening, Father.” Abram took his seat next to his sire. “I would implore you to tell Joy that not knowing that King George II ruled over England in 1740 is a major disservice to our country. It is akin to treason, I should think.”

“But you could not name the first Egyptian king, nor the father of democracy.”

“You can neither spell democracy nor locate Egypt on a map,” Abram retorted.

Joy merely stuck out her tongue at her brother, sending him into yet another fit of anger.

Damon made a show of rustling his paper before folding it neatly and tucking it under his elbow on the table as he glanced between his children, his expression serious. This had been the way of things for the past several days. Damon joined his children and Miss Samuels for meals—but, beyond that, he kept his distance.