Page 56 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

He’d relished—reveled in, actually—the changes taking place in his household. Though he feared them, as well. On his way to the breakfast parlor, he’d heard Mr. Brown whistling—whistling. Yet, it was Damon who needed to remember how quickly things could change. The household’s air could turn silent just as swiftly as it had turned cheerful.

His children’s dejected and sullen glances in his direction were not something he’d anticipated. It was as if the last couple of days had undone the past four years of distance. Even Payton appeared unhappy with his decision to remain home instead of accompanying them on their outing.

“Miss Samuels.” Damon pushed back his chair, his appetite gone, and his headache returned. “If you’d be so kind as to attend me in my study when you are done with your meal.”

She didn’t so much as take her eyes off her food when she spoke, “As you wish, my lord.”

As he wished? Damon wished for many, many things. Another private moment with Miss Samuels was at the top of that list, although he had no right to desire her company. It had been a mistake to invite her to join him, one he’d resisted since their kiss.

“Enjoy your meal,” he grunted before departing the room.

The fact that neither of his children met his stare shouldn’t injure him as it did.

The baron was going to release her from her duties, Payton was certain of it. Why else would he demand her presence in his study after ignoring her for so many days? Letting her go after agreeing to their museum outing would hurt Joy and Abram greatly, possibly more even than their father turning down their invitation to join them.

She stood outside the closed study door for several minutes after the children’s voices had faded as they made their way upstairs. She smoothed her hands down her skirts, wishing she’d changed her gown before their evening meal. Chalkdust clung to her bodice, and a spot of ink had found its way onto her sleeve. At least her hairpins still remained solidly in place.

In her mind, she heard her sister Samantha’s voice, chiding her for neglecting her appearance. “If your dress is pressed and wrinkle-free, your hair is in place, and your gloves pristine, you can command any room, Payton.”

She wanted to laugh at her sister’s irrational thinking.

A woman’s dress, hair, and adornments did not speak for the woman within.

“Miss Samuels?”

Mr. Brown, the Ashford butler, watched her intently where she stood frozen in the hall.

Payton smiled, knowing the elderly servant felt responsible for everyone under the baron’s roof, not just her. He was kind and caring to all the staff, along with the baron and his children. “Good evening, Mr. Brown. The baron asked to speak with me after I finished my meal.”

His lips pursed. “Shall I have Mrs. Brown bring tea?”

“I do not think that necessary but thank you.” It was enough that she’d ruined her place at Ashford Hall, making it impossible to continue on. But to have the housekeeper witness her disgrace was unthinkable. “I am certain whatever he has to say will be completed in swift order, and I will be dismissed…to my chambers.”

The butler nodded, his chin falling at a slight angle due to his age. “Very well, miss.”

Nothing was very well; however, there was no need to share that with Mr. Brown.

“Do have a restful night if I do not see you again this evening,” she said with a smile.

Payton faced the door, her hand poised on the latch. Everything her mother had taught her during their short time together was before her. It was time to move on. She should not fear doing so. Life improved with each new opportunity.

Releasing the latch, she raised her hand and knocked to announce her arrival.

“Enter.” The single-word command should have irritated her, but there was no bite behind it.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the study—so familiar after her many conversations with the baron over the last month, yet it remained his private domain. She surveyed the room, finding the baron sitting in his favored chair, facing the open fire.

“Have a seat, Miss Samuels,” he said, his stare never leaving the hearth. She expected to find a tumbler in his hand, filled with liquor—or empty, depending on how long she’d tarried in the hall. No glass rested between his fingers nor on the table near his elbow. In fact, his hands were clenched in tight fists on the armrests of his chair.

Had she upset him again?

“Drink?” he asked, tilting his head toward the sideboard as if inviting her to collect her own.

“No, thank you, my lord.” She lowered to perch on the lounge.

“Not there.”

Payton quickly stood, taking in her other option—a matching chair to the baron’s seat, also facing the fire. Perhaps that was best, at least she wouldn’t have to see the relief on his face when he stripped her of her duties.