Page 57 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

She sank into the overstuffed chair, instantly knowing why Lord Ashford preferred the seat over the lounge. The cushion contoured to her bum and back, cocooning her in a softness she’d never experienced before.

The silence between them was almost comforting. He didn’t speak; therefore, he hadn’t told her that she must leave her position.

The minutes stretched on and on, seemingly endless as they both stared into the fire, its warmth wrapping them in its embrace. She longed to ask why he’d requested her presence but was loath to break the quiet stillness around them.

Was this how he spent his hours locked in his study? Staring into the open flames and merely existing. Her own upbringing was rarely peaceful with a house full of siblings. There was always bantering and bickering, slamming doors and pounding feet. Despite Joy’s and Abram’s childish episodes, the household was orderly and quiet most of the time.

When she first arrived, the overwhelming silence had unnerved her.

Now, she wondered if she could return to the chaos of Craven House—or more importantly, if she wanted to. Despite knowing that she shouldn’t want to return home, there was a sense of comfort in the chaotic nature of her childhood home. She’d spent the last several months preparing for her future—a future outside the bounds of her family—yet the lure of home picked at her subconscious.

Obviously, with no money to her name, and her debt with the duke still unsettled, she had no other choice.

Perhaps that was what made it all so troubling: the idea that the choice was once again being stripped from her.

At her side, the baron’s brow furrowed, his fists clenching and unclenching as if he worked through something in his mind. His breathing was shallow and quick, tension evident in the set of his shoulders and back.

He’d appeared at ease and almost jovial in the dining hall despite his mood turning solemn after she’d spoke out in his defense. At the moment, he seemed to have returned to the man she’d met when she first came to Ashford Hall. Burdened and…almost defeated. The crushing weight of his indiscernible troubles threatening to finally overtake him.

Payton had been foolish enough to think that their outing and their kiss would change things—anything.

It had certainly changed everything for her. No, not changed, but it had altered her perception.

Perhaps too much time had passed, too many issues remained unsolved, and the damage was far more profound than she’d imagined. Did he struggle with things that she was unaware of?

The clock on the mantel above the hearth chimed seven. She’d asked Mr. Curtis to come and collect her at half past the hour. That left her thirty minutes to have the children abed and herself waiting down the street for the Craven House servant.

The baron had asked her here for a reason, to speak about something, but his silence continued.

“My lord?”

He flinched at her words but kept his narrowed stare focused straight ahead.

“Will you be going out tonight?” His question was unexpected. Besides the night she’d discovered him following her home from Galment’s, he’d never queried her about her comings and goings.

“Yes.” There was no reason to lie.

“I will also be leaving for the evening,” he said. “I will have a carriage readied for your use.”

“I do not need—”

He turned sharply to face her, his entire countenance heavy with something akin to fatigue. That was not something new.

“I will not spend my infrequent evening away from Ashford Hall fretting over you walking the dark streets,” he said in a rush before his lips pressed closed. “Is it not enough I have to worry about my children’s welfare that you will add yourself to the burden?”

“I am a grown woman. A hired servant in your home, my lord,” she replied quietly. “Do you worry when the maid goes to the market? Or a footman out on an errand?”

He remained silent.

“I am no different than a maid or the footman.”

“The bloody hell you are not,” he huffed. He rubbed the back of his neck, but his built-up tension did not leave, even Payton could see that much. He breathed in and exhaled, the sound louder than the crackle of the fire. “Never have I worried over the whereabouts of another governess or maid for that matter, and there have been many with likely more to come. Yet, with you, I…”

The silence stretched between them once more as the tension inside her twisted tightly at the insinuation in his words.

“I do not want to care about you,” he whispered, so softly she wondered if she’d heard him correctly. “When will you return?”

She would not admit that she was fleeing Ashford Hall for Craven House. It was none of his concern—her past, her present, or her future.