Page 70 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

“Propriety.” Her face reddened. “You have overstepped your place in my life. You are not my guardian, nor do you make any decisions for me, especially those concerning my financial circumstances.”

He wanted to reach out to her and explain the unexplainable. But he held himself still, knowing that once she walked out, he might never see her again. He needed her to remain.

“I will repay my debt to you,” she proclaimed, lifting her chin, yet the action did not hide the glisten of unshed tears in her eyes. “You can begin by keeping my final wages.”

“Payton, I do not…” Damon didn’t want her bloody money, nor any pledge to settle her debts. This was why he’d kept to himself all these years. This was why he’d never taken another wife as his sister had pushed him to do. This was why he kept distance between himself and his children.

With connection, came dependence. With care, came attachment.

And when that connection and care were severed, only loss remained.

He and his children had mourned the loss of Sarah all these years, and the most important thing he’d taught Abram and Joy since then was that distance saved the heart. Governesses came and went. No attachment, no loss.

He’d held on to his misguided notion for so many years, it was difficult to let it go. But since Payton had come into their lives, he’d lost sight of his long-held belief.

When had he—and the children—accepted Payton as part of their family?

When had they decided, without vocalizing it, that this dark-haired woman was different from all the rest?

Despite his best efforts, she had indeed become part of their family. A significant portion if he were being truthful. And they would all suffer from her absence. He’d fooled himself into believing that he needed her for the children.

The truth was, Damon needed Payton for himself.

He’d told himself, year after year, that he’d learned his lesson. He’d given himself entirely to Sarah, reveled in their love, and he’d lost her. She’d left him and the children behind. She’d died and taken his heart with her.

Or at least that was what he’d thought.

But letting Payton go, allowing her to walk out of his home, was something he was unprepared to face.

“You can collect your things, but, I beg of you, allow me to tell Joy and Abram.” The words came out like his last wish.

At her slight nod, Damon knew it was for the best—for both him and his children.

When Payton hesitated, new hope sprang up within him, and the words begging her to stay nearly tumbled from his lips. He would apologize, and she would forgive him. They could move past it all and forget. Everything would return to normal. She would reprise her position as the Ashford governess, and he’d return to his place as the sulking lord. He would not dwell on their kiss. He would not languish over their severed attachment.

If he promised, would she remain at Ashford Hall, or was she determined to leave him?

Not him, this was not about him. Joy and Abram would be devastated if Payton left. It was for them that he clung to the small sliver of hope.

“I will repay you, Lord Ashford,” she bit out, her tone cold.

“That is not necessary nor needed,” he replied, his hands trembling as he held himself back—from going to her, from holding her close, from not letting her leave. He wanted to keep her but wasn’t sure how. He’d thought settling her debt with Catherton had been the right thing to do, but she’d seen it as a presumptuous act intended to form a new debt. If he begged her to stay, to reconsider, would she see it as him overstepping his place once more? He hadn’t paid her debt as a means of controlling her. The thought had never crossed his mind.

“Unfortunately, I must.” She turned, her single curl falling over her shoulder to hang down her back as she strode from the room.

Damon listened to her retreating footsteps as they disappeared when she climbed the stairs.

He’d made a colossal mistake; however, he wasn’t sure if it was bringing Payton into his home all those weeks ago or allowing her to walk out now.

It took all his willpower to move to the sideboard and pour himself a drink before slumping into his chair in front of the fire. He set his scotch on the table, forgotten, as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat.

He knew what he listened for—even though he begged himself not to.

The light footsteps of her leaving…for good.

Would she pause in the foyer? Would she return to give him a final goodbye?

Was he strong enough to let her go? Or sufficiently weak if he begged her to stay?