Page 73 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

I’ll soon find out, she mused as she made her way down the narrow hall to the back of the house, a warmth infusing the abandoned corridor and teasing at her bare neck. Though Payton had visited the office several times over the last several days, it was different with Marce present. Calming…soothing…solid.

Tangible, in a way. If a feeling could be grasped and held onto.

It had been much the same when their mother had commanded the room.

Why had Payton fought so tirelessly to be away from the place, to stake her independence and leave it all behind?

No matter what transpired, who came and left their lives, they were always a family. Together. Craven House, its four sturdy walls and adequate roof, was their anchor.

If it were within her power, Marce always endeavored to make things right.

But how could her sister right something Payton wasn’t convinced was wrong?

Everything with Damon—no, the baron—was too sensitive to be spoken aloud. What had transpired between them was just that: something for them alone. There was no remedy to the mess Payton had created for herself. No number of bribes or amount of intimidation could make any of it go away, disappear as if it had never happened.

Payton had gained an affection for Lord Ashford. She’d allowed herself to be drawn in to the point where she’d thought her value and worth far exceeded what it actually was. The baron had told her not long ago that he merely tolerated her presence, that she was replaceable. Why hadn’t she heeded his words and kept her longings buried deep inside?

Instead, she’d allowed him to draw her into a false sense of security that had led to their intimate moment in the hall just outside Joy’s darkened bedchamber.

Payton forced a smile to her lips—though inside, she frowned—and stepped into the red and gold office. Oddly, they were the same colors she’d nearly selected for the gown the baron had commissioned for her, but she’d settled for cream with a lace overlay. It would match the string of pearls Payton had borrowed from Sam before her sister wed and moved out of Craven House.

“How was your trip, dear sister,” she said, lying on her favored lounge with more reserve than usual. So many times, her fits of anger or irritation had sent her casting herself heavily onto the chaise.

“It was...” Marce’s brow furrowed, and the corner of her lips dipped into a grim frown. “Eventful, yet uneventful at the same time.”

There was an openness in her sister’s expression that Payton had never witnessed before. Her normally guarded demeanor seemed to have cracked ever so slightly.

“Is that a good thing?” Payton prodded.

“Only time will tell, unfortunately.” Marce’s blue eyes met Payton’s. It was one of the few things they shared, a gift from their mother. Where Payton was tall and willowy, Marce was shorter with the curves of a woman; curves Payton could only dream of one day possessing. Payton’s dark hair was a startling contrast to her sister’s pale, curly tresses, though they favored the same long length. Marce smiled, but Payton knew enough to realize that her sister’s thoughts were elsewhere. Her mind preoccupied with business not concerning Craven House. “What are you doing here? It isn’t your day off.”

There were so many ways Payton could answer her sister’s question. However, the stark truth would only bring her back to being the dependent babe of the family who needed everyone, especially her eldest sister, to care for her, to right her mistakes, and to coddle her as if she were a helpless child.

Payton lowered the back of her head to the lounge and stared at the ceiling above. For a moment, she stalled answering as she counted the cracks in the plaster and followed them to where they trailed to the corner of the room. If she were going to lie to her sibling, it was best not to allow Marce to see the truth in her eyes. “Oh, the baron decided to take the children on an outing. It was the perfect time for me to take an afternoon for myself.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, yet not an outright truth either. It had actually happened when Damon took the children to the museum. There was a glimmer of truth in her tale.

Payton longed for nothing more than to be open with Marce but doing so would equal giving up what little independence Payton had created for herself.

“Very good.” Marce glanced down at the stack of work on her desk that had piled high while she was away from London. “However, I would not think Craven House would be your first choice of destination.”

True enough. There had been no qualms made, no words minced, when Payton had demanded that Marce allow her to take the position as the Ashford governess. She’d longed for freedom, time to discover what life would hold for her without her family’s crushing oversight, though her sister masked it as guidance.

“Only my first stop.” Perhaps her last one, as well. What if she never had the means to leave her sister’s home? She’d truly muddied everything up with Damon. The chance to go out on her own had been ruined by a single kiss, and then she’d left without so much as asking for a reference. Not that she’d settled on finding employment in another household as yet. Perhaps it was best she follow in Sam’s and Jude’s footsteps and secure a husband. The thought made her shudder. To go from her family’s control to that of a husband was not what she longed for.

“May I ask you something?” Payton glanced over to see Marce reading over a document on her desk, clearly distracted. That suited Payton well enough, for Marce would be less likely to see her younger sister’s dark mood and possibly allow slip something Payton had yet to know.

Her fair-haired sister set the paper aside and, for the first time, Payton noticed the heaviness—and exhaustion—in her sister’s gaze. The subtle wrinkles that marred her pale skin at the corners of her lips and eyes.

“I suppose,” her sister sighed.

“Do you think a person should wallow in their sadness indefinitely?” It wasn’t what she’d planned to ask. “I mean to say, if something occurs, perhaps good or bad, shouldn’t one look past it and plan what is to come next?”

It was what their mother had done her entire life. A man left her, disappointed her, treated her unfairly…she moved on. Madame Sasha, their mother, always had a plan. And a backup plan. She knew what she wanted, and she stopped at nothing to get it. Perhaps this was the reason their mother always seemed at peace with what had transpired in her short life.

“Is this about the baron and his wife’s death?”

Payton thought about the question. “I suppose it is.”